Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

  Why can’t he love me as much as he loved her?

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Now you see why I didn’t tell you.”

  “Well, I’ll hate her for the rest of my life.” I dab my eyes with the neck line of my shirt. “She gets to walk away with your heart and—”

  “Woah,” he says, shifting in his seat. “Hold up.”

  “No. It doesn’t seem fair.”

  He presses his lips together. “What doesn’t seem fair, Mariah?”

  “That you still love her.” My words are woven in the emotion pouring from my heart, the tears flooding my lips as I try to speak. “That she gets to break your heart and …”

  I stop talking when he starts laughing. It’s not one of his belly laughs like I’m ridiculous. It’s more like he’s in disbelief.

  “What?” I ask, sniffling.

  “Mariah, this isn’t about her.”

  “No, it’s about you,” I acknowledge.

  “No. This is about you.” He looks at me, puzzled. “You are the blessing in all of this, even if I didn’t see it like that before.” He shakes his head, like his thoughts aren’t coming together right. “I didn’t tell you this before because, for one, it’s kind of humiliating in a way.”

  I watch him bite his lip, flex his fingers and wonder what it felt like to tell me that. If the roles were reversed, I think I’d be terrified. I’d feel … like something was wrong with me, even though logically that’s just ridiculous.

  “Why?” I ask, dumbfounded. “It’s like me being embarrassed because I have small boobs. I can’t help it.”

  He shakes his head, almost laughing. “It’s not the same, crazy lady, but okay. We’ll go with that for now.”

  I shrug.

  “I …” He looks down. “I love you. And I thought if you loved me too, you’d have to pick between me and having a baby someday.”

  I don’t move. I don’t even blink. I’m not sure I even breathe.

  He loves me?

  He loves me.

  It’s a few seconds before I realize he’s still talking and I’ve heard none of it.

  “Hey, Lance,” I interrupt, waving my hand in the air. “I’m still back there on the you love me part.”

  “Yeah? What about it?” He stares at me. “You didn’t hear anything I said after that, did you?”

  “Nope.” I crawl across the console, wedging myself between him and the steering wheel.

  He laughs, moving the seat backwards so I’m not hitting the horn with my butt. I get settled, his hands locked at my waist. We’re eye-to-eye with no place to go.

  “There,” I say. “Now let’s go back to that part.”

  “I love you.”

  I must beam or do something similar because he laughs.

  “This conversation was me explaining to you how I can’t ask you to choose between me and your conditions.”

  I brush his hair back with my palm, searching his eyes for something to make me resist. Or hesitate. Or not trust him. All I see is a man who’s asking to be loved despite his imperfections.

  It seems silly that he’d think I’d hold his imperfections against him. Lord knows I have my own. I have terrible bedhead in the morning, I fall in love too fast, and I need to hold his hand whenever he’s remotely close.

  It all makes sense why he didn’t tell me and although it frustrates me and we’ll definitely have a conversation about it later, it’s not what I want to focus on now. Right now? He needs me. And I need him.

  “Good. Don’t ask. I’ll choose on my own.” I kiss the top of his nose. “I pick you. We’ll craft our life together.”

  “You need to think about this, Mariah.”

  “Are you telling me that if I were to develop ovarian cancer and couldn’t have babies, you’d leave me?”

  “No.” His answer is quick. Sharp. Decided.

  “Then why would you think I’m so shallow that I would basically do the same to you. That hurts.”

  He pulls me to him, closing the half an inch that separates us, until there’s no air left between our bodies.

  “This hurts a little too,” I grumble.

  He pops open the door with one hand. I climb off him and into the afternoon breeze. He never lets go of my hand.

  The air smells of water and dirt and my hair is going haywire in the wind. He takes both of my hands in his and pulls me close.

  “I love you,” I tell him. “In case I haven’t said that.”

  “I’ve known that for a long time. I mean, how could you not?”

  Snorting, I let him bend me backwards in a long, leisurely kiss. Once I’m upright again, I take a deep breath.

  “If Britt comes back, you’re done with her, right?” I tease.

  “Who is she?”

  Laughing, I snuggle against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, predictable, as we sway back and forth in the middle of the road.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks.

  “I’m sure if you ask me that again, I’m going to throat punch you.” His chest shakes under my cheek. “If this works out between us, think of all the kids we could adopt. Kids like Ollie. We could have a house full of them.”

  He kisses the top of my head.

  “I do have one condition though,” I say, looking up at him.

  “Good. Me too.”

  “You first.”

  “The lock on your door has got to go,” he growls. “I’ve never been so pissed off in my life.”

  Laughing, I watch as our fingers lace together. “Fine. Joe won’t be happy he has to take it right back off, but I’ll make it happen.”

  “I’ll take it off. It’ll make my day.”

  “Fine. Done. Now my turn.” A nervous wiggle spirals through me. “I don’t want to be the kind of woman who tells you what to do. And I’m not sneaky and snoopy because if I have to do that, I don’t want to be with you anyway.”

  “Just tell me what it is,” he chuckles.

  My cheeks heat. “I want you to delete the app.”

  “I already did.”

