“I ain’t mad, Callie,” he said, his voice husky and low.
“Then what are you doing?” I whispered.
“I’m trying to keep my fucking hands off you.”
My breath caught in my throat. Was that why he’d been keeping his distance? Not because he only saw me as a friend, but because he’d been holding back?
“Maybe you should stop trying.”
He was so close. So big. Without a single inch of our bodies touching, he held me against the wall, immobilized. A low groan rumbled in his throat and I could almost feel the vibration in my chest, down my spine, between my legs. He smelled so good, I wanted to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in.
Gradually, as if he wasn’t aware he was doing it, he inched closer. I stayed pressed against the wall, my chin lifted.
“I’m no good for you,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet.
Our noses brushed and a hot rush of desire poured through me. My body lit up, nerve endings pinging. “You’ve always been good for me, Gibs.”
His head tilted and his lips touched mine. So soft. So tender. My eyes fluttered closed as he exerted gentle pressure.
He trembled, like he was struggling to hold himself in check, or afraid to move too fast. Gibson was rough and brusque. Who would have thought he’d kiss like a butterfly?
I draped my arms around his shoulders and he stepped in closer, slipping his hands around my waist. His beard was rough against my skin, pleasantly contrasting with the softness of his mouth. He pulled my lower lip between his and I felt the brush of his tongue.
That little taste made me shudder. His hands flexed, drawing me against him, and finally, finally, we sank into the kiss. Our lips parted and his tongue dragged against mine. I slid my fingers through his hair, angling my head to let him take the kiss deeper.
He kissed me slow, like warm maple syrup. Sweet and soft and a little messy. I melted against him, yielding to his gentle touch.
I wanted it all. I wanted him to devour me. But this wasn’t the unleashing of bottled up sexual tension. This was saturated with emotion, as if he was saying everything he couldn’t put into words with his kiss.
He pulled away slowly and rested his forehead against mine. “Shit.”
I kept my arms around his shoulders. “That bad?”
“No, too good. I wasn’t going to kiss you.”
“Too late.”
He nuzzled his nose against mine and I massaged his scalp with my fingertips. He seemed so much calmer. Like kissing me had drained all the stress and tension right out of him.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.
I nodded, enjoying the closeness. The feel of his hands on my waist, his face next to mine. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”
“Me too, Callie. I’m so fucking glad.”
He drew me against him and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight.
How long had it been since I’d been held like this? Strong arms surrounding me, protective and comforting. An embrace filled with emotion, not as a means to getting my clothes off. Although my body whispered soft suggestions—and we were certainly alone—this moment wasn’t about sex. And I didn’t want it to be. I didn’t want to be another notch in his bedpost. And he was more than something to make me feel a little bit less alone for a night.
Truthfully, I didn’t know what this was. He turned his face into my hair and breathed in deeply, his arms still wrapped tightly around me.
I wasn’t the girl who stayed. I always moved on. There was always another project, another artist. Another tour.
But maybe Jenny had been right. Maybe I had been running.
And maybe I was ready to stop.
22
GIBSON
Rain pattered on the roof and against the windows. A storm had rolled in after sunset, and it had been dumping out there for hours. I lay on the couch, my head on a pillow, a blanket over my legs, and stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain. Cash snored softly on his dog bed in the corner.
I couldn’t sleep. The memory of Callie’s lips against mine was visceral, like she’d imprinted herself on me. Her mouth had molded with mine so perfectly, her lips soft and sweet. I’d been trying so hard to hold back—to keep my feelings from showing. Hell, I barely knew what all those feelings meant.
But I’d cracked.
Despite the way I wanted her—the primal urge I’d been fighting to rip her clothes off—once I’d touched her, all that animalistic lust had taken a back seat. I’d never experienced anything like it.
I’d kissed her, but carefully. Like if I made one wrong move, she’d disappear. And it had felt better than any kiss—better than anything I’d had with a woman before. Sex was great; I enjoyed it as much as the next guy. But somehow kissing and holding her like that had been better.
It was really fucking with my head.
Because there was one thing that would explain what had happened to me today. One single reason that a simple kiss and a woman in my arms would have rocked my world like this. And it scared the living shit out of me to even think it.
I didn’t do love. I wasn’t cut out for it. I loved my family, even if I was terrible at showing it. But romantic love, relationships, commitment? That wasn’t for me.
My mama had made Scarlett promise she wouldn’t get married until she was thirty. She’d made us boys promise we wouldn’t get married for any reason, except one. Only if we were stupid in love.
She’d emphasized the word stupid.
I hadn’t kept to that promise because I felt obligated, like my sister. I’d kept it because it made damn good sense. People like Harlan and Nadine Tucker—happily married after so many years—seemed like the exception. My parents were the rule. Two people stuck together by circumstances they couldn’t control, making each other miserable.
Maybe that was where the stupid came in. Because when I thought about Callie, it was hard to see a future of resentment and regret. In fact, I realized as I lay there, if I let her go, that might become the biggest regret of my life.
