The car glides down the street, heading into town, the streetlights getting more frequent as I go. The clock reads almost one in the morning, and my body shivers against the cool summer night.
A peace settles over me as I drive. I’m more confident in this decision than I’ve ever been. It’s right. I’ve never felt stronger about something, not even when I left him the first time. I’m not the same person as I was then. Neither is he. Why would I think we’d be the same as we were then now?
Screw the rumors.
Fuck the gossips.
To Hell with being unsure.
Life is a risk and, at the end of the day, his love is the surest bet I can make. It’s at least worth a shot.
A set of headlights comes my way and the driver clicks them down, turning off the brights. As we pass, I glance over my shoulder and see Cross’s face.
My heart leaps in my chest as his tail lights come on in the rear view, his tires squealing as he rips the truck around. Before I know what’s happening, he’s behind me, traveling in the same direction.
The high school is a block ahead and I turn my turn signal on in hopes he’ll slow down a bit and get off my ass. My throat is constricted as I pull in, my blood pounding in my veins as I stop the car. He’s out of his truck and around the front before I ever even get the door open. He does the honors for me.
His hair is wild, his shirt soaked with sweat. “You okay?”
My feet on the asphalt, I stand and breathe him in. “I was coming to look for you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head.
“Dammit, Kal—”
I take the words out of his mouth with my own, pressing my lips against his so quickly it shocks him. My hands go to his damp hair, urging him to kiss me harder. I need this. I need…him.
He finally pulls away, dragging in a lungful of air. “Kallie?”
“I am sorry,” I say, resting my forehead on his.
“It was me that had her in my truck.”
“And it was my insecurities that let that matter. I mean, yeah, don’t do it again”—I laugh—“but you didn’t exactly do something wrong.”
“It was wrong if it makes you feel anything but great.” He wraps me up in his arms, pulling me to his chest. “I was at the gym, working out, and all I could see was you standing there mad at me.”
“I was sitting on my bed and kept thinking about how last night I was in yours, how many nights I wished to be there, and how tonight I wasn’t because I was mad, like a child.”
He squeezes me tighter. “I was also wrong when I said I couldn’t make you love me. I damn sure am going to try for the rest of my life.”
My hand stills on his back, his heartbeat picking up against my cheek. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that being with you, at least trying it again, isn’t settling for anything other than the possibility of … everything I’ve ever wanted.”
My words cause his heart to rapid-fire and I pull away. “Cross?”
“I want to marry you,” he whispers under the lights of the parking lot. “But I want to ask your mother before I ask you, and I want to find the perfect ring and the perfect spot first. You deserve that.”
“I don’t need any of that,” I say, choking back a sob. I’m so desperate for him, my chest coming undone and overflowing. “I just need you. I’m never letting you go again.”
“Damn right you’re not.” His body shakes with his chuckle. “Do you want to ride with me back to my house or have me follow you?”
Grinning through my tears, I pull away and look into his spectacular green eyes. “Follow me.”
“The view of your behind is one of my favorites.”
I swat at his arm, but he pulls me in for a quick kiss instead.
“Hey, Cross?”
“Yeah?”
I grab his hand and lace our fingers together. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Epilogue
Cross
A few weeks later
“Why does golf always end up with fucking? Not that I’m complaining.” He grins, looking at me over his shoulder.
The streetlights create shadows in the cab of his truck as we make our way back to his house after a night of fun. We watched a chick flick that he hated, ate seafood that I hated, then capped it off with four holes of putt-putt before we turned our sticks in and parked on the first desolate back road we found so we could have sex.
“I guess you like the way I handle balls,” I suggest, making him laugh. “Really? I don’t know. It’s weird though.”
“I guess it’s not that different from anything else we do. Dinner?”
“Fucking.”
“Laundry?”
“Oh, I love when we do it on spin cycle,” I note.
“Painting the back porch?”
“Yeah, but sex in public isn’t my thing. You caught me on a bad day.” I giggle.
“First of all, it’s not public. Second, I was thinking it was a really, really good day.”
Grinning, I blow out a breath and settle into the seat.
Being in Linton has changed everything for me—finding Cross again, reconnecting with my mother, finding a career in a firm that’s a lot quieter, but more fulfilling.
When I was younger, all I wanted was to get out of my hometown. Everything here was full of drama and complications and distractions. Even now, it’s not without its faults. That’s for sure. I still deal with the whispers of women who want Cross, still hear murmurings at the soda fountain at Goodman’s while I get my daily drink, but now that I’m older and maybe a little wiser, none of that matters. All that matters is the way he looks at me.
“Crave is up ahead. Want to go in for a while?” Cross asks. “Machlan wanted to talk to me about expanding his business. I thought it might be a good investment.”
“Sure, but do you think you can talk to him on a Friday night? Crave is always so busy.”
“If not, at least we’ll be entertained. I’m sure something is going on in there. Peck will be there. That’s promising enough.”
I laugh.
