Crazy: Gibson Boys Book #4

by Locke, Adriana

  She unlatches her belt and spins to face me. “That was so much fun,” she says. “What is that called?”

  “Um, mudding,” I say. “That was mudding.”

  “Mudding. Right. Can we do it again?”

  “It’s not as fun going back from this side,” I tell her.

  “But wouldn’t it be the same thing?”

  I flash her a look. “No, you wannabe country girl. The ruts ride differently. Take it from this side and get stuck out there. Sound fun?”

  “Maybe?” She winces. “Yeah. Kind of.”

  I laugh. “Okay. How does calling Machlan and Walker to come get us out sound?”

  She makes a face like she sucked on a lemon.

  “Exactly,” I say. “So grab the paper towels under your seat and lets clean off the glass.”

  “Um, what?”

  “How else are we gonna see to get home?”

  She gives me a strangled laugh. “Um, I don’t know, but that’s a lot of mud.”

  “Yup.” I hold out my hand. “Towels, please.”

  She digs under her seat and finds a roll of paper towels. They land in my palm. I crack open my door to see her still sitting in her seat.

  “Hey. You gotta help,” I tease.

  “But …”

  I raise a brow.

  “Fine,” she huffs playfully.

  We climb out of the truck. Soft dirt that’s not quite mud squishes under my boots. On the other side, Dylan groans.

  I head to the front when a set of bright red and blue flashing lights ripple across the field. Kip, the county sheriff and a distant cousin, gets out of his car.

  Dylan races as fast as she can around the front of the truck. She grabs my hand and stands beside me.

  Her breath comes out in quick rushes as she watches Kip walk closer.

  “What are you two kids doing out here tonight?” he asks.

  He damn well knows the answer. Hell, he probably saw me pass by Goodman’s Gas Station on the way here and followed me. Fucker.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Officer,” I say. “Just looking for a picnic spot.”

  “Peck,” Dylan hisses. She takes a deep breath. “We’re sorry, Officer. We didn’t know we weren’t supposed to be out here.”

  Kip eyes me curiously. He’s amused, and that only means this is going to get interesting. Except for the fact that I know he won’t haul us in. Not for this. He would’ve over those gas cans from Tad—if he could catch me—but he won’t from hauling my truck through the mud. He’s been through that hole as many times as I have over the years.

  “I didn’t say you weren’t supposed to be out here,” he says.

  “Oh.” She looks at me. “Well, we didn’t do anything wrong. I swear.”

  Kip lowers his chin. “The first indication of someone doing something wrong is them telling you they aren’t. Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on out here, or do you want me to give you a ride to the pokey?”

  The pokey? I start to laugh, but a warning shot is sent my way from Kip, so I choke it back.

  “Sir, Officer, I can’t go to jail. Not over this.” Dylan looks up at me. “You said this was safe.”

  I shrug, still not one hundred percent sure what Kip is up to. But I’m willing to play along.

  “Damn it, Peck,” she says.

  “What? I didn’t do anything wrong,” I insist.

  “Clearly, something is wrong, or this nice officer wouldn’t be out here messing with us.” She bats her eyelashes at Kip. “Right?”

  “Is that true, you little nice officer?” I ask.

  She rams her elbow into my ribs, making me yelp. Kip tries to hold a steady face but loses control.

  “I had you going, didn’t I?” he says with a laugh.

  Dylan’s jaw drops.

  “I couldn’t figure out what the hell you were doing,” I say. “What’s up, Kip?”

  “Not much. I had a report of vandalism on the cabin on the East side. I saw the headlights back here, and thought I’d see what was happening.”

  “Wait?” Dylan says. “You two know each other?”

  “Cousins,” we say at the same time.

  “That figures.” She grits her teeth, but her eyes shine. “You both are assholes.”

  “Did ya think I was taking you in?” Kip asks.

  “To the pokey?” I tease.

