Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

  She was also too sweet, too forgiving. I took that for granted like a young, dumb motherfucker.

  “What?” she asks, catching me staring.

  “I was just thinking about you.”

  She stabs a chunk of avocado and pops it in her mouth. “What about me?”

  “Wondering why you really came home.”

  She chews slowly, as if biding her time. The lines around her eyes crease as she considers her response. “I told you,” she says, pausing to take a drink of water. “My job got a little crazy and Sky moved. It was the right time.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “How do you know?”

  Setting my fork down on the side of my plate, I rest my elbows on the table. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I don’t care, as long as you’re safe and you’re here. That’s all that really matters.”

  “I’m fine, Cross. Safe and here,” she says, extending her arms to the side as if to say, Look! Here we are! “Maybe I just…” Her arms fall to her sides and she takes a gulp of air. “Maybe I got tired.”

  My heart twists in my chest and I reach for her hand. She allows me to take it. I turn it over, palm up, and press my thumb in the middle.

  “I’m not complaining,” she says quietly. “I don’t want it to come across as a pity party, but I’m just tired. I’ve worked my ass off since I was fifteen years old.”

  “I know. No one can ever say you’re a slacker.”

  “Not with a straight face.” She sighs. “I loved my job in Indy. It was exciting and challenging and something different every day. When my boss was indicted, it shook me to the core. I had no idea he was doing anything wrong,” she insists. “All of a sudden, what little time I did have was spent with investigators, telling them everything I knew so I didn’t get in trouble too.” She takes a napkin off the table and dots the corner of her eye. “I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. My stomach was in knots. I remember sitting on my bed one night at three AM and just thinking, ‘Why am I doing this?’”

  Squeezing her hand, it takes everything I have in me not to bolt around the table and sweep her up in my arms.

  Her chin dips down as she removes her hand from beneath mine. I want to snatch it back up, pull her over the table and onto my lap, and kiss the hell out of her.

  As I watch her mind go elsewhere, mine goes back to the original question. “That all makes total sense,” I say carefully. “But it’s not enough to make you uproot your life.”

  She lifts a brow.

  “It’s not,” I insist. “I know you. Something else happened. What was it?”

  Leaning back in her seat, she shakes her head. “Everyone else just took the story and ran with it. Why can’t you?”

  “Because I know you?” I offer, suppressing a chuckle. “Because that look in your eyes wasn’t put there by some boss who did something stupid and caused all these problems.”

  She watches me for a long moment, the internal war she fighting plain as day on her face. Finally, she rushes out a breath and leans forward. “My boyfriend cheated on me, okay?”

  “Boyfriend?” I ask, lifting a brow.

  “Ex-boyfriend,” she corrects. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Yeah, it bruised my ego a little but—”

  “I’d love to see the girl he cheated on you with.” I laugh, not even trying to hide my amusement. “Or maybe it was a guy—that would make more sense.”

  “Cross!”

  “I mean it. There’s not a woman better than you in the entire world. Maybe there’s a guy.” I shrug. “I wouldn’t know because I’m not looking over there.”

  “But you’re looking at women?”

  “Don’t distract me,” I admonish, wagging a finger in the air. “That’s not what we’re discussing.”

  “Maybe it’s what I want to discuss.”

  “Too fucking bad.” I grin. “So, some asshole broke your heart?”

  A shadow drifts across her face as her features soften. “That was a few years ago,” she almost whispers. “This guy just hurt my feelings.”

  I shouldn’t want to smile at that, but I do anyway. It should incense me that I broke her heart, but I’ve had a few years to deal with that guilt. All I can process from that sentence is what I can read between the lines, and that shit makes me happy.

  She wasn’t in love with him.

  “Yeah, well, you know what they say.” I shrug.

  “What’s that?”

  “If you break something, it’s your responsibility to fix it.”

  “If you break something, you’re generally not trusted with it again,” she tosses back.

  “Oh, come on,” I scoff. “That’s like telling a man he’s not allowed to eat off the good china because he broke a plate when he was a baby.”

  She makes a face. “That’s a terrible analogy.”

  “Whatever. You know what I mean, and I know just what you need tonight.”

  “I bet you do,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “One track mind, Cross?”

  Grinning, I lean forward. “I think we have two different things we’re thinking of, but by the look in your eye, I’m more than happy to go with yours.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Picking up my sandwich, I take a bite. “Eat up. Then I’ll show you.”

  Nine

  Kallie

  “Oh my God,” I squeal, bouncing in the seat of Cross’s truck. “Storybook Village! I thought they shut this place down!”

  The truck slides into a spot in front of a cutout of a giant shoe. I take in the ducks waddling around and the smell of manure as the engine stops.

  “They did,” Cross says. “I think it was down when you left.”

  “It was. It hadn’t been open for a few years.”

  “Well, this guy named Charlie bought it and opened it back up, last summer, I think. I thought maybe we could play a round of putt-putt.”

  Like a kid on Christmas morning, I clap my hands. “You’re going down, Cross.”

  “We’ll see, Kallie girl.”

