“Bullshit.”
“Bullshit what?” I say with a chuckle. “I was under a damn truck, and here you come roasting me for all this stuff, and I finally was like, ‘Okay. I’ll be the bad guy if it’ll make you stop talking.’”
She gasps.
“Only because you were confusing the hell outta me. I had work to do, and you were accusing me of being some asshole that ghosted my friend.” I blow out a breath. “So now that you know I’m not Logan—thank fuck—we can move on. Right? Are we friends here?”
No one answers. It’s like they’re stunned silent.
“Also,” I add since they’re being quiet. “I’m still the cute best friend here. I won’t relinquish that title.”
Still … nothing.
I slide my hat on backward again. “I’m going to figure out who is going to feed me tonight. Good night, ladies.”
“I heard Sienna made Walker chicken noodle soup today,” Machlan calls as he comes out of the storeroom again.
I jam my finger in the air as if to say, “Gotcha,” and head for the door.
Six
Peck
“If you’re such a crack mechanic, why haven’t you fixed this yet?” Walker walks across the parking lot of Crank and wipes his face with a purple bandana. There’s a smear of grease along his eyebrow that makes him look a little like a pirate. “How does it take this damn long to take an oil pan off a machine?”
“Simple. Some genius told me not to use penetrating oil because it’s for pussies. Could’ve had it fixed in ten minutes otherwise.”
“Ten minutes, my ass.”
“Okay, maybe twelve,” I joke. “But … watch and learn, Captain.”
I smack the final bolt with a hammer to loosen it the rest of the way—hopefully—and then grab the wrench. A few twists, and it’s off. The oil, thick and black, splashes into the tray underneath.
“Annnd done—the hard way, I’ll point out,” I say. “Which was stupid and a huge waste of time, but you’re paying me by the hour, so what do I really care?”
Walker’s arms are smeared with grease too as he crosses them over his burly chest. He’s as big as a damn house and strong as an ox too. Regardless of how menacing he looks or assholish he sounds, he’s one of the best people I know. And now that he has Sienna Landry living with him—and on the verge of marriage, if I’m guessing, and I’d have to be guessing because Walker doesn’t talk about those kinds of things—his edges are getting a little softer too.
I wouldn’t tell him that, though. Soft edges or not, he could still kill me.
“That’s a good point,” he says, jamming the bandana in his back pocket. “Maybe I oughta pay you a salary. Then I could just give you a list of things to do every day and not give a shit how long it takes you to do it.”
“Maybe I’d quit.”
He snorts. “I’ve tried to get rid of you for years. Ain’t got ya to leave yet.”
We exchange a smile because he’s right, and we both know it. I’d never leave him, and he’d never let me anyway. Somehow, our dynamic gets shit done. Four or five mechanic shops have tried to open in Linton in the past handful of years, but they close down fast every time. No one can compete with Crank because we don’t steal our customers’ money and actually give a damn about our work. It’s not exactly a cutting-edge business model, but it works. Well.
“I’m gonna grab some lunch,” he says. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Where ya going?”
“Home. Sienna made this beef thing her sister sent her the recipe for.”
My ears perk up. “Oooh. Tell her to save me some. I’ll be by for dinner.”
“Fucking hell, Peck. She’s my girlfriend. Not yours.”
“Clearly,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But she likes cooking for me too. As friends. As family.”
He heads to his truck. “If I didn’t need ya around here, I might strangle ya.”
I laugh as I get back to the tractor. Satisfied that the oil is doing its thing, I head underneath the back end to check on a bearing. The gravel bites in my back as I get situated under the machine.
No matter how many rocks I pick out of my hair or how scraped up my skin gets, I’d never trade this job for anything in the world. Every project is like a puzzle I can solve. I know I can. And when I do take something broken and repair it, it gives me a high. When a farmer calls and asks Walker to send me to a field to get his equipment back on track, it maybe even gives me a purpose.
There’s nothing like it.
There’s nothing like knowing you’re useful, that you’re good at something. That someone needs you around … even if it’s for something as ordinary as fixing equipment.
I check the bearings and make sure they’re good. Climbing out from under the tractor, I watch a car pull into the parking lot. It’s a blue compact car with a cute little brunette in the driver’s seat.
Leaning against the tractor, I grin as Dylan steps out of the car.
“I’m Peck,” I call out. “Just thought I’d start everything off right this time.”
She grins. “I got that. Thanks.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
I press off the tractor.
She’s so darn pretty.
I take her in as she approaches and realize I’m not even looking at her physical traits. I’m smiling at the possibility of what’s going to come from her mouth. Despite her jazzing me, bantering back and forth with her and having her give as good as she gets is entertaining.
I chuckle.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing. What’s up? Need to blame me for some other deviant’s mistakes?”
“Ha-ha. No.”
I rub a hand down the side of my face. “Then are you coming to blindside guilt me into making a purchase for some random housewares that really have nothing to do with me?”
She drops her chin and looks at me through her lashes. “Really, Peck?”
“Ah, that’s a good sign! You’re using my real name.”
She tries not to laugh but fails. Finally, she gives in, and the sweet sound billows across the parking lot.