  She turns away. I look back at Kip when a handful of mud slams into the side of my face.

  “You’re on your own now,” Kip says and runs back to his car.

  I head to the driver’s side of the truck and load my palm with mud.

  Blood soars past my ears as I anticipate Dylan’s next move. The mud squishes as she tries to sneak up on me from behind. I crouch next to the tire and wait for her pretty little head to pop around the tailgate.

  Splat!

  My handful of mud finds its target and sticks to the front of her chest. She screams, the sound embedded with a laugh, as she launches her own ball haphazardly. It misses.

  “Maybe I should give you a new nickname,” I say, scooping up another handful of gunk. “Something like—hey!”

  A glob of mud smashes me in the side of the face. Dylan cheers, jumping up and down. She’s filthy and downright, absolutely gorgeous.

  I lunge forward and am in front of her before she knows what’s happening.

  Pinning her to the filthy tailgate, I take in the wildness in her eyes. I haven’t seen them this lively before. It’s amazing to witness.

  Her breathing is ragged, matching mine, as I hover my lips over hers.

  “Kiss me,” she demands.

  “Eh, maybe.”

  She palms the back of my head and tries to lower my mouth to hers, but I resist. It takes everything I have, but I manage it.

  “Kiss me,” she says again. “Please?”

  “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  She has mud stuck to her hair, the side of her face, and the corner of her lip. Her clothes are filthy, and her shoes might be ruined. But, I don’t think she cares.

  “When we get home,” I say, letting my finger trace the side of her face. A dark brown streak is left in its wake. “You have to take a bath with me. Not a shower,” I say, thwarting her interjection, “but a bubble bath.”

  “Let’s think about that for a second. Do you want to sit in a mud bath?”

  “I’d sit anywhere with you.”

  She grins.

  “But,” I say, “fair point. Shower first to get the mud off. Then a bubble bath.”

  She acts as though she’s considering it.

  “Think fast,” I prod.

  “Fine,” she gushes. “I guess—”

  I stop her words with the kiss she wanted. I halt all the overthinking we’re both about to do with my tongue. I pause all thoughts of anything besides her and me right here, right now, with my body up against hers and kiss her until the sun sets behind the tree line.

  Then, and only then, do I take her home.

  Twenty-Six

  Peck

  “What are we going to snack on?” I ask.

  Dylan’s legs swing back and forth off the countertop as she watches me take inventory of the pantry.

  “What are my choices?” she asks.

  “It looks like you can have popcorn, raisins, or barbecue potato chips that might be stale.” I look at her. “Actually, they are stale. I bought them for New Year’s Eve like two years ago.”

  “Nice.”

  I shrug.

  She pretends to give this every ounce of consideration that choosing your last meal would require. Not so much just a snack for a movie night, but whatever.

  I watch her little nose scrunch up as she sorts through her choices. There’s still a piece of mud stuck in her hairline. I almost tell her but don’t. I like thinking of the fun we had tonight every time I see it.

  I’ve never seen Dylan this carefree. This happy. Granted, I haven’t really known her all that long,
but even in the moments we’ve shared, I haven’t seen her like this.

  It’s as if she’s at peace. Settled. Maybe even content. It’s my most favorite look on her—even better than the flush of an orgasm or the mischief of a smartass remark. Those are both memorable but not my favorite. This little grin plastered across her cheeks tonight is the best one.

  “I’m going to say popcorn since we’re watching a comedy,” she says.

  “A comedy? I thought we were watching that action flick.”

  “You thought wrong. Besides, action flicks require ice cream, and we don’t have any. And I can’t get ice cream delivered here in less than four days, which is stupid. The brambleberry one is my favorite, but it’ll take two weeks to get it or something.” She frowns. “That’s what happens when you live in the middle of nowhere, I guess.”

  “Breathe, Dylan,” I tease.

  She smiles, and I forget all about the popcorn.