He pulls the truck over to the side of the street. We climb out and he grabs my hand like he always does but stops and starts digging around in his pocket. Pulling out his phone, he furrows his brow and drops my hand.
“Fucking great,” he mutters, shoving the device back in his pocket.
“What was that all about?” I say, taking his hand again.
“Hadley is coming home.”
“Don’t look so happy about it,” I laugh as we head towards the bar. “Don’t you want to see your sister?”
“Yup. I just don’t want to do it here.”
“And why not?”
He nods towards the building. “Machlan. Hadley comes and it becomes a war around here and I’m in the middle of it. They subscribe to some hate love bullshit. They need to pick a side and go.”
“Could be fun,” I tease. “Imagine the hate sex.”
“I could never hate you. But,” he says, grabbing my ass, “I could subscribe to that too for a while if that’s what you want.”
“Too? What else you subscribing to over there, Cross?” I laugh.
He stops and stands in front of me. His green eyes look like slices of pure jade in the hazy streetlights. “I subscribe to one theory, and one theory only.”
“What’s that?”
“To keep you wanting to be my girl.”
“Always.”
The End
Restraint
A Gibson Boy Short Story
One
Holt
“Watch where you’re going.”
I quirk a brow at the man that just bumped my shoulder. He reads me correctly and mutters a half-assed apology, just as I switch my brown leather briefcase into the other hand — maybe to avoid a confrontation and maybe to get a hand free for one. It’s up to him.
The stars must align in his favor because the n
ext thing I know, he’s scurrying to the other side of the partition separating us.
It crosses my mind, once again, that I could avoid this. I could forgo the hassle of airports altogether if I’d just wear down and buy a private jet. Oliver Mason, one of my younger brothers, keeps bringing it up, but I keep vetoing the idea. It’s not the money. It’s the pretentiousness of it all. Unless you’re flying weekly or have more money than brains, owning your own jet is a sign you need attention. It’s the more affluent version of the middle aged, balding man driving a cherry red sports car and I have no trouble getting attention without an overpriced toy.
Turning the corner, muttering to myself about how Oliver’s going to be on my case about being late, I collide head-on with another body.
“Ah!”
A flurry of gauzy fabric and long, tobacco-color hair go tumbling in front of me. My mouth falls open, probably brushing against the cheap linoleum of the breezeway, as my eyes feast on the beauty bent on one knee in front of me.
She sits up, her blue eyes in stark contrast to the dark hair that sweeps below her elbows. Her fair cheeks pink as she looks at me, running a hand through her strands as her full lips, a pale red, begin to part.
Holy. Shit.
Travelers scamper around our diversion. They’re no more than a blip on my radar. I’m solely focused on her as I try to put all of the pieces together that are laid, so beautifully, so exquisitely, in front of me.
“Let me help you up,” I offer, extending a hand.
She watches me for a long moment before lifting her delicate palm. The handful of gold bracelets encompassing a narrow wrist clamor together before she places her hand in mine. Her skin is warm and soft—so soft it almost makes me shudder. Immediately, I wonder what the rest of her feels like as I tug her gently to her sandal-clad feet.
She stands, removing her palm from mine, and smooths out the skirt. Pulling at a cord nestled between her breasts, two earbuds pop free. “I should’ve been paying attention. I know better than to listen to an audiobook in the airport.”
“Must be a damn good audiobook.” I cringe at the reply. It’s not my best line, but it’s all my brain can come up with to continue this conversation and keep her standing in front of me for a while longer.
“It’s a podcast, actually, on a recent Supreme Court Case.”
Brains and beauty? No wonder my cock is throbbing.
“Do you agree or disagree with the decision?” I ask.
Her perfectly arched brows pull together as she tries to hide a smile. “Well,” she says, pausing as if she’s unsure whether to answer this question or not. “I believe the Justices followed the Constitution and that is their job.”
“Nice non-answer,” I chuckle, watching a sparkle flicker through her irises.
“I’m an attorney. We never say too much. Or,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “most of us try not to.”
Clearing my throat and, hopefully, my head, I pick up a tube of lipstick at her feet and hand it to her. She takes it without touching me. Instead, her eyes roam over my suit, take in my watch, draw up my arm and over my chest, landing on my face. She studies me with intent. If I turned around right now, I bet she could draw a composite of me with intricate detail.
As if we’ve done this before, we turn toward the baggage claim and begin to walk. Her posture is perfect, her narrow shoulders held just so. There’s a cool elegance to her, a sophistication, a refinement that lures me in, but it’s the simplicity in her eyes that holds my attention.
“Are you in town for work?” I ask.
“No,” she scoffs. “I’m on vacation.” Her long, thin nose crinkles at the end. “For four long days.”
“You say that as if it were a death sentence.”
“I’d rather be working.” She stops in front of a wall of windows. The sunlight streams in, highlighting the red and gold tones in her hair. “My brothers arranged for this, so how could I not come?”
“That was nice of them. My brothers would’ve sent me to work and taken the vacation on their own,” I laugh.