A truck honks as it passes, and I wave without looking at who it is.
“Your real name can’t be Peck,” she says.
“And why can’t it?”
The idea that maybe she’s just offended me flitters across her face. “Well, I guess it can. It just doesn’t seem like a proper first name. That’s all.”
“Is there such a thing as a proper first name these days? You’ve got kids named after space dust and fruit and cartoon characters. I don’t think Peck is that crazy, to be honest.”
She grins. “I dated a guy once—well, I don’t know if you could say I dated him, if you know what I mean. But anyway, his name was Prince. His actual God-given name was Prince. Who does that?”
I mumble something. What? I’m not sure. I’m too busy trying to shove off this idea of her going at it with some dude named Prince.
“Your name is Dylan,” I tease, rerouting my brain away from the guy I’ve decided I dislike. “What kind of name is that for a girl?”
“Hey, now. That was my grandma’s name.”
I jab at her with my elbow as I start to walk away from her. “I’m just kidding.”
She follows me across the parking lot, sidestepping the mud puddles. Her nose crinkles as she touches the water with the side of her foot.
I get to the door of Crank before her and pull it open. Watching her try to get by the last two holes—the deepest ones in the lot—will be the highlight of my day. She bites her lip as if calculating quantum physics as she studies the possibility of hopping between them.
“Um, you could go around them,” I suggest. “Or walk through them like I did.”
“Ew. No.”
“It’s water. It’s not gonna kill you.”
“It’s mud and oil and … stuff.” She sighs. “And I’m not goin
g around them. This is my path, and I’m bending it to suit me.”
“Well, if you could bend it a little faster, that’d be great. All the air conditioning is going outside.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “You could shut the door.”
“And you could just walk through the damn puddle.”
Firing me a last playful glare, she tries to hop over the last two holes. Her shirt glues to her body as she bounces, her hair shifting around her shoulders. It’s playful and fun and fucking sexy, and I’m not prepared when she loses her balance. Her flip-flop must get wet because she slides to the side, her legs splitting apart into a wide stance, and she grabs my arm to steady herself.
Her hands wrap around my bicep. They’re small and dainty, but her grip is strong. I flex without thinking, and her eyes light up.
She looks up at me, her lips parted. My throat goes dry as I try to keep myself unaffected—or at least something other than grabbing her and kissing that look off her face.
“Should’ve walked around it,” she says softly. She releases my arm and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay. Let’s go in before the electric bill is outrageous.”
“After you.”
She darts in around me, taking a wide berth so we don’t touch. The door closes behind me.
“It’s so quiet in here,” she comments. “I expected it to be loud.”
“Walker is on lunch, or it would be. The tools are pretty noisy.”
She forces a swallow. “So I hate doing this. It pains me, really. But … I wanted to say I’m sorry for … kind of … screwing up everything with Logan and you and all that mess. And I wanted to thank you for buying Navie those pans. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I did. You would’ve come looking for me if I hadn’t.”
“So you bought them so you wouldn’t have to see me again?”
There’s a twinge of a challenge in her voice. It sends me into overdrive.
“No,” I say. “Not at all. I mean, yes. I did buy them so I wouldn’t have to see you like that again. Damn, girl. You can be scary. But I don’t mind seeing you like this.”
The corner of her lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t come.
I lean against the window that overlooks the shop bay. “Fine. I kind of like seeing you when you’re not pissed, okay? Does that make you happy?”
She grins. “Yup. Thanks.”
She walks around the lobby and takes in the magazines, sample tires in the corner, and candy machines. She wants to say something, but I don’t know what it is.
Guilt. It could be guilt. Maybe she’s feeling bad about me buying stuff out of pocket for the stuff for Navie.
It has to be.
I consider letting her feel bad but can’t. There’s no way in the world I wouldn’t help Navie out after that asshole took her stuff.
“Just so you know,” I say, “I would’ve bought all that for Navie without your guilt trip had I known.”
She looks at me over her shoulder.
“I would’ve. Really,” I insist. “Navie’s my buddy. I had no clue she was dating Logan at all, or I would’ve convinced her not to—which is why I didn’t know. She didn’t tell any of us.” I suck in a breath. “Probably a good thing because Machlan would’ve killed him.”
Dylan turns to face me. “He’s your cousin, right?”
“Yup. Him and his brothers, Lance—a teacher—and Walker. He owns this place. And they have a sister, Blaire, who’s an attorney in Chicago.”
“Machlan seemed really nice last night.”
It’s a statement. Not a question. An observation that lingers in the air for me to pick up and take off with.
“He is,” I say.
“You guys take care of Navie, huh?”
I shrug. “Yeah. I mean, that’s what you do, isn’t it? Take care of your friends?”
She twists her lips before looking at the floor. “That’s what’s supposed to happen. I’m glad she found you guys.”
My chest starts to ache, and the discomfort propels me to move. I press off the window and busy myself with repositioning my hat on my head.
Her tone bothers me, but I don’t know her well enough to ask her about it. I don’t want to pry. I hate when people try to pry things out of me.
