Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

“Oh.”

  “I …”

  “She’s fucking some guy down there,” Machlan says.

  Blaire casts him a stern look.

  “Are you making love? I’m sorry,” Machlan teases.

  She sets her sights on her brother. “No. We are certainly fucking,” she says, enunciating the word.

  Machlan curls his nose. “Well, that wasn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be.”

  “You’ve said that many times over the years,” I joke.

  “Change the topic,” Blaire says sweetly. “Hi, Nana.”

  She walks up to our group. Grabbing Machlan’s arm, she grins so wide I think her face might split in two.

  “Can someone please go rescue Dave from Walker?” she asks.

  We all glance over at the couch. Walker and Dave sit on each end. Neither are talking. And when Dave starts to stand, Walker fires him a look, and he sits back down.

  “I think Walker has it under control,” I say.

  Nana sighs.

  “You know what? I don’t want to hear it,” Machlan says. “You always want to give us advice, which we take and that probably saves our lives. But this is Walker’s way of giving Old Man Dave some advice.”

  I snort. “His style is very …”

  “Formidable,” Blaire chimes in. “But honestly, Nana. He looks like a nice man. Just be sure that you’re—”

  “We’re using protection, thank you,” she says. “This isn’t our first rodeo.”

  Blaire’s face drops, and Machlan and I … die.

  “Nana. Nana. No,” I say, not sure whether to laugh or gag.

  “I’m out.” Machlan shakes his head and goes out the back door.

  I pat Nana on the arm as I walk away. “We’ll talk later, Blaire.”

  Dylan walks toward me. Her hair was down when we got here, but it’s on the top of her head now. I spread my arms, and she falls into my chest.

  I hold her, kissing the top of her head, and consider just standing like this through dinner. We don’t need to eat. Or talk to people. Or do anything but this.

  “I love you,” I tell her.

  “I love you.”

  Sawyer stops beside us. “Hey, Uncle P.”

  “Yeah?”

  “So Nana has a boyfriend.”

  “It looks like it.”

  “Does that mean …” He gives me a look like only a son of Vincent could. Raised brows. Shit-eating smile. Naughty look in his eyes.

  I laugh. “Ask your dad.”

  He pouts. “He won’t give me accurate information. He tells me we’ll talk later. When I have hair on my balls.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” I hear Dylan say against my chest.

  I try not to laugh and encourage his behavior, but I can’t help it. “Tell you what. We’ll go fishing next week, and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “Cool.” He bumps my knuckle with his. “Thanks.”

  He struts away like he’s the king of the world. I know the feeling. I used to think that too. But now I see the fallacy in it all.

  I don’t want to be king of the world. I don’t even care if I’m king of the county—a title I’m fairly certain I kept in some circles for a while. Now, I just want to be the king of Dylan’s heart.

  “Dinner is ready,” Mariah shouts.

  Everyone files into the dining room and takes their seat at the big, fold-out tables Nana gets out for these things when we are all here. Nana sits at the head, per usual. I sit to her left across from Old Dave. Dylan sits on the other side of me.

  I look around the table at my family. This wild, crazy bunch of characters who round out my life. I love them all. Even Walker.

  He sits at the foot, opposite Nana. He listens intently as Sienna tells Mariah about her trip to California. Lance and Machlan argue about something that shouldn’t be discussed at Nana’s table, even if they’re using substitute terms for the dirty ones.

  Hadley and Dylan chat about making homemade noodles and how to make them not stick to the bottom of Nana’s kettle. Apparently, there’s a mess in the kitchen to be cleaned up after dinner.

  Vincent and Sawyer whisper at the other end. I think it’s about me and my offer to go fishing because I get a glare shot my way from my brother.

  Blaire and Dave listen as Nana tells a story about their night in the bar, a night that Machlan has made her promise never to repeat. I think she told Machlan that every time he misses church, she’s coming in for a drink. His ass will be in a pew for the rest of his life.

