Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to put a paper bag in the oven, Mach.”

  “I’ve done it a hundred times, and nothing bad has happened yet.”

  I laugh. “I think that’s just part of your charm.”

  He shoves another section in his mouth. “What’s that mean?”

  “You do a lot of things a hundred times and nothing bad happens. You better hope it doesn’t start catching up with you.”

  His eyes go wide before he grabs a napkin and cleans his hands. “You gonna eat that last piece?”

  “No. I hate eating this late. I’ll wake up with an upset stomach.”

  “Then why did you eat any of it?” he asks, sliding my plate in front of him.

  “I can say no to a lot of things but not grilled cheese. Even I have limits.”

  “Good to know.” He slides the last bit into his mouth and washes it down with a long drink of water. “You ready for bed?”

  A bit of panic creeps through my body. Raising my glass, I take a drink. A long one. One that nearly drains the entire glass into my stomach. Getting waterlogged is a better alternative than answering that question the wrong way.

  I have no idea how this is going to work. Every time I’ve been here before, I’ve slept with him. Every time I’ve been here before, I’ve left without him. This is no different, and I know it. Not even if he’s being nice or thoughtful or considerate—it changes nothing in the long game.

  Machlan watches me. The longer it takes, the wider his grin gets. Only when it’s stretched ear-to-ear does he cross his arms over his toned chest and laugh. “I didn’t realize you were so dehydrated.”

  “Yeah,” I say, setting the glass down. Sucking in oxygen in a wild gasp, I shrug. “Really thirsty.”

  “Or really avoiding my question.”

  “No, no, no.” I get up and gather our glasses and put them in the dishwasher. There’s a dishrag in the sink. I use it to wipe a few crumbs off the counter but stop when Machlan’s hand rests on my shoulder.

  “I didn’t bring you here to clean up after me.”

  The rag goes into the sink with a plop. I look at him in the reflection in the window.

  “You clean when you’re nervous,” he says, holding my gaze. “Why?”

  “I feel like maybe I should go back to the apartment.”

  His abs ripple as he chuckles. I try to ignore them and the way my stomach clenches.

  “You want to go back now?” he asks. “Why?”

  I spin around, letting the panic hit. “I’ve talked a good game. Better than I thought I could, really. But I don’t know if I can do this,” I jabber. “Coming home with you doesn’t feel like just sex, which we’ve talked about, and now that I’m here, I think it’s a terrible idea. I think I’m gonna wake up in the morning and—”

  “Breathe,” he says. He takes in a lungful of air and blows it out, encouraging me to do the same. “See that? That’s how you don’t sound like a lunatic. You breathe between words. Try it.”

  I make a face. “I don’t sound that crazy, do I?”

  “Yes.” He bends forward until he’s inches from my face. “You do.”

  He steps back and really takes me in. When he usually does this, it feels like he sees all the way through me. Right now, though, it feels like he’s wrapping me in a warm blanket.

  Under the haze of the yellow-hued light bulb in the kitchen, I relax. And as I do that, I realize how easy it would be to totally relax, to fall into his bed or into some fantasy like I usually do.

  No matter how good this feels, how right, it’s still me and Machlan. Nothing has changed there. I have to remember that.

  “I’ll sleep on the couch,” I say.

  “You will not.” He turns toward the hallway.

  “I’m not sleeping with you.” I follow him out of the kitchen, flipping the light off as I go. The hallway is dark, and I can only make out his silhouette as I go. He takes a left, and the light comes on in his bedroom.

  It’s decorated as I remember. A slate gray bedspread stretches over his king-size mattress. Four pillows lay at the top with black and white pillowcases. There’s a television facing the bed and a dresser beneath it. A chair sits in the corner with a pair of jeans thrown over the back.

  He disappears into his closet and comes back out with a handmade quilt. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” His irritation is palpable.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m just taking your cues.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “Yeah, well, that question sounds a whole lot bigger than where I want to sleep.” He looks at me before shaking his head and disappearing back in the closet.