“Well,” I tell her. “Now you’ve found us too, and if you can manage not to be mean, maybe we can—”
“Mean? I wasn’t mean,” she says, cutting me off. The spark is back in her eyes. Funny that it makes the pain in my chest evaporate too. “I was being … defensive of my friend. Our friend.”
“Fine. But you owe me for your defensiveness.”
She pulls her hair on top of her hand. An elastic comes from her wrist, and in two seconds flat, she’s piled her hair into some messy looking bundle. I wonder vaguely if that’s what it looks like when she gets out of bed.
“How about this?” she says. “You come to Navie’s tonight, and I’ll cook the two of you dinner in your cookware.”
Even if I wanted to say no, which I don’t, I couldn’t. There’s no way to say no to a woman who looks like that when she’s inviting you to dinner. Plus, I kind of like bantering with her. Plus plus, I love not having to find food on my own.
“I really can’t turn down dinner,” I say. “Especially when I’m already so invested in it.”
“Great. See you tonight. At … six?”
“I don’t get out of here until about five thirty, so how about seven? That way, I can shower first.”
She starts to crack some comment. I can see it on the tip of her tongue. But she laughs instead, nods, and head for the door. “See ya at seven.”
She leaves a trail of orange-scented air behind her.
Seven
Dylan
“That’s really good, Dylan.” Navie gives her finger a final lick. “Like, really good.”
“Why, thank you.”
I give the spaghetti sauce a final stir and then switch off the heat.
My grandma’s recipe called for homemade red sauce, but I used jarred. She’s probably rolling over in her grave right about now, but there’s not a lot I can do about it. Inviting Peck over for dinner just shot out of my mouth without any forward thought, and I wasn’t prepared to spend six hours watching a pot simmer.
That’s insane. But it makes the best sauce for people who care about those things. People like my nonna. Not people like me.
“It was really nice of you to offer to cook dinner for Peck,” Navie says.
I’ve been her friend too long to miss the hint of humor in her voice. It’s not just humor. That would be one thing. It’s a tease, a prod of some sort that has me rolling my eyes.
“Well, I felt like a dick.” I pick up the spoon I used to stir the sauce and give it a good lick. “Besides, he’s your friend. Since I’m going to be living here too, it makes sense for me to make friends.”
“Uh-huh.”
I turn away and lick the spoon again.
She’s crazy. The invitation I extended to Peck was merely to make up for my miscalculations about his identity. And I do need friends here. It can’t hurt to be acquaintances with a guy who can change tires, anyway, can it? Seems super logical to me.
“I’d go with friends with benefits, if I were you,” she says.
The spoon hits the spoon rest with a thud. “Navie.”
“What?” she asks, pressing a hand to her chest like she’s taken aback by my rather forceful use of her name. “What are you Navie-ing me for?”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop insinuating I’m trying to get laid or something.” My cheeks turn the same shade as the sauce. I pop open the oven and bend to retrieve the meatballs. If she comments on my red face, I’ll claim it was from the heat. “I’m righting wrongs over here, not … lining up dongs.”
Navie snorts so loud I look to make sure she’s not choking.
“Besides,” I continue, “dealing with some guy, n
o matter how hot he is, is the absolute last thing I need to be doing right now.”
Thoughts of Charlie threaten to blitzkrieg their way into my brain. I jumped into that too fast. There were probably signs he wasn’t ready for a relationship, and I ignored them. I wanted his attention. I craved his love. The problem was that he wasn’t in a space to give me either because he was still in love with Vanessa.
I force those thoughts out of my mind with every bit of mental energy I can gather.
I sit the meatballs on the counter before flipping the sauce back on. One by one, I lay them into the pool of tomato-y deliciousness.
Navie takes a slice of mozzarella off the plate beside me and nibbles on the end. “Can I give you one tip?”
“No.”
“Wrong answer.” She bites off the end of the cheese. “There’s this girl named Molly McCarter. Peck says he’s in love with her, but he’s not,” she says. “He just thinks he is. He couldn’t possibly be in love with that rat, and she’s definitely not in love with him—or so says the chain of men who have escorted her out of Crave every night last week.”
I cover the meatballs with a lid and try to reason a woman would blow a guy like Peck off if she knew he was into her. I’d bet double or nothing on my HAS budget that his body is rock hard under all those car company T-shirts. And he’s so damn funny and sweet and kind—so far, anyway. I suppose he could, theoretically, not be her type, but I don’t know a woman who wouldn’t die over him.
Except me. Because I’m not into the idea of competing for another man’s affection.
Nope.
“I don’t care who he loves,” I say. “Or who loves him. I’m just your cutest best friend making dinner for you and your ex-cutest best friend.”
Navie laughs, plucking another chunk of mozzarella off the plate. “I’m going to go change my shirt before dinner. This one smells like fingernail polish remover.”
She traipses across the room, mouth full of cheese, her head bobbing side to side. As soon as she’s gone, I slink against the cabinets.
I hope this was a good idea. It felt like it at the time, and it’s not like it feels like it’s a bad idea now, exactly. Navie’s leap to Peck’s love life is just a little jarring.
Crazy: Gibson Boys Book #4 Page 5