“How many do you have?”
“Four. There’s me, Oliver, Coy, Wade, and Boone.”
“I have three and they’re a giant pain in my ass.” There’s a slight upturn to her gorgeous lips as she says the words and I find myself wondering how much of that I really believe.
“I’ll trade you,” I offer.
Our eyes lock, her grin pulling my own wider, as the throng of bodies hustling around us thickens. A thousand questions are on my lips, an itch to know more about this intriguing beauty in the middle of Savannah International Airport. Before I can figure out which way to go with this conversation, she stops moving by a set of doors.
“I apologize for running into you,” she says. “It was nice to meet you.”
“No, wait.” It’s too quick, too telling—not my style. I make fun of men for tripping over themselves like this, but it comes out before I can think. “Can I take you to dinner sometime this week?”
The question surprises me as much as it seems to surprise her, but I don’t regret it. As a matter of fact, I like the idea. A lot.
She hesitates, her response on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t let it pass. I almost think it’s on purpose, but I’m not sure if she’s fucking with me or if she has plans. Or a man.
For about a half a second, I contemplate if I care about the latter.
I don’t.
My phone buzzes in the jacket pocket of my suit and I know it’s Oliver asking me where I am. I’m never late. But I can’t even mull that over right now, not with her standing in front of me looking at me with the curiosity that’s filling every nook of my mind about her.
“Ugh,” she grimaces, taking a large step toward me as the crowd begins to fill the entire hallway connecting the concord with the baggage claim. “I’m not a big people person.”
“Me either.” I lift my briefcase and step so that my back is against the wall, giving her more room. “So, dinner? Away from all the people?”
“I don’t typically go to dinners with nameless men.”
“That’s an easy fix.” I grin. “I’m Holton Mason. My friends call me Holt. All three of them.”
She laughs, those long lashes fluttering. I fight from reaching out and brushing the stray strand of hair off her cheek, from feeling her skin on the small of her back. There may be a hundred-people swarming around us, but it may as well just be her in front of me. A circus could be clamoring down the hall, complete with elephants and man-eating tigers, and I wouldn’t notice.
“I’m not sure what my plans are, actually,” she says finally.
“Well, let’s meet up and I’ll help you make them.”
“I bet you would, Holt.”
“Ah, you used the nickname. That’s a good sign.” I wink.
“I just feel sorry that only three people like you.”
“Does that mean you’ll give me your number?”
Digging in her bag and pulling out a small notepad, she rips off the bottom of a sheet in a crisp line. She offers it to me along with a pen. “No, but you can give me yours.”
“I could text it to you.”
“And I could exit those doors and get into the car that’s waiting for me. Your call.”
My fingers wrap around the scrap of paper, glancing at her delicate fingers in the process. Visions of them gripping my cock pop immediately to mind and I have to shake them away.
“I can’t say I’ve had a woman refuse to give me her number before,” I chuckle. A part of me wants to not give her mine, just to see if she’ll bend. But when I look at her standing there, there’s a resolution in her eyes. She’s not bluffing. “But there’s a first time for everything, right?” I mutter, scratching out my digits and handing it back to her.
“Thanks.” She presses her lips together and drops the pen and paper into her bag.
“I look forward to seeing you again,” I say as she turns tow
ard the doors.
“Nice to meet you,” she replies with no indication I will see her again and, in a split second, she disappears.
Like a damn fool, I don’t move. I just stand there and watch her, breathing in the remaining notes of her perfume. It’s a second too late before I realize I don’t even know her name.
Shoving my hand into my pocket, it nudges my phone, just as it begins to ring. Again.
“Yeah, Ollie?” I ask, my voice filled with a level of frustration equal to the pulse in my temple.
“Where the hell are you?”
“On my way.”
Two
Blaire
Jerking the curtains back and swinging the sliding glass door open, my lungs fill with wonderful, salty air. The sea a few stories below sparkles in the sunlight. The sandy beaches spattered with sunbathers and kids building castles. I’m reminded of summers at Lake Michigan with my parents and brothers years ago. Lance would be reading a book, Walker creating a track for various toy cars he’d made my mom pack, and Machlan holding a drink in one hand and chasing girls or birds, depending on his age.
No matter how much I really don’t want to be here, I can’t help but be a little happy they at least picked a beach. It was undoubtedly Sienna’s decision. Walker’s girlfriend grew up here and as I look at the scenery below, I have no idea why she would ever want to leave.
With a last lungful of air, I head back into the little condo that my three infuriating, difficult, ornery brothers rented. In all their macho of practically ordering me here, they couldn’t find the guts to tell me themselves. They left that task to our beautiful little Nana.
Smiling to myself, I head back inside and flop on the sofa. There are seashells decorating the place and soft pinks and sea greens. I suppose it’s relaxing to some, but it makes me want to start stripping wallpaper. In lieu of that, I eye my briefcase sitting by the bedroom door across the living room and wonder if it’s too early in this little getaway to start working.
Gibson Boys Box Set Page 63