  A yawn comes out of nowhere. I stretch overhead, too tired to spar with him anymore. My bottom sinks into the soft mattress. Blinking back the tears that spring with another good, deep yawn, I lie back on the soft blankets.

  Everything smells like him. It’s like being in a cloud of Machlan, and it’s the most comfortable I’ve been in forever.

  Rolling on my side, my knees to my chest, I let my eyes fall closed.

  The sound of a blanket being dropped whispers through the room. My head is so tired, so calm, I can’t open my eyes to see what Machlan’s doing.

  Every second that goes by, the farther I fall into the abyss.

  The bed dips. I feel a warmth settle over me like a blanket is tugged over my body.

  I barely hear it when Machlan’s voice whispers, “You look really pretty tonight.”

  “You make really good grilled cheese …”

  I wonder if I’m dreaming, or if he’s really there.

  If it’s a dream, maybe I won’t wake up.

  Twenty-Four

  Machlan

  Bacon.

  My eyes open one at a time.

  The house smells like bacon and eggs.

  The light is too bright for eleven on a Sunday morning.

  I’m on the wrong side of the bed.

  My head twists on the pillow I only use when I pull it against me in the middle of the night, and I remember why—Hadley.

  Glancing at the clock, I realize I’ve missed church. I only fell asleep a couple of hours before services would’ve started. After picking Hadley up and laying her under the covers, I stretched out and watched her sleep because I sure couldn’t.

  This is a blessing and a curse. It’s like the time Blaire sent me a bottle of a particular Kentucky bourbon you can’t ever find. It’s top-shelf stuff that masks the alcohol content with big splashes of vanilla and caramel. Drinking it is like a gift, but the hangover the next day is akin to hell.

  Sleeping in the same bed as Hadley is a present. Having her leave today will feel like I’ve been robbed of everything I actually give a damn about. Because fuck if I don’t.

  It’s really, really hard to keep my distance. It’s so easy with her. She knows everything about me, knows how to talk to me and when to joke around and when to let it be. If God asked me to design a woman for myself, I’d just point at Hadley and say, “Yeah, you already did.”

  It never gets easier to realize you can’t take care of someone like they need. That you’ll inevitably embarrass them or fail them in ways you haven’t imagined yet. That fear sits in my core, positioned in a place it gets rubbed every time I start to get comfortable with Had. It reminds me how sick it feels to look in her eyes and see disappointment.

  My phone rings, and I have to dig under my pillow to find it. When I see who it is, I hit the green button and say a quick prayer for help.

  “Hello?” I ask.

  “I’ll have you know, young man, that you were the only grandchild of mine with your behind not in a pew this morning,” Nana says.

  “I’ll have you know, young lady, that I’m not sorry.”

  “Machlan Daniel—”

  “Nana. I’m kidding,” I say, smoothing my hair back off my face. “I have a good reason.”

  “There are very few reasons good enough to miss J
esus.”

  A long bang comes from the kitchen. Hadley issues an expletive loud enough for me to hear.

  Throwing the blankets back, I sit up on the edge of the bed. The floor is cool under my feet, the air chilly on my naked torso.

  “I had company last night,” I tell my grandmother.

  “Company, huh?” She pauses. “Is that company fit enough to come to my house for dinner?”

  The feel of Hadley’s thighs in my hands last night and her arms wrapped around my neck has me getting hard. “Oh, she’s fit all right.”

  Nana scoffs. “That’s not what I mean, sir.”

  “Are you implying my house guest might be a one-night stand?” I gasp. “I’m insulted.”

  “Now, that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re Lance’s brother. The concept of a one-night stand is not new or insulting.”

  I chuckle. “When did you get so savage?”

  “I don’t know what that means, but I want you over for dinner.”