  Dylan takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been thinking,” she says.

  “Me too.”

  She smiles. “How do you feel about starting a family?”

  I think my cock just got hard.

  “Are you serious?”

  She nods. “I mean, we are doing things in the wrong order—”

  “Attention, please,” I say, scooting my chair back.

  Everyone stops talking and looks at me. It’s only now that I realize I’ve done it again: talked without thinking it through. Only, this time, I don’t give one fuck.

  I look at Sienna. She grins. We discussed this loosely a couple of days ago, and she told me to follow my heart. Well, I’m following that or my cock. Not sure. Except I think they’re sort of one and the same at this point. They both belong to Dylan.

  “What are you doing?” Dylan mutters.

  I move my seat away from me. And, with a gulp, hope, and a prayer, I drop to one knee.

  There are gasps. Someone uses profanity to express their shock. Nana yelps.

  And Dylan? She covers her mouth with her hand.

  Tears fall down her face as her eyes go wide. “Peck …”

  “You make me so happy. And I know I want to marry you one day,” I tell her, taking her hands in mine.

  Her lips tremble as she watches me. In awe, I think.

  My heart overflows as she squeezes my hands in hers.

  “You were right about something,” I say. “You can’t compete with first love. And you are mine. The first woman I’ve ever loved, and you’ll be the last.”

  “You’re damn right I will be,” she says.

  “I don’t have a ring because I’m unprepared, which I know shocks you. But Sienna told me to follow my heart and that I’d know when the time is right. It’s right.” I clear my throat and ignore the way my heart feels like it’s going to explode. “Dylan Snow, will you marry me?”

  “Of course. Yes.”

  She launches herself at me, knocking me onto my back. She takes my face in her hands and kisses me.

  My cousins go crazy. The girls squeal. The guys chide me and some clap, and Lance yells something lewd that gets him reprimanded by Nana.

  It all dissipates into the background as I look in my fiancée’s eyes.

  “Wanna skip dinner?” I ask her.

  She grins. “That would be rude.”

  “It was rude of you to mention having my children when I couldn’t do anything about it.”

  She laughs, the sound making me smile.

  “I’m not kidding,” I say. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

  “Okay.”

  I kiss her again before we stand.

  “Nana, we’re gonna have to miss this dinner.”

  “But Blaire is here,” she says. “And Dave.”

  I give Dave a little salute. “Come by and see me at the shop tomorrow, Dave.”

  “Will do. Good luck to you, boy. And you,” he says, nodding at Dylan.

  I take my girl’s hand and walk around the table. Blaire stands and gives me a hug.

  “Be safe,” I tell her.

  “I will. It was nice to meet you, Dylan.” She pulls her into a hug too. “If Peck ever gets into trouble, call me. I don’t know if anyone has given you the Gibson Boy protocol yet.”

  We all laugh.

  With a wave over my shoulder, I head to the back door. Dylan is at my hee
ls when I step outside.

  The afternoon is warm, and a breeze ripples through the yard. I stop and stand at the rail.

  “I knew then,” I say.

  “What? You knew what when?”

  I turn and look at her. “The day we were at Nana’s. The day I brought you here for dinner. I knew that day that I loved you.”

  She grins.

  “Promise me something,” I say.

  “Okay.”

  “Promise me that you’ll always talk to me. If you feel any sort of way, like you’re overwhelmed or if you’re—”

  “Shh.” She touches my lips with her finger. “I’ll follow through right now. I’m feeling a certain way right now.” She taps my lips before pulling her finger back. She leans forward and hovers her lips over mine. “Like I’d really like you to put a baby—ah!”

  I pick her up and put her over my shoulder and head to my truck.

  “Peck! You’re crazy!”

  Damn right, I am. Crazy for you.

  The End

  Where to go next?

  Read on …

  More from Adriana Locke

  Remember Sienna Landry in Crank? You can meet her family, the Landry Family Series.

