Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

  “So what are we doing here, ladies?” he asks, walking around me. “Did I hear cabinet reconstruction?”

  “I got these things at the hardware store. I thought I could put them in the bottom of her cabinets so she can just slide them out when she needs something. That way she doesn’t have to bend over,” I say.

  Peck gives me the sweetest smile. “I like that.” He looks at Nana. “You good with that?”

  “I’m great with it,” she says.

  I pick up his drill. His eyes go wide.

  “Is that my drill?” he asks.

  I hit the trigger, making it spin. “Yup.”

  “We need some boundaries, woman,” he says. “You never take a man’s drill.”

  I turn my back so Nana can’t see my face. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

  He grins, and all is right in my world.

  Twenty-Five

  Peck

  “What are you doing?” Dylan squeals as I take the corner a little sharp. “Peck!”

  Her laughter fills the truck. It even drowns out the roar of my diesel. While I love few things more than hearing an engine roar, the sound of her laughter would be one.

  My lips twist into an amused smile as I hammer the gas.

  “Oh, my gosh.” She reaches up and grabs the oh shit handle. “I never should’ve agreed to this.”

  “You love it, and you know it.”

  She looks at me and beams. “Okay. I kind of doooo … Ah! What are you doing?”

  I laugh as I pilot the truck up the hill toward Bluebird Hill.

  The sun sets behind us, casting pinks and purple rays through the sky. We hit the top of the hill, and I ease up on the gas.

  The vision of Dylan and Nana together comes back to me as the truck slows. To say I was blown away today by this woman sitting beside me would be an understatement.

  What kind of girl spends her afternoon helping out an old lady rearrange her cabinets? Out of the kindness of her heart?

  I look over my shoulder to see that woman gazing out the window.

  My heart tugs in my chest.

  “Oh, wow.” Dylan gasps as she takes in the view. She unbuckles her seat belt and looks over both shoulders to get a panoramic view. “This is beautiful.”

  I look at her and grin. “Yes, it is.”

  She smacks my knee, leaving her hand to rest on my thigh. Her fingers press against my jeans as she scoots closer to me.

  Her hand is heavy on my leg. I try to ignore it so I don’t get distracted as I whip the truck around to face the valley. I park it right next to the edge and cut the engine.

  Pine trees cover the hills and valleys surrounding Bluebird Hill. It’s my favorite spot in the world.

  “Peck,” she says. “Wow. Just wow.”

  “Right?”

  “How did you even know this was here?”

  “Well, there’s a sign …”

  She jabs me in the side with her elbow.

  I laugh. “Everyone knows about Bluebird Hill. It’s not a hill, really. Just a change in elevation. There’s a little wooded area over there,” I say, pointing to the right, “where everyone goes to park in high school.”

  “Oooh,” she says.

  “And back there is where everyone fights.” I gesture toward a spot behind a giant rock. “But my favorite spot, besides this one, is the one I’m going to show you next.”

  “Is it better than this?”

  I stick my tongue in my cheek. I can’t wait to see her face when we get back there.

  “Maybe,” I say. “We’ll see what you think.”

  I start the engine again and stick it in reverse. Gravel and dirt go flying as my tires dig into the ground. Dylan is all smiles.

  My spirits are high. Things are just … good. Damn good. Better than I ever imagined things could be.

  A part of me doesn’t want to think about it too much. Acknowledging how great things are going will undoubtedly jinx it, and I just want this to last as long as it can.

  “Okay, Hawkeye,” I say. “You ready?”

  “I mean, I don’t know. Am I?”

  Excitement flickers in her eyes as she takes in our surroundings. I veer off onto a path that only locals would ever see. It meanders through a patch of woods, the limbs scraping the paint on my truck, before opening into a field.

  A field of mud.

  “Oh, shit,” Dylan says. “Can you back out of here?”

  “Nope.” The last syllable pops.

  “Um, then what are we going to do?” She looks around. “I mean, there are trees on three sides of us and a giant field of gunk in front of us. I don’t think you really have any other options.”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course we do.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Buckle up, baby. And hold on.” I grin, my heart beating hard in my chest.

  She looks at me warily. “Peck …”

  “Five … four …”

  “But you aren’t buckled up,” she says, grasping for the seat belt.

  “Because I’m an expert. Three … two …”

  “Wait!” she exclaims with a nervous laugh. “Is this even legal?”

  “One. No. Here we go.”

  I wait until I hear the click of her seat belt before I stomp the gas. She clutches the handle above her head, her eyes as wide as saucers.

  The engine roars to life as our speed increases. I move the truck a few feet to the left of center. From experience, I know that the mud pit isn’t quite as deep there, and we can rip through it a little easier.

  “Peck … Ah!” She screams as we hit the mud.

  Thick, brown gunk flies over the truck and coats the windows. I flip on the windshield wipers even though it won’t do any good. It’ll only smear it. Still, it’s good for the experience.

  We’re midway through and blind from the mud. I keep the engine roaring as we plow through the wet muck. Dylan giggles beside me, her hand on the ceiling as she tries to keep herself pressed in the seat. I take every chance I can get to take a quick peek at her. The excitement in her eyes is worth every bit of time it’ll take tomorrow to clean this fucker.

  “This … is … awesome,” she says, her voice vibrating with the movements of the truck.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes!”

  I maneuver the truck through the last bit of mud and coast up the other side.

  Adrenaline races through my veins. I’m not sure if it’s from the mudding or because Dylan is beside me. … In the mud.

  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, w
hich 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 voluptous—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.