Crave: The Gibson Boys, Book #3

by Locke, Adriana

  “Would be brilliant if you actually paid all your tab.” I try to ignore Hadley, but that lasts two seconds. “What’s going on in your life?”

  “On vacation,” she says quickly. “No girlfriend, Peck?”

  “Nah, Molly hasn’t come around yet.” He tears at the corner of his beer label. “She will, though.”

  “You deserve better than her,” Hadley insists. “I have this friend who I think you’d love. She—”

  “Leave Peck alone. He’s a big boy. He can handle his own shit.” I grab a rag from beneath the counter and wipe an invisible spot between them so I don’t have to see the enjoyment in Peck’s eyes that I’m actually working my way into their conversation.

  Peck tips his beer my way. “Is that a vote of confidence I hear?”

  “Nah, more like if you want to hate yourself and go after Molly, then go for it.”

  “Better than ending up like you.”

  My head snaps up. A giant smirk is plastered on his face. The only thing that keeps me from going down that road is that Hadley is sitting a few feet away.

  I toss the rag on the counter. “Hear that, Peck?”

  “Hear what?”

  “That. It’s your thirty seconds is winding down …”

  Peck lifts off the stool. “I gotta go … do somethin’. Find me if you somehow score a drink and need a ride home, Had.” He stops short of leaving. “How long you gonna be in town?”

  “I’m not sure. I had some vacation saved at my old job and don’t start my new one until the first. I’m just going with the flow for a few days.”

  “Well, if you wanna head up to Bluebird, find me. We can go tear some shit up,” Peck says.

  The end of their conversation is blurred by the white noise strumming past my eardrums as I watch the two of them make plans that don’t involve me. I have half a notion to interject, to take control like I usually do, and just call the shots. But I don’t.

  Hadley left town because of me. She moved away from her brother and her friends because I’m a jackass.

  The longer she’s gone, the deeper the guilt gets. There’s no way to fix it, though. The things I’ve done, the hurt I’ve caused this sweet girl, are things I can’t pretend she should forgive me for.

  I’ve seen her a few times since the morning over a year ago when mascara-laced tears rolled down her cheeks, but I can’t shake that vision. Her hair a tousled mess from my hands being in it the night before. Her lip quivering as she waited for me to change my mind. There was hope in her eyes that I didn’t mean to put there, but I suppose I did. I did it a couple of times too many already. It’s why I can’t do it again.

  Peck knocks on the bar top as he leaves, as if he’s doing me a solid and bringing me back to the present.

  “I came for a drink,” she says.

  “Yeah, that would work except you don’t drink.”

  “Maybe I started.”

  I lift a brow. If she’s fucking with me, and I’m ninety-percent sure she is, she’s doing a damn good job. My blood heats as it rolls through my veins, and I have to force out the thought of her drinking with people who aren’t, well, me. As the devil on my shoulder offers up other things she might be doing with people who aren’t me, the vein in my temple throbs.

  “I asked for a rum and Coke,” she says, pressing her lips together.

  “I heard.”

  “Damn it, Machlan. Why does everything have to be so difficult with you?”

  “How am I being difficult? I’m just standing here.”

  Her lips part as though she’s on the cusp of firing back one of her typical smartass retorts, but she surprises me: she closes her mouth.

  The good thing is she shuts up. The bad thing is I can’t tear my eyes way from the way her pucker plumps in a pout that sends a shockwave straight to my cock.

  Fucking hell.

  “Does your brother know you’re home?” I ask.

  Because if he didn’t warn me, I’m gonna kick his ass.

  “No. He thinks I’m coming in tomorrow.”

  The stool next to her rattles as a man who was just here sidles up beside her. “Beer,” he demands and stretches his tattooed arms out too close to her for comfort.

  Feet planted in place, right arm twitching to launch a shot at his weak-ass chin, I grit my teeth. Hadley flips her gaze my way before angling her body toward the douchebag.

  “Didn’t you just leave?” she asks him with a grin that I’m fairly sure is more for my benefit than his.

  “Yeah but I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I figured I’d come back and say a proper hello.”

  “Isn’t that sweet. What’s your name?” she asks.

  “Logan. Can I buy you a beer?”

  “I’m Hadley, and yes, that would be great.”

  Logan turns to me and rests his elbow on the bar. “Make that two, bartender.”

  “Fresh outta beer,” I deadpan.

  “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

  I stare at him so hard he leans away. Unbeknownst to him, he’s not out of reach. My right hand could still smash his face before he realized I twitched.

  “Did I stutter?” I ask.

  Hadley sighs, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Come on, Mach. Stop it.”

  “What? I can’t help I just sold my last beer to Peck.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  Logan gives me a curious look before turning to Hadley. “Want to head outta here and find a drink somewhere else?”

  Roughing a hand over my jaw, I take in Hadley. She’s nervous as fuck, literally sitting on the edge of her seat. She has every reason to be. We’ve been in this position before. She knows how this can end. Unfortunately for the douchebag, he does not.

  Hadley sighs. “Can you give me a second, Logan?”

  “You don’t need a second to tell him it’s not happening,” I say.