I was well and truly fucked. That was all there was to it. She hadn’t been here that long, and she’d already turned me inside out.
But when I thought about it, I’d always loved her a little bit. All those years ago, I hadn’t looked at her like a girl I wanted. She’d been young, and sweet, and innocent. Older or not, I’d been all wrong for her as a boyfriend. Still was.
But as a friend, we’d shared something special. That was how I’d loved her. With music. With songs and harmonies and the sound of my guitar.
The bedroom door whispered open. It was dark, but I could see Callie’s outline as she padded down the hallway. She hardly made a sound, turning the corner into the kitchen.
Without really thinking about what I was doing—or the fact that I wasn’t wearing anything except underwear—I tossed the blanket aside and got up. I found her at the sink, filling up a glass of water in the dark.
“You all right?” I whispered.
She turned around, still holding her glass, and even in the dim light, I could tell she wasn’t.
“No.”
I took the glass and set it on the counter, then brushed her hair back from her face. “What’s wrong?”
Her voice shook. “I woke up after a bad dream and now I can’t calm down. I keep remembering things, but they’re all confusing flashes. It’s like suddenly my brain wants to replay all the worst moments of my life, but none of them make sense.”
Slipping my hands around her waist, I drew her close. Kissed her forehead. “Nothing can hurt you here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She leaned on my bare chest and I hugged her against me. I had no idea what I was doing. Comforting someone wasn’t exactly in my skill set. But this seemed simple enough. Wrap my arms around her and hold her tight.
The best part was, it felt really fucking good.
There was so much happening inside me. My chest felt warm and full, like I might
burst. Her hair smelled like heaven and the feel of her in my arms was so right. Perfect, even. Like the roads we’d both taken had always been leading to this.
Was this what love felt like? A rush of euphoria and affection mixed with a healthy dose of terror? Had my brothers been through this? I’d never bothered to ask. Hadn’t thought it would apply to me.
Callie wound her arms around my waist, her body trembling. I rested my cheek against her head and rubbed slow circles across her back. Right now, in this moment, I wanted nothing more than to make her feel better. To make things okay again.
“Let’s go back to bed,” I whispered.
“I don’t want to be alone.”
I kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
With an arm around her, I led her back to my bedroom. She crawled into bed and I slid beneath the covers beside her. Gathered her in my arms so she could rest her head on my chest.
I took slow breaths, feeling her body gradually relax. She stopped shivering. Her arm draped across my rib cage and she tucked her leg over mine, nestling in closer. I traced my thumb over her soft skin and breathed her in as she sank into me.
I hated that she was scared. That her father had hurt her so badly, the pain echoed in her dreams even now. But holding her like this—warm and comfortable in my bed—felt so good, I couldn’t help but smile. That was something I didn’t do very often.
“Gibson?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I squeezed her tighter. “Feel better?”
“So much better.”
“Good.” I kissed her head again.
She was quiet for a long moment and I wondered if she’d fallen asleep. “Everything is different now, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Does that scare you?”
I thought about it for a beat. It did scare me. Didn’t seem like there was any reason to keep that from her. “Little bit. You?”
She nodded, her head moving against my chest. “Little bit.”
Oddly, that seemed like a good sign. I didn’t know what I was doing, or where this was headed. But at least we were on the same page.
“Do you think you can sleep now?” I asked.
“Will you stay with me?”
I squeezed her again. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.”
The last of the tension seemed to melt from her body, her limbs going languid. I closed my eyes, drifting in the warmth of her skin, the feel of her soft breathing. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at peace.
23
GIBSON
The smell of paint filled the air in the Bootleg Springs High School gym. Jonah and Jameson were each on a tall ladder, rolling on a coat of light blue in a band across the wall. Bowie, Devlin, and I were working on the dark blue at the bottom.
Painting the old high school gym. The things I did for my brother. At least we were just doing the stripes, not the entire walls.
Cash was at home. I’d spent the last few days building a fence around a good portion of the yard, right off the back porch. He had room to run, a bed on the porch to sleep on, food and water. The weather was nice, so he was a happy little guy. And we could let him run free without worrying about him taking off.
“I thought you said George was coming,” Jameson called down from his perch above my head. “It should be his tall ass up here.”
“I thought he was,” Bowie said. “I texted him, but he hasn’t answered.”
“He better show up,” Jameson said. “It ain’t like we can toss him in the lake again if he doesn’t.”
I chuckled a little at that. George was too big for us to throw in the lake, even if we all took a limb. The guy could hold his liquor, too. It had taken an impressive amount of moonshine to get him drunk. But that trebuchet toss had become the stuff of legend.
“He’ll show,” Jonah said.
My phone buzzed, so I wiped a smear of paint on my jeans and took it out of my pocket. I had a text from Callie. She’d sent me a picture of herself wearing a fluffy white bathrobe. She was at the spa with the girls while the rest of us helped Bowie paint the gym.