  We get out of the truck and enter through the little doorway where the frame around it is painted like a pirate ship. This was where our class had our senior pictures taken because we’d all spent so much time here in the summers growing up.

  Storybook Village was a small-town version of an amusement park. The only ride was a little train Paul would start up when enough people were visiting, and it took you on a tour of the entire setup.

  Growing up, this was as good as going to a far-off country. There were peacocks and giraffes, a bear and a tiger. I could spend all day milling around, feeding the ducks handfuls of corn, then ending the day with a round of mini golf.

  “Nice to see you, Cross,” an older lady says as we enter the little check-in area.

  “How are you, Maggie?”

  “Good, honey. I’m good. What can I do for you?”

  “Two for a round of putt-putt,” he says, placing a twenty on the desk. “I’m gonna show this girl how it’s done, Mags.”

  “Whatever,” I scoff, picking out a pink ball. “He doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.”

  Maggie laughs candidly as she sorts through a bag of change. Handing Cross the difference, she tells us to grab our equipment and start through the door on the left.

  The afternoon sun is warm as we step into the golfing area, and a giant plastic giraffe greets us.

  “Do you remember when Peck tried to climb up the legs and get a picture taken on its back?” I laugh. “I thought old man Paul was going to have a heart attack.”

  “I forgot about that. Do you remember when Machlan tried to capture a peacock? And it trashed the hell out of his arm?” Cross laughs. “Apparently it was mating season and the male thought he was competition for his woman.”

  We exchange smiles as I set my ball on the little circle to start. One crack of the club and it misses the blade of a giant pinwheel, making it to the other side through a little tunnel. With o
ne more putt, I’m in the cup.

  “Beat that,” I say, marking me down for two strokes.

  He takes his green ball and sets it on the tee. The club looks so tiny in his hands, and he almost bends in half to take a swing. Once he does, the ball rips through the tunnel, runs a circle around the rim of the cup, and sinks in.

  “Dammit.” Narrowing my eyes, I head to the second hole. “You got lucky.”

  Lining up my ball, I get into position to hit it. Before I do, I feel him behind me. My heart flutters in my chest like it has the wings of a butterfly. Holding my breath, I wait as I feel his proximity grow near, my body pulled to his like there’s an invisible wire connecting us, reeling me in.

  “You’re right,” he whispers, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. “I did get lucky.”

  Instinctively, I sag backward, my back resting against his chest. It takes about half a second for his arms to wrap around my waist, pulling me into him. His face finds the crook of my neck and he breathes in, the air trickling over my sensitive skin and making me shiver.

  The air is saturated with the scent of his cologne, infiltrating my senses and making me lightheaded. I grab his arms where they’re locked at my belly to steady myself. His forearms are roped, thick with muscle, his skin coarse against my fingers.

  A flood of emotions comes raring back. Suddenly, I’m reminded of the uncertainty of him staying out all night with Machlan, of being rumored to be with another girl every other Friday night, of him showing up late for everything and his failure to get a job.

  Cross sweeps the hair off the back of my neck and presses a soft kiss just above my shoulder.

  “Cross?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I trust you?”

  He presses another kiss to the same spot before raising his face and resting his chin on the top of my head. “You can never go by what someone says to that question, Kal. You have to go with your gut.”

  It’s the right answer, but it’s no help. I don’t know what in the world my gut is saying. I can hear my brain, feel my heart, experience the throb between my legs, but my gut? No clue.

  He moves slightly behind me, just enough so his hardness presses into my back. I gulp, the length rock solid as he stills.

  Everything picks up pace, my sensations overloading as I run my hands up his forearms and close my eyes. There’s not a thing about this moment that feels wrong or out of place, not one single thing that screams at me to stop or reconsider.

  “How dedicated are you to finishing this game of golf?” I ask, subtly pressing my ass against him.

  “All I want is a hole in one.”

  Spinning around, I catch the grin on his lips. “That’s a terrible line.”

  “Can’t win ’em all.” He laughs. “Ready to get out of here?”

  “Depends on where we’re going.”

  His gaze drags down my body, blazing a trail as he works his way back up to my eyes. Licking his lips, he takes the club out of my hands. “My house is closer.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  * * *

  Kallie

  The door creaks as Cross twists the knob and presses it open. We enter, stepping into a little foyer that has dark hardwood floors and beige walls. He’s decorated the place sparsely, with few pictures and little else.

  “Live here long?” I ask, looking at the three little images framed near the doorway to the living room. There’s one of him and Machlan on their high school graduation day, another of him and the Gibson boys at Bluebird Hill in the middle of winter. The last one is of himself, one hand raised in the air at a boxing match. “I remember that,” I tell him, pointing to the last one. “You won by knockout.”

  “I did,” he says, placing a hand on my hip. “You were there, two rows up.”

  “You were so good. I’d never seen anything like that before. So controlled, so careful.”

  “So not like me every other minute of my life, huh?”

  Turning to see him, I cup his cheek in my hand. “That’s what confused me so much. You were so talented, so cautious. Then outside the ring, you were the opposite.”