  “Really?” I ask, not sure I believe him. “I didn’t mean to see it on your phone when we were baking with Ollie, but it was sitting there and an update came on and …”

  “And that’s when I deleted it. I hadn’t used it since you messaged me there last and the update notification reminded me I still had it.”

  Swinging our hands back and forth, I breathe in the clean, country air. I’m not sure if it’s that, or Lance’s cologne, or the way he presses a kiss up the side of my neck, but I tug him back toward the car.

  “What are you doing?” he laughs, following me.

  “You need to take me home. Your ten minutes are up.”

  He spins me around and pins me against the side of his car. “If I wasn’t completely clear, I want you. Only you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

  I don’t respond because I can’t. My throat is too tight, my eyes too watery, my mind too buzzed by the look in his eyes.

  This man, Lance Gibson, the man I’ve wanted and fantasized about since the first day I met him, the man who promised me he’d never settle down with one woman, loves me.

  Me.

  How this is even happening, I don’t know. The last few months feel like a blur but the only thing that matters is he’s standing in front of me, imploring me to listen.

  I’ll listen. I’ll listen as long as he’ll speak.

  “Nana told me to search for happiness in the right places. I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you,” he whispers.

  As I take in the two of us, I realize how sometimes the most complicated relationships really aren’t all that complicated. At the core, Lance and I love each other. Everything else is just noise.

  “There have been a lot of dark times in my life,” he says. “I prayed for a lot of things and didn’t get many of them. Now I see why.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They were all a path to get me to you, so I’d b
e the right man for you when I met you. Without the accident and Britt leaving and even my parents’ death in a lot of ways, I wouldn’t be the same person I am today.” A slow grin slides across his lips. “I wouldn’t be nearly as smart.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Or as handsome,” he adds.

  “Right.”

  “Or as charming.” He takes my hand and guides me around the car. “I’m about to say something I never thought I’d say.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait for this,” I say, looking at him.

  “We’re in a word ending in ship, right?”

  “A relationship?” I tease. “If you’d like to ensure I don’t call the coach back and take him up on his offer of dinner …”

  “I’ll kill him,” he growls.

  My giggle pierces the air. “Then I guess we are.”

  “I guess we are …” His voice trails off as he goes to the front. He pauses by the hood and looks at the hill that changed his life. Then he looks at me and grins. It’s that look, one filled with a soft strength, that changed mine.

  Thirty-Three

  Mariah

  The door to my house swings open. Lance is behind me, his hand on the small of my back. I don’t think he’s broken contact since he got back in the car.

  We step inside and he closes the door behind us; the Mandarin orange candle I burned last night scents the air.

  “Two things,” Lance says, taking a moment to take in my living room. “Make it three.”

  “Okay.”

  “First, let’s reiterate we’re exclusive. No apps, no coaches, no random men or women in the grocery store that ask for our numbers. Cool?”

  I grin. “Does that happen to you often?”

  “Look at me. Of course, it does,” he winks. “It’s actually never happened to me there, but I wanted to cover all our bases.”

  “I can agree to that.”

  “Good. Number two,” he says, sauntering over to the window. His muscles work under his shirt, the light hits it just perfectly so I can see every ripple in the fabric. “We have to be honest. Maybe that’s a normal requirement in a relationship,” he cringes, “but with the divorce rate as high as it is in this country, I’m not sure.”

  “I’ve been honest with you. It’s you who’s been the little omitter.”

  “No omissions,” he says, turning around. The sincerity on his face slays me. “We have to make this work and ground rules at the beginning seem the smartest way to go.”

  “What’s number three?” I ask.

  “That I can touch you any time I want,” he grins, stalking towards me.

  He lugs me against him, his body as solid as a rock. His kiss is slow, methodical, his breath hot against my mouth. He works his tongue across my bottom lip and I melt in his arms.

  “Hey,” I giggle, as he presses kisses across my jaw. “I have a thing too.”

  “What’s that?” he asks against my throat.

  I pause to release a moan as his hands grip the globes of my ass. “I’m not sure you’re going to like this one,” I tease.

  He jolts me forward, pressing a wet, loud kiss to my lips. When he pulls back, his eyes are wild, just a few seconds from losing control.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  Stepping back, feeling his gaze scald my skin, I lift the hem of my shirt over my head. His eyes get darker, broodier, as I get wetter. I’m tempted to stop all of this and just race into my bedroom, knowing he’d follow, but I enjoy this feeling a little too much. Besides, the rest will come soon enough.

  “Well,” I say, slipping off my shoes and hooking my thumbs under the waistband of my sweatpants. “Since we’ve been honest with each other and we’re firmly in a word ending in -ship,” I say, “I’d like an agreement we don’t use condoms.”

  He closes the distance between us in a half a second, picking me up before my pants are even off my feet.

  “Lance!” I giggle, my legs thrown across his arms. “Stop it.”

  “You’re driving me crazy on purpose.” He kisses me as he heads down the hall, my feet knocking a sconce off the wall on the way. He doesn’t care. Neither do I.

  I’m tossed on the bed. The pillows bounce along with me as I look up at him. He stands next to the bed, his clothes coming off as quickly as he can possibly shed them.

