Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(71)

I feel her smile against my chest. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

I lean back and brush the hair out of her face so I can see into her eyes. I feel it again, stronger than ever. It’s that rush of comfort, of being perfectly content with your life. With your partner.

With the woman you love.

“What?” she asks. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

“But …”

I tug her hand and guide her to my room.

To our room.

I just have to figure out how to make that happen.

We climb in bed. She snuggles up against me, her hand flat against my heart.

“Peck?”

“Yeah, Hawkeye?”

“I didn’t like it when you left with her just now.”

“I know, and I told you that she won’t—”

“I meant, that it was different. When Charlie left me for his ex, I was angry and felt betrayed. But I don’t think I ever actually felt jealous. Is that weird?”

I think about it. “Probably. Maybe. I don’t know.” I pull her closer.

“But tonight, with you … I don’t know. It just didn’t feel good.”

I truly am a dick because that makes me feel pretty darn good. But I won’t leave her hanging. Even I have limits on dickiness.

“I know,” I say. “And every moment I was outside with Molly, I wanted to be inside with you. She saw that. She knew. She commented on it, actually.”

“She must hate me, huh?”

“Not sure, to be honest.” I kiss the top of her head. “But I did tell her that things have changed. For the better. For you.” And me.

I feel her smile against my shoulder, and nothing feels better than this moment. Dylan in my arms. In my bed. In our bed.

I gulp.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Night, Wes.”

“Night.”

It doesn’t take long before she’s sleeping peacefully.

I grab my phone and dim the light and type in, ‘How to tell someone you love them.’

Because what the hell do I know about this? Not a damn thing. I’m not even sure if this is the right thing to do.

I look down at her and smile.

Even if it’s not the right thing, I’m going to try anyway.





Twenty-Seven





Dylan



“What are you doing today?”

Navie’s voice is chipper, especially for nine in the morning. As a bartender, she doesn’t keep early morning hours.

“I’m screwing off today,” I say. “I start work next week, so this is my last hurrah.”

Navie laughs.

“Really I’m just trying to get my life in order over here. I made a list of a bunch of things I need to do before my life get hectic again.” I tap the steering wheel as I wait at a stop sign. “Why couldn’t I have been born a rich princess and just paid someone to do my life’s paperwork for me?”

“Girl, don’t even start with that. That’s my dream right there. I’ll still work for a living. I just want to find someone to come over and handle my life. Like … a wife. I need a wife.”

“Same,” I say with a laugh.

I pass a sign for Bluebird Hill. My face lights up as I remember our night up there. I’m still picking mud out of my hair, which is slightly annoying, but I wouldn’t change those memories for anything.

That’s the epitome of why I fell for Peck. His silliness and fun-loving side are balanced with a part of him that’s so effortlessly sexy. He’s the perfect package.

I was so happy last night when we got home. On top of the world, even. But then Molly McCarter showed up and put enough of a wobble in my universe that I’m not quite perched on the top of Mount Happiness anymore.

“Why are you up so early?” I ask Navie.

“The neighbor’s dog, actually. It started barking at six thirty. I’m not thrilled that I got virtually no sleep, but damn, I feel accomplished already today. Is this what the rest of the world feels like when they get up at the crack ass of dawn?”

“Not usually,” I say, laughing. “We’re usually more bitter about it.”

“Well, I don’t think I’d want to do it every day.”

My phone buzzes in my cupholder. I look down to see Joanie’s name on the screen. Goodman’s Gas Station is up ahead, and I pull my car into the back entrance. I park next to the side of the building and put it in park.

“Hang on, Navie,” I say.

I look down at the screen again.



Joanie: Hi, Dylan. Did you decide anything on the house? He has someone else interested but wanted to give you first dibs. Please let me know.



I stare at the phone. In the back of my brain, I’ve known I needed to respond to this. It’s sat there and prickled me over and over again. I don’t know why I haven’t sent her an answer. But I have to now. Time’s up.

My thumb runs over the screen as I consider my response. Even though I already know what I have to do, I think about each option.

If this text had come through yesterday, I probably would’ve told her I pass out of some orgasm-fueled optimism. But today is not last night, and my optimism game is waning. It’s not dead, but it’s not killing the world either.