  Read on for Chapter One in SWAY, available now.

  Chapter One

  Allison

  “This is a single girl’s paradise.”

  “No,” I grimace, blotting the spilled cheese sauce from my shirt. “Paradise would be a tropical island with a hot cabana boy at my beck and call ... and an endless supply of mojitos.”

  Lola laughs, the sound barely heard over the chaos of the kitchen. Chefs shouting instructions, event planners panicking, plates being dropped—the world of catering is a noisy endeavor.

  I step to the side to allow Isaac, a fellow server and Lola’s gorgeous friend with benefits, to scamper to the ballroom a few feet away. He’s tall with a head full of dark curls and a laugh that makes you involuntarily smile. Lola is crazy for keeping him at arm’s length, but that’s how she operates. He has little money; she has limited interest.

  “Cabana boys may have hot bodies and virility, Alison, but they lack two very important qualities: fame and fortune.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that you’d take a limp dick over a hard one? Interesting,” I say, rolling my eyes and tossing the sauce-soaked rag into the linen bin.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying, smart ass. I’m saying I’d take a solid bank account over a solid cock. Think about it—with all that money, he could never fuck me at all and I wouldn’t care.”

  “If that’s the case,” I retort, grabbing another tray of drinks, “there are tons of opportunities out there to not get fucked.”

  I laugh at the dreamy look on her face, partly because it’s hilarious and partly because I know she’s not kidding.

  Lola and I are a lot alike. We both come from meager backgrounds and Luxor Foods is our second job. There’s no doubt we both would rather not be here because serving rich bitches can be a very humbling experience. But they are also the best parties to work because they tip. Very well. Of course it’s so they can feel above us most times, but we’ll take it. It’s money in our pockets, and if they get off on it in the process, good for them.

  That being said, Lo took this job to afford her manicures, pedicures, and eyelash extensions. I do it to take care of my son, Huxley. Lola’s first job is working at a salon and her career goals include marrying up in the world. I, on the other hand, work at Hillary’s House restaurant during the day and go to school for journalism in hopes to one day write pieces that might inspire someone.

  “Speaking of fucking,” she says, her eyes aglow, “did you see Mayor Landry?”

  “I love how you segued into that,” I laugh.

  “It’s a linear comparison. Tell me that fucking isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when you think of him, and I’ll call you a liar.”

  Of course it’s the truth. It’s the first thing that comes to mind … and maybe the second and third too.

  Thoughts of the recently crowned Most Eligible Bachelor make me a swoony mess. Barrett Landry’s thick, sandy brown hair that always looks perfectly coiffed, his broad, friendly smile that makes you feel like you could tell him your darkest secrets without judgment, his tanned skin, tight body, wide shoulders—the list goes on. But it all leads, as Lo so candidly pointed out, to thoughts of him stripped down and wearing only his charismatic grin.

  I shiver at the thought.

  “See?” she grins, waggling her finger in my face. “Linear comparison.”

  “I’ll give you that. He’s so seriously fine.”

  “Have you had a chance to get close to him? To breathe him in?”

  “Breathe him in?” My laughter catches the attention of our boss, Mr. Pickner. He twists his burly body our way, letting us know we’d better get to work.

  “I haven’t,” I say, turning back to Lola. “Even though I’ve been around men like Landry before—well, not quite like him, but as close as a mortal can be—I don’t think I could handle it, Lo. He scrambles my brain. I’d probably fall face first into him and dump the drinks in his lap. Then we’d both be wet.”

  She swipes a tray off the table and shoots a wink at Isaac as he walks back in. “It would so be worth it if you played your cards right. You could probably get away with running your hands through his hair and maybe even licking his stubbled jaw. A kiss would probably be over the top, but his Southern roots would keep him from causing a scene and asking for security.”

  “You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?” I ask in mock horror.