  “Is that okay?” I ask, working the latch of my bra free. “I really like the feeling of your cock sliding into me.”

  He crawls across the bed, his shoulders flexing. My mouth goes dry as I part my legs so he can hover over me.

  “I hope you like it,” he whispers. “I’m going to be sliding into you for a long fucking time.”

  Raising my hips, I lock my heels at the small of his sculpted back. “What are you waiting for?”

  He presses into me, filling me inch-by-inch. This time it’s different.

  It’s not simply a give and take of pleasure, an exchange of satisfying sensations like it was before. It’s not a kiss here, a stroke there, a lick for good measure—a “I need you right now” type of thing that has a start and an end.

  As he touches me, and not just on my skin but rather in places untouchable by the hand, he reaffirms the things he’s told me, the things he’s all but promised me.

  He shows me he thinks I’m beautiful, tells me I’m worthy. Not just of him, but of the one part of yourself you can give to only one person—his love. He caresses me tenderly and slams into me without mercy, owning me and building me and giving me the freedom to explore who I am in the safe bounds of his arms.

  This is different. A prelude to something else.

  And when he looks at me and gives me that cocky smirk, I laugh.

  “This is nothing to laugh at,” he warns as he shoves himself completely inside my body.

  “I wasn’t laughing at you. Or at this,” I add, raising up and kissing his shoulder.

  “Then what were you laughing at?”

  I don’t know how to explain, especially in this moment, that it was a laugh of joy. Of pleasure. Of feeling this comfortable in my skin.

  Instead, I look at the vaguely purple circle on his shoulder. “I was thinking of biting you in my mother’s pantry.”

  He rolls over, bringing me with him and positioning me so I’m straddling him. “You know what?” he asks, his voice gravely.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think I loved you then.”

  I capture his lips with mine. He sinks back into me.

  The sun sets long before we’re finished. My stomach growls, the only part of me not satiated, as I curl up under his arm and close my eyes.

  His breathing behind me is steady, his heart beating at my back in a gentle, continuous strum. I look out the window at the stars sparkling in the sky and fall into a peaceful, easy sleep.

  Epilogue

  Lance

  “Peck! Come on,” Nana hollers out the door.

  The rest of the family settles at the kitchen table, ready to dig in to a Sunday dinner of fried chicken. Machlan grabs a drumstick, bringing it to his mouth as discreetly as he can.

  “Don’t you think about it,” Nana warns him, swatting the back of his head as she walks by. “We haven’t said grace.”

  Machlan posts an argument, mostly for Nana’s benefit. She loves that Machlan loves her fried chicken—she told everyone at church today she’d have a hard time keeping him out of it until dinner was ready. This is his way of humoring her, making her feel good.

  I look to my right, at the beautiful woman moving Nana’s water glass so she doesn’t spill it as she sits down.

  It’s been a few weeks since the start of our relationship and the fact that the word almost makes me happy is still so weird. But if that’s what it takes to keep Mariah in my bed, in my bathtub, in my car for quick make-out sessions during lunch breaks, then so be it.

  Sometimes I look at her while she’s sleeping or reading a book and wonder how in the hell I got so lucky. That she, a smart, kind, classy woman wo
uld take an animal like me as her own. An animal like me just the way I am.

  I grab her hand as she sits back down and pull it to my lap. She smiles, used to it by now, because I can’t help myself but to touch her when she’s near. It’s not always a sexual thing, which surprises me as much as anyone. Just the feel of her skin reminds me she’s real, she’s mine, and she wants me. It’s like the best Christmas present ever every time it happens.

  Peck comes in, Cross at his side.

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” Nana says, pointing towards a chair by the window. “Get a chair.”

  “I’ll get you a plate, Cross,” Sienna offers.

  “Let him get his own damn plate,” Walker says.

  “If he goes in there, he’ll make a mess and Nana will end up going after him and then Machlan will eat the chicken and Lance will pop something off to Peck and they’ll go at it,” Sienna says, making us all laugh. “I’m saving everyone time, babe.”

  She gets to her feet and disappears into the kitchen, returning with a yellow plate for Cross.

  “Thanks,” he says, smiling sheepishly, knowing he’ll get the raw end of this later from Walker.

  Peck removes his hat and says grace as is customary on Sunday afternoons. Mariah leans close, her head on my shoulder, as I trace a little heart with the pad of my thumb on the top of her hand.

  “Did you make these rolls?” Walker asks, looking at Mariah as we pass the plates of food around the table.

  “I did,” she beams. “It was my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “They’re great.” He stuffs a half a roll in his mouth, much to Sienna’s chagrin.

  “I got the recipe, but I’m not making them if you’re going to eat like a barbarian.”

  Walker chuckles. “I thought you liked when I ate like a barbarian.”

  I choke on my potato as Machlan bursts into laughter.

  “Ha,” he says, covering his mouth with a napkin. “Getting a little risqué there, aren’t you Walk?”

  Sienna’s beet red as she tries desperately to change the subject. “Want to go to the lake with me this weekend?” she asks Mariah.

  “Sure,” Mariah replies, looking at me. “We have dinner with my sister and her husband on Saturday night. I could try to get out of that.”