Ordinarily, I’d have grumbled about that. We were busting our asses to help Bowie out, and they got to get massages and manicures and shit?
But I loved seeing Callie having fun, even if I was stuck here with these shitheads.
She’d been skittish about coming into town for a few days, but I’d spread the word about that Lee Williams prick to my family, and they’d been keeping an eye out. No sightings of him, so we figured he’d left town. Probably just been here that day. No one else remembered seeing him.
I didn’t for a second think we could let our guard down. But she was with Scarlett today, so I wasn’t worried. My sister was a force to be reckoned with.
All things considered, I was in a decent mood. Sleep helped. I’d spent the last week sleeping in my own bed again. My couch wasn’t bad, but this was better, especially because Callie was in there with me. She snuggled up to me every night and I fell asleep to the feel of her breathing.
It was pretty fucking great.
Maya was still my girlfriend in public, and we acted every bit the couple. I’d even planted a kiss on her lips right in front of Myrt Crabapple and Old Jefferson Waverly outside the Brunch Club yesterday.
In private, when she was Callie, was where things were getting real. Instead of keeping my distance, I held her closer. Kissed her more. Slept cuddled in bed with her. Woke to her scent, and usually her long hair in my face.
That was pretty fucking great, too. Even her hair.
I dipped the roller in the paint and rolled it on the wall, leaving a wide streak of dark blue.
“How’s progress on the house?” Bowie asked, glancing at Devlin.
Even in an old Cock Spurs t-shirt and paint-splattered shorts, Devlin looked like a suit. He and my sister were such a mismatched couple. But he made her happy, and he treated her like gold. She loved him, so that was good enough for me. Dev was on my short list of people I actually liked.
“Walls are going up on the second floor,” Devlin said. “It’s starting to look like a house. How’s married life treating you?”
“Best thing ever,” Bowie said, rolling more paint on the wall.
Weird shit was happening. Bowie was married. Jameson was planning a wedding. The only reason Scarlett lacked a ring on her finger was her stubborn insistence on keeping her promise to Mom. She and Dev were building their dream home together. Even Jonah had given up the bachelor life for Shelby.
A few weeks ago, I’d have left them all to their funerals. Get hitched and tie myself to a woman? Hell, no. Why would anyone go and do a thing like that?
It was crazy how fast a man’s perspective could change.
Less than three weeks. That’s how long it had been since I’d opened my front door to find Callie Kendall standing there. Less than three weeks since she’d jumped into my arms and sent my entire world into a tailspin.
That wasn’t enough time to know anything, was it? Not enough time to fall in love, even if I had known her before. When I thought about it like that, it seemed crazy.
My problem was, I had no idea what love actually felt like. Maybe I was still riding the high of seeing her again. Of having her reappear when I’d thought she was gone forever.
But that kiss. I could still feel it. The way her lips had pressed against mine. Her arms draped around my neck. I’d kissed her plenty of times since then, but that was all we’d done. Like we were a new couple, getting to know each other. Not wanting to rush it.
Was that normal? I had no idea what I was doing.
“Gibs?” Bowie asked.
I startled, realizing I’d been staring at the wall with the roller in the paint tray. “Shit.”
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yeah, fine.” I rolled off the excess paint and got out of his way.
/>
“You sure?” he asked. “Everything okay with Maya?”
I rolled the paint on the wall, stalling for time. Damn it, I didn’t want to talk about this. But I also wanted to know. I was flying blind, and I hated that more than I hated talking about shit. Even feelings.
“She’s good.” I set the roller on the edge of the tray and cleared my throat. “Things are, you know… not as pretend anymore.”
Everyone stopped painting and looked at me.
“Shut your fucking faces,” I snapped. “It’s not a big deal.”
Bowie grinned. “Well, holy shit. The final Bodine bites the dust.”
“It ain’t all that,” I said. “She’s only been back a few weeks and I don’t know how long she’s staying.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t just any girl,” he said. “Y’all were friends before, and it doesn’t seem like thirteen years did much to change that.”
I grunted my agreement.
Jameson climbed down the ladder. “It’s pretty cool, Gibs.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, but I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Weren’t you the one giving George relationship advice when he got in a fight with June that one time?” Jonah asked.
“That’s different.”
“Why?” Jonah asked, sounding amused.
“Because it wasn’t me.”
Jameson handed me a bottle of water, then passed a beer to everyone else. Apparently it was break time. They got comfortable—sitting on stools or the floor—and cracked open their beers while I took a sip of water. Jameson ripped open a package of cookies.
“I like her, okay?” I said, finally. “I like her a lot. I might even… shit. But how the hell do you know?”
“How do you know?” Bowie asked, repeating my question. “You can’t stop thinking about her.”
“You want to be with her all the time,” Jameson added. “And you’d do just about anything to keep her.”
Devlin sat on a stool and rested his elbows on his knees. “She makes you feel alive.”
“Yep,” Jonah said. “And her being happy makes you happy.”
Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6 Page 17