  “In the ring,” he says, pulling his brows together, “someone cared. My trainer wouldn’t let me get by with crap or acting like an idiot, but outside of the ring, no one cared.”

  “I cared.”

  “Maybe a part of me thought you shouldn’t.”

  “Maybe…maybe I should’ve cared more.”

  “Oh, no,” he says, sweeping an arm under my legs and picking me up in a bridal carry. “We’re not going down that road.”

  He carries me with ease, a teasing grin on his face as we walk down a blank hallway and into a room at the end. There’s a huge bed with silver-grey blankets and more pillows than any one person should ever need. Instead of laying me down easily, he tosses me into the center. I bounce as I hit, sending a few pillows toppling to the floor.

  Everything smells like a mixture of his cologne and soap, a scent I could fall asleep and wake up to with no problem, a scent that reminds me of Cross. It’s a scent that warms my heart.

  His phone begins to ring and he pulls it from his pocket. After a quick glance, he holds the side until it stops and then tosses it on a dresser. A few seconds later, he’s stretched out his long frame beside me.

  “Was that important?” I ask as he rolls over on his side to look at me.

  “Nope. Nothing is more important than you in my bed right now.” One hand rests against my stomach, just below my breasts. He tenses his fingers and they press lightly into my skin. “I’m going to kiss you.”

  “It’s about time,” I tease, my breath coming out in ragged heaps.

  “I’m warning you, because once I start, I won’t be able or willing to stop. It’s a very slippery slope.”

  He’s giving me an out. I do a quick internal inventory, looking for a reason to get up and walk out. There’s nothing to warrant that, but there are a hundred reasons to reach over and wrap my hand along the back of his neck. I guide his head toward mine, and our lips touch.

  Immediately, every muscle in my body relaxes, every care in the world dissolving under his touch. His lips move tenderly, but there’s an undercurrent of possession that is undeniable. It’s freeing to be in his hold, to know that it’s him guiding me, protecting me, because if there’s one thing about Cross I’ve never once felt unsure about, it’s that he’d never let anything happen to me.

  Being with other men was never like this. It was a mess of awkward touches, weird hang-ups, and a strange dance between the two of us that demonstrated how unsure, how wrong we were with one another.

  I lie on his bed, his body hovering over me, his lips kissing every thought and feeling into mine. Our mouths move together, mine opening, his tongue slipping right past my lips, as if this is the way things are supposed to be.

  Lifting the hem of his shirt, I drag it up and over his head. He breaks the kiss just long enough to let the fabric rush by then crashes his mouth to mine again. The silky strands of his hair glide through my fingers, the stubble on his cheeks roughing up my palms as I find every way possible to make contact with his body.

  The muscles of his back flex as he moves off me, the lines in his sides stretching as he climbs off the bed and to his feet. He grins salaciously, panting as hard as I am.

  “Why do you still have clothes on?” I ask, running my eyes down his tanned, taut skin.

  “Why do you?”

  I flinch for one brief moment, waiting for the fear I have of getting naked in front of another person to kick in. At that exact second, when I feel the niggle of embarrassment start to work its way in, Cross decides to smile—not the sexy one, the one that makes me want to take off my clothes because my libido is running wild, the other one…the shy one, the one that builds me up in a way that makes me want to be with him. They are two very different things.

  Lifting my hips, I skim my shorts down my legs and kick them off. They sail through the air
then he catches them with one hand.

  “Best answer ever,” he says, tossing them to the floor.

  “I didn’t think you’d mind, but you still have your pants on, and that’s a problem.”

  His chest rumbles with a chuckle as he works his pants and boxers down his body one glorious inch at a time. “It’s gonna be a big problem.”

  I see what he means.

  He palms his cock in his hand, the tip of it almost reaching his belly button. It’s swollen, ready for me, a bead of pre-cum sitting at the top as he squeezes the shaft.

  “It’s a good thing,” I begin, twisting around on the bed so my feet aren’t dangling off the end, “I’m a good problem solver.”

  The mattress dips with his weight, my skin burning as his swipes against it. He sits back on his knees at my feet and looks down at me. “Promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest. The way he looks at me steals my breath, knots my stomach into a bundle of emotions I can’t begin to unravel right now. It’s as if he’s not just seeing my body, or my anticipation of his next move. He’s seeing me in a way that’s bare and has nothing to do with a lack of fabric on my body.

  “You’ll stay with me for a while tonight.”

  “Why?”

  He plants his hands on either side of me, leaning down just enough so his chest touches the peaks of my nipples. “Because holding you in my arms is my favorite part.”

  “Oh, Cross,” I whisper, my heart melting on the spot.

  Wrapping my legs around his waist, I press my lips to his. He nips at my bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth. I can’t stop the moan that escapes my throat as I tilt my hips up to his.

  His cock is at my opening, teasing me. It dips in, parting me with its girth before slipping back out again. He does this over and over, swiping at my swollen clit with each pass. His hands cup my breasts, kneading them in his coarse palms.

  “I want to touch every inch of you,” he whispers, sliding his hands up my chest and across my collarbone. “I need every piece of you to remember it belongs to me.”

  I whimper, trying to move as he slides into me.