  Reaching my free hand over my head, I feel my muscles stretch. A rumble flows from my stomach as I move, and the scent of bacon gets stronger. It rumbles harder when I think about taking Hadley with me to Nana’s.

  I’m not sure I could handle it.

  My brothers take their girlfriends to dinner every week while Peck and I sit together like two losers with no dates. It used to not bother me—Hell, it felt easier being alone. But lately, it feels like something is missing, and no matter who I think about inviting over just to fill a spot, it doesn’t feel right.

  It does today. It feels perfect.

  “What are you fixing?” I ask.

  “I’m frying chicken just for you because you guilted me for having Lance over the other night. And I’m making a cheeseball, and I’d hate for Peck to have all of it.”

  “Are you bribing me with food?”

  “Of course. I’m a grandmother. It’s what we do.”

  “You do it well.”

  I know she’s smiling on the other end. I can hear it in the way she smacks her lips together in satisfaction. “We’ll eat around three o’clock. If I know you’re coming, I’ll make you a butterscotch pie.”

  “I’ll be there if I can bring home leftovers,” I tease.

  “You’ll have to fight Walker for the chicken.”

  “That I look forward to,” I say, getting to my feet. “I always love a Nana-approved duel with Walker.”

  “I meant that figuratively. Don’t go getting him in one of those head-lock things in my dining room, or I’ll kick your behind.”

  My phone buzzes, indicating the battery is dying. I pull it away from my face to see I have less than ten percent left. “I gotta go because my phone is dying, and you know, I need to entertain my company.”

  “Oh, dear. Goodbye.”

  Laughing, I head to the other side of the bed. “Bye, Nana.”

  I fish my charger out from behind the bedside table and plug it in. Setting it beside the lamp, I spin around but stop when I see Hadley’s bag on the chair in the corner.

  Her shorts are sitting on top of the closed bag as though she tossed them there as a side note. If someone walked into this room right now, they’d think that gym bag was supposed to be there. I kind of feel that way too.

  Scratching my head, I walk into the hallway and hear music playing softly. Sunshine pours in from the windows.

  Walking as lightly as I can, I pause in the doorway. She’s buttering toast over the sink. Crumbs falls into the basin as she rakes the knife along the bread. The movement slow as she looks through the window with a thoughtful gaze.

  Her hair is a wild mess piled on top of her head, and she’s changed into a pair of my sweatpants. They’re two sizes two big and nearly fall off her waist, but I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight in my life.

  Hadley in my clothes in my kitchen. Happy.

  “Hey,” I say before I can get in my head too deep. I ignore the way my chest feels like it’s going to burst and open the refrigerator. I don’t need anything, but maybe it’ll cool me down.

  The corners of her lips turn up before she looks over her shoulder. There’s a hint of trepidation there. “I made breakfast.”

  Overriding my natural reaction to walk across the room and plant a kiss on her lips, I shut the refrigerator door. “What can I do to help?”

  “Don’t die when you eat the bacon.” She makes a face. “The expiration date was last week, but it smelled fine.”

  “Shit. I don’t even know when I bought that.”

  “Or half the things in the refrigerator,” she mumbles. “Seriously. I threw away a bunch of crap this morning.”

  “What did you throw away?” I say, letting my jaw fall open just to rile her up.

  “Nothing you’ll ever need or it wouldn’t have been expired.”

  “You don’t know what I need.”

  She walks toward me, an arch to her lips. She reaches right in front of me, almost brushing against me but not quite, and pulls out two plates. “Oh, I think I do know what you need.”

  My breathing stops as I adjust to her proximity. I’m suddenly very, very awake.

  The sweetness of her skin drifts around me, luring me to touch her. The pout of her lips begs for a kiss, the sliver of skin between the hem of her shirt and the top of my sweatpants taunting to be gripped.

  My eyes narrow as I squelch the reaction I want to make. “Humor me. What do you think I need?”