  I mosey my way across the room. She’s wrapped up in a giant blue towel. Her hair hangs straight and is damp from our hour-long bath. My hands go on either side of her, locking her in place. She scoots to the end of the counter and presses her lips to my forehead before resting the top of her head against mine.

  My stomach pulls. It starts somewhere deep inside me, somewhere that’s never been accessed before. All I know is that I’m in serious fucking trouble with this girl.

  In a short time, she’s rearranged my entire life. And not just my kitchen cabinets, which she has plans to do tomorrow, apparently. The nights I’d spend alone at Crave, listening to Machlan or Navie jabber on about their lives, are now spent doing things like having a mud fight on Bluebird Hill or playing tic-tac-toe on the shower wall with bathroom chalk—something I’m not sure how or why I even own. But I do. Or she does. Either way, I love it.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks.

  “Just thinking that you’re a giant pain in my ass.”

  She laughs, pulling away. She brushes a stray lock of hair off my face. “I don’t believe that’s true.”

  “You don’t, huh?” I grin.

  “Nope. I think—Ah!”

  I grip her sides, right below the bend of her hip, and tickle her. She squirms in my hands, her hair flying everywhere as she bends and contorts in the sexiest of ways. I have to stop before I’m thinking with my cock and not my head. Again.

  Stepping away, I watch her straighten her towel.

  “I’ll get the popcorn,” I say. “You get the movie on. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  She hops off the counter and swipes a hand against my ass. I turn to grab her again when the doorbell rings.

  “Why don’t you get that?” I ask. “I’ll get the popcorn on.”

  “Um, I’m in a towel.”

  “My robe is on the chair. Slip that on,” I offer.

  She grins and drops the towel right where she stands. Her body is round and full, and seeing her breasts hang—full and vuluptous—makes me hard.

  “Dylan …”

  She laughs, pulling my robe around her and tying the belt. “I’ll be back. Stay focused, Wes.”

  I shake my head at the nickname as she disappears around the corner. Retrieving the box of popcorn, I take out a packet. The plastic is removed and in the trash when I hear her feet come pitter-pattering down the hallway.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I expect to see her prepping a story about the kids from the house down the road pranking us. Instead, her jaw is set.

  I stop in my tracks. “What’s going on?”

  “You have a visitor.”

  Her words are short. Crisp. Cold.

  “Who is it?” I open the microwave and shove the bag of popcorn inside.

  “Molly.”

  Oh, fuck.

  I hit two minutes on the microwave and then start. And then, with a lot of trepidation, I turn around to deal with the latest development in my life.

  “What does she want?” I ask.

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Okay.” I think as quickly as I can. “Do you want to go out there with me?”

  That might be the worst idea I’ve ever had—or close to it, anyway—but I don’t know how else to manage this. If Molly is here, maybe something is wrong. She never shows up here just for the fuck of it. But under these circumstances, with Dylan living here and … being with me, it feels wrong. To me. I can’t imagine what Dylan is thinking.

  I run a hand down my face because I haven’t thought this far ahead. I should’ve, though. I should’ve had a game plan.

  “I think I’m going to stay here,” she says.

  “Dylan, I … I didn’t invite her here.”

  “I know.” She forces a swallow. “I guess, really, there’s nothing wrong with it. I mean, she’s your friend. Right?”

  Her attempt at being reasonable knocks the wind out of me. I pull her into me and kiss the top of her head.

  Something washes over me. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before. It’s the best, warmest, quietest feeling that’s also the most powerful thing I’ve ever felt. I feel … calm. Which is completely at odds with this circumstance.

  The doorbell rings again, and Dylan sags into me.

  “I’ll go handle that, and then we’ll have a movie night, okay?” I look her in the eye. “I just …” I gulp. “I’ll be right back.”

  She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  My insides twist as the words I was about to say so nonchalantly are still sitting on my tongue. Are they true? Do I really feel that way?