  “This is none of your business, Machlan. Stop it.”

  I couldn’t care less that I don’t have a leg to stand on. Hadley is not my girl. She’s a grown ass woman who can do what she pleases. Mostly.

  I’m not about to sit in my bar and watch her walk out of here with someone else, least of all this punk ass who was in here last weekend getting a blowjob by Megan McCarter. He’s the worst every night, and Hadley’s all kinds of trouble tonight.

  “I’d rethink this,” I warn her.

  “Come on,” Logan says, getting off the stool. “Let’s go, Hadley.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” I growl, my eyes pinned on hers.

  She throws her arms up. “Why do you do this?”

  “Because I can.”

  “Can you really?”

  “Oh, Had. I assure you I can.”

  She ignores Logan as he suggests a bar a couple of towns over. The way she looks at me—half as if I’m a barbarian who disgusts her and the other half as if she hopes I’ll scoop her up like a caveman and carry her out of here—is satisfying. She’s going nowhere with him, and we both know it.

  “You from around here?” Peck asks Logan as Hadley and I continue our standoff.

  “Not really.”

  “Well, there’s this place in the town next door called Peaches. Best fucking breaded tenderloins I’ve ever had. Takes three buns to cover the whole thing unless you break it into pieces and stack it,” Peck says.

  “Sounds good.” Logan gets off his stool. “Thanks for the tip.” He takes a couple of steps back, putting distance between himself and the rest of us.

  Peck just carries on. “No problem. You should check them out. Get it with pickles and cheese and then add some salt. But here’s the kicker—you know what you need to eat them with?”

  Logan doesn’t answer. Peck’s clearly leading him, and he’s waiting on the shoe to drop.

  “Teeth,” Peck says. “And if you don’t get outta here soon, you won’t be leaving with yours.”

  “Stop it, Peck.” Hadley’s eyes narrow as she sighs, returning her attentio
n to me. “I hate you sometimes.”

  “Not all the time?” I ask. “Must be losing my touch.”

  “You know what, Logan? You better go without me. I … It’s … Yeah.” She crosses her arms over her chest and doesn’t bother facing the douchebag. “Sorry about the way they acted.”

  I’m not. I might be sorry for a lot of things, but getting this asshole out of here without her isn’t one of them.

  Logan shrugs, eyeing us warily, before heading for the door. I watch him go until he’s out of sight.

  The burn of Hadley’s stare sears my cheek. If I could stand here all damn night with her glaring at me, I would. That would mean we’re in the same room, and when I’m not factoring what’s best for her, that seems preferable to not being together at all.

  “He seemed like a perfectly nice guy,” Hadley says, breaking the silence. Her tone is fire and wit again, and I’d smile if it wouldn’t instigate her further. “You had no right to run him off like that.”

  I scoff. “Oh, I can see how that conversation goes. ‘Yeah, Cross, I don’t know where your sister is. Yeah, she was in here last night and left with some asshat I threw out of here last weekend, but I figured it was okay because she said so.’”

  “That’s true,” Peck says, sliding across the two seats between him and Hadley. “Even if that was the only reason Machlan just acted like an asshole, that excuse is true.”

  “Oh, don’t you even act like you’re innocent.” Hadley pokes him in the chest. “I expected more from you, Peck.”

  “You do that. But don’t parlay that into thinking I’m gonna help you get laid by some cartoon character.”

  His comment makes Hadley laugh. I can’t latch onto the humorous part because I’m stuck at the “get laid” section. It’s all I can do to breathe deep and not rush to the street to make sure the dickhead is gone.

  The thought of her with someone else makes me crazy. It always has. I’m willing to bet it always will. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna watch it happen.

  “I’ll have you both know your little show isn’t what dissuaded me from going with him.” She flips me a look of annoyance. As it melts off her pretty face, a tempting smile replaces it. “I didn’t go because I’m not wearing my pretty panties.”

  I can’t stop my jaw from dropping. My cock swells so fast it presses against the rough fabric of my jeans and threatens to burst the seams. Memories of her tanned skin beneath white lace splayed across my sheets doesn’t help. Nor does the grin toying on her lips.

  She hops off the stool. Tugging at the hemline of her shirt, the fabric adjusting over the swells of her breasts, she shrugs. “Better go see Cross. Good night, guys.” And before I can say anything else—before I can get my wits together or come up with a quick retort—she’s gone.

  And I am too.

  “Hey, Peck,” I say as I head toward the back of the bar.

  “Yeah?”

  “Help Nora lock up tonight.”

  “Are we taking money off my tab for that?” he shouts back.

  “I don’t give a flying fuck.”

  Storming toward the door, my entire body tight, I don’t even look Nora’s way.

  “Where are you going?” Nora asks as I blow by her.

  “Probably to hell.” My palms hit the door.

  Three

  Hadley

  “Oh my God.” A rush of wind escapes my lungs as the evening air ushers me away from the bar. I’m intoxicated, and I didn’t even drink. That good-looking bastard does this to me every time.