  She falls back on her feet slowly. It’s clear she didn’t anticipate this question and is unprepared to give me an answer. I’m not sure what kind of an answer to expect, either, and I’m not sure why in the hell I asked that this early.

  Turning away, she begins to fill one of the plates. “This morning, you need four strips of bacon, two eggs over medium, and two slices of toast.”

  “Over medium, huh?”

  “I know you like over easy, but I overcooked them because I dropped a jar of mayonnaise that expired last year.” She shoots me a look. “Last. Year.”

  “Good thing I like them over medium these days, huh?”

  She nods. “Good thing.”

  “I also like coffee,” I say, walking away before I get too comfortable watching her move around my kitchen. “You want some?”

  “Yes, please.”

  We work silently, me making coffee and her getting the food to the table. Every now and then, we catch each other’s eye and smile or sort of softly laugh at nothing in particular. It’s weird sharing the space with her but so damn amazing at the same time. It has all the hallmarks I love about Nana’s Sunday dinners but at home. With Hadley.

  This could get me in trouble, yet I have no intention of ending it. Not right now. This may never happen again, and I want to suck it up for all it’s worth while I can get it. It gives me a quietness that comes from the inside that I haven’t felt since we lived together.

  When she stayed with me before she got pregnant, and then when we lived together while in Ohio, my favorite part of the day was waking up next to her. The morning routine of getting ready—preparing for the day, having her there and knowing she’d be there when I came home—was the best part of my life so far.

  We sit down. She curls one leg under her.

  “Did you sleep okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “I think I kind of passed out. I remember sitting on the edge of your bed and hearing you talk and then nothing until I woke up this morning.” She reaches for a piece of toast. “Which brings me to this question. How did I get in your bed?”

  She lifts a brow as she takes a bite of toast.

  “You seemed to enjoy my mattress, so I tucked you in.”

  Her lips part, the furrow in her brow warning me she’s about to argue. Then strangely, the wrinkles vanish. “Thank you.”

  “Wow.” I laugh, slicing into my eggs. “That was unexpected.”

  “What? I’m bei
ng polite.”

  “I know. Unexpected.” She taps my leg with her foot under the table. “I’m not sure if I should thank you for holding me so tight I couldn’t move this morning.”

  My fork almost drops out of my hand. The tines clink against the china before I regain control. “I did?”

  “You did. And it was kind of nice.” Her shoulder comes to her chin in the sweetest gesture. Batting her eyelashes, she grins. “Now, enough of this being nice stuff. What can we fight about?”

  I pick up my coffee cup and sit back in my chair. She rattles on about a story Kallie told her about Cross, and I tune out. Watching her talk—her hands flying through the air, her eyes bright and happy as she jabbers away—is enough.

  Sipping the caffeine instead of guzzling it like I usually do, I enjoy the peace of a Sunday morning instead of avoiding it, which is a new thing. A thing I could get used to. A thing I’d love to replicate with her.

  But as I begin to process that idea, her words from last night come back to mind. “You do a lot of things a hundred times and nothing bad happens. You better hope it doesn’t start catching up with you.”

  It will catch up with me. It always does.

  “Are you listening to me?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” I sit my cup down and grab a piece of bacon. “Nana called and ripped my ass about church.”

  She snorts. “I’m not sure you should say ripped my ass and church in the same sentence. While not quite sacrilegious, it doesn’t feel right.”

  “Okay. She busted my balls. Better?”

  “I’m with Nana. You needed Jesus today.”

  “I’ll pray extra hard at bedtime to make up for it,” I say, crunching down on the meat. “Anyway, she’s making dinner and demanded I come.”

  Hadley’s fork rests on her plate. The light in her eyes dims as she reaches for a napkin. “You should.” She swallows hard. “I need to see Emily today, so I can have her pick me up here, or you can run me by on the way.”

  That’s the best solution. The easiest. The safest. And it absolutely won’t work.