  Before I can think about them too much, I have the door handle in my hand. When I swing it open, Molly is standing on the porch. I’d hoped she’d changed her mind and left.

  “Hey,” I say, shutting the door behind me. “What’s up?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Well, here I am. Shoot.”

  She looks over my shoulder, presumably to see if Dylan is anywhere in sight. “I, um, I just … I don’t want to talk about it here. It’s private.”

  Irritation claws at my brain as I try to stay calm. I just want to get back in there with Hawkeye and watch our stupid romantic comedy and eat popcorn that will make my stomach hurt all night.

  “Fine. What do you want to do?” I ask.

  She starts down the sidewalk. I follow. When she hits the gravel of the driveway, I start to wonder if something really is wrong.

  This is unlike Molly. She’s usually so self-centered that she plays a very forward card.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  The night is dark, but the sky is clear. The moon gives off plenty of light to see. Stars sparkle overhead. Molly sits on a wicker bench by a patch of sunflowers that have seen better days.

  I sit next to her. “Look, I’m happy to help you, Molly. But I have plans tonight, so if you could spit it out, that’d be great.”

  “Peck, I’m scared.”

  “What are you scared of?”

  She shrugs.

  “Like, is someone messing with you? Are you afraid of the dark? Did you sleep with someone’s boyfriend? Again?”

  She shoots a dirty look my way, but I’m not sorry. The question is reasonable, considering she’s come to me for advice about this very thing three times before.

  She sighs. “Do you remember when you, me, and Vincent camped out behind your house? And there was that serial killer on the loose in Iowa, and Vincent had us scared that he was going to find us?”

  “Yeah. I’d forgotten about that.”

  “Vin came to see me today.” She smiles sadly. “After he left, I just … Things were so much easier back then.”

  I nod. “They were in some ways. In others, they’re easier now.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well, we control our own destiny now. Back then, we were at the mercy of our parents. Now, we could be the parents.” I grin at the thought. “We decide who is in our life and who isn’t. Where we sleep. What cell phone company w
e want to pay the bulk of our paychecks to.”

  That gets a smile out of her.

  “I’m just figuring things out,” I say. “There’s a lot I don’t know yet. But one thing I’m realizing is that life is never easy, and when you do find something, or someone, who does seem effortless, you better lock that shit down.”

  My body pulls toward the house. The popcorn is probably done by now, and Dylan’s probably watching the previews.

  I glance over my shoulder.

  The lights are all on, and the girl I can’t get enough of is inside. She’s waiting on me, knowing I’m out here with another woman.

  But the longer I sit with Molly, the more definitively I know that I don’t have real feelings for her. I never did. In the twenty-five or so years that I’ve known her, I’ve never come close to feeling what I feel for Dylan.

  “You like her a lot, don’t you?” she asks.

  “I do. I like Dylan a lot.”

  “Do you love her?”

  I stretch my legs out in front of me. The question somehow tightens every muscle in my body. But, for whatever reason, it doesn’t get an automatic no from me. I almost lean toward yes.

  “You do, huh?” she asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say carefully.

  Her eyes fill with tears. “Do you love me, Peck?”

  It’s a loaded question, maybe the loaded-est question I’ve ever been asked. As I watch her struggle with reality and the tears fall down her cheeks, I know the answer.

  I don’t love her. Not like she’s asking me. The way I feel about Molly is similiar to the way I feel about Sienna or Hadley—a friend that I’d take a beating for, but not one that I’d go to war for. Not like I feel about Dylan.

  “That’s my answer,” she whispers.

  “I’ve always cared about you.”

  “But you’ve always said you love me too. Now you don’t.”

  I sigh. “I do … love you, just not like I …”

  I can’t bring myself to say the words to her—not before I find the courage to say them to Dylan first.

  “So what happens to me now?” she asks, wiping the tears with her hands. “You’re the only person in the world who likes me.”

  “Well, that’s not true. But you could attempt at being a little more likable. That wouldn’t hurt.”