  “Of course I have and every other woman in here has too. Hell, half the men probably have,” she giggles. “In my fantasy, he gazes at me with those emerald green eyes and leans in and—”

  “Ladies! Back to work!”

  We sigh as Mr. Pickner barrels by. He’s an overweight, balding, temperamental asshole of a man, but he owns the premiere catering company in all of Georgia. So we deal. Barely.

  Lola bumps me with her hip. “Seriously. Stop being so goody-two-shoes and go out there and snag you a man and a retirement plan.”

  I bite my tongue. We’ve had this conversation a number of times before and she just doesn’t get it. I don’t fault her though. Most people don’t. They see the glitz and glamour, the designer labels and fine wine and get drawn in like a Siren’s call. That life looks too good to resist, too good to be true.

  The thing is—they’re exactly right. It is.

  She reads the look on my face and we start towards the door. “I know, I know. You lived like that once. It’s a fantasy, smoke and mirrors ...”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, I say I’ll play in the smoke as long as the mirrors make me pretty.”

  I snort, pushing open the door to the ballroom. “You go right ahead and dig that gold all the way down the aisle.”

  “I’ve got my shovel right here.” She shimmies her backside in my direction. “See that one over there?”

  Following her gaze across the room, I see a man I know is one of the Landry brothers. There are four of them and two sisters, twins, if I’m not mistaken. I don’t really follow that kind of thing much, but they’re basically Georgia royalty, and even avoiding current events as I do, you can’t help but pick up on some of their lives. Every newscast, it seems, has something Landry-related even when it’s not election season.

  “I’m going to check him out,” Lola says and takes off, leaving me standing with my tray of ridiculously overpriced champagne.

  I roam the outer edges of the elegant ballroom, giving a practiced smile to each person that plucks a drink off the tray. Some smile widely, some try to chit-chat, some completely ignore me like they probably do the paid staff at home. It’s fine by me.

  A few years ago, I attended events like this. Married to my college sweetheart, a newly minted judge in Albuquerque, we went to balls and galas and swearing-in ceremonies often. It was a mag
ical time in my life, before the magic wore off and everything exploded right in my face.

  “Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

  I spin to my right to see an older gentleman grinning at me like a snake ready to strike.

  “Would you like a drink?” I offer, knowing good and well by the color in his cheeks that he’s already had more than enough.

  “No, no, that’s fine. I was actually just admiring you.”

  Pasting on a smile and tossing my shoulders back, I try to keep my voice even. “Thank you, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  “I was thinking,” he says, cutting me off, “how about you and I take a little stroll? Do you get my drift?”

  “With all due respect,” I say through clenched teeth, glancing at the wedding ring sparkling on his finger, “how about you take a stroll with your wife?”

  I swivel on my heels and head off as calmly as possible, blood roaring in my ears. I can hear his cackle behind me and I really want to turn around and slam my fist into his beefy face. It’s behavior that’s typical of people like this, thinking they can get away with whatever they want with the bourgeoisie. I just so happen to have an overdeveloped sensitivity to it, being that my husband did the same thing to me as soon as he got a little power.

  Lola catches my attention as I pause to settle down. She points discreetly to the other end of the room and mouths, “Over there.” The gleam in her eye tells me she's spotted the mayor, but I can't see him.

  I shuffle through the crowd and finally spy the man of the hour walking out, his arm around the waist of a woman that's been acting crazy all night. Her head is leaned on his shoulder, her hand resting on his backside. Laughing, I catch Lola's eye and nod to the exit.

  "Bitch," she mouths as she approaches the same man that approached me earlier. I want to warn her, but don’t. For one, I know it won’t do any good, and for two, I can’t take my eyes off Landry.

  People literally part for him to walk through. It's like he's Moses. They're more than willing to be led through the Red Sea, divided by his power and influence, and into the Promised Land.

  I’m off in space about what precisely that land might entail, when my shoulder is bumped, rustling me out of my Landry-induced haze.