  I bend down to tie my shoe. My fingers fumble with the laces, a hold-over from the adrenaline that’s starting to taper off. With each second that passes, I feel a little better about my first interaction with Mach.

  There was no real fighting. No bloodshed. No tears.

  No sex.

  “No,” I groan as I stand. “I’m not going there. That is not a part of the plan.”

  “So there was a plan?” Machlan stands, hands tucked in his front pockets, forearms flexing a few feet in front of me. It’s a casual posture that any bystander would read as a guy having an easygoing conversation with a woman. That person would be wrong.

  The way his deep brown eyes are almost black and the way the little lines form between them tell me all I need to know. There’s nothing casual about this.

  My heart skips a beat as the scent of him rides the breeze and tortures me. It wasn’t as noticeable in the bar. Out here, he’s picking me apart without even trying, using his stupid cologne to unlock me like a puzzle.

  His body this close to me is the equivalent of drinking three glasses of wine. I’m hot. Bothered. And the struggle to remember I have a brain and am responsible for my behavior is a real thing.

  “Why did you follow me?” My words are smooth, void of emotion, and for that, I’m glad. I don’t know which emotion would come through if any were attached. I want to tease him, fall into the banter we do so well, but that’s not going to help the point of this visit. That’s not going to help me become less attached.

  “It’s okay for you to pop in Crave, but it’s weird for me to follow-up?”

  “There’s nothing to follow-up.”

  “I beg to differ.” He starts to smile but catches it before it really breaks. “Why are you here, Had?”

  “I’m not. I’m leaving.”

  “Will you stop fucking with me?”

  “I’m not fucking with you.” I move deliberately in hopes it exudes a confidence I don’t own. He stands between me and the handle. “Will you move, please?”

  “No.”

  “You know what?” I say, wedging myself against him and the door. “You’re making this easier than I thought it would be.” Gripping the handle, I lift. It opens, but there’s not enough room to pull it wide because he. Won’t. Move.

  I don’t look at him. I’m way too close for a move that dangerous. Instead, I tug again. The metal edge digs into his side, burying itself in the fabric of his black T-shirt, but it’s not enough to make him step away.

  “What is it you’re trying to do?” he asks.

  “Right now, it’s open a door.”

  His chest bounces around with a deep chuckle. “Fine.” He makes an exaggerated step to the side. It’s just enough room for me to pull open the door. “I’m telling you—if I hear you met up with that asshole—”

  “Oh, no,” I say, turning around. “Don’t start your shit with me.”

  “It’s not shit, sweetheart.”

  Despite knowing the term of endearment wasn’t used with any endearing wishes, my heart flutters. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep focus.

  “And I didn’t start it,” he continues. “You’re the one who came into Crave. I didn’t come looking for you.”

  “I didn’t come looking for you either.”

  It’s a lie, and we both know it.

  He doesn’t try to quell his shit-eating grin. It stretches across his cheeks plain as day. “Nah, you did. I just can’t figure out why.” His lips falter. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “Everything is fine,” I huff. “I’m not in trouble and coming back here like some damsel in distress. Although I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  He shrugs. “You know me—Mr. Nice Guy. Always ready to lend a helping hand.”

  “That’s such a crock of shit.”

  “Oh, like your little claim that you didn’t come looking for me? You did, Had. Why?”

  Instead of getting in the car and putting some distance between the two of us—as any reasonable, logical person would do—I lean against the door. My lungs fill with air, my senses picking up the hint of mint on his breath as he blows out a lungful of air of his own.

  My body stills, my mind slows, as I’m settled by Machlan’s proximity. His eyes soften, the lines in his forehead smoothen, and the tender part of him that makes my life so complicated wraps itself around my heart.

  “You want to know why I’m here?” I as
k, finding my resolve. “I’m here to hate you.”

  His laugh is immediate. “Don’t you already hate me?”

  “Not enough.”

  His laughter trickles away. He takes me in, searching my face for some answer to a question I don’t know. I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the crispness of the air and everything to do with the heat of his gaze.

  After what feels like entirely too long and not nearly long enough, he sighs. “Did you really think I was going to serve you a drink?”

  My shoulders sink. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You don’t really drink, do you? I mean, you haven’t been gone that long.”

  “I’ve not actually lived here for a year and a half.”

  He runs a hand down his scruff-lined jaw. “It doesn’t feel that long. Then again,” he reconsiders, his eyes softening, “it feels like a lifetime.”

  Our gazes crash together, propelled by enough memories to sink us both. I know exactly what he means. On one hand, it seems as if we haven’t missed a beat. But, on the other, it feels as though there’s a drift between us that’s deeper than ever.

  “It’s been long enough for a lot things to change,” I say. “I’m sure they’ve changed for you too.”

  “I …”

  A car pulls up beside us and slows to a stop. I glance over to see Lance, the oldest of the three Gibson boys.

  “Well, what do we have here?” he asks.

  “Hey, Lance,” I say.

  “Hey, Had. I didn’t know you were coming home.” He glances at Machlan. “Did you forget to mention it?”

  “No one knew,” I interject. “Cross doesn’t even know I’m home yet.”

  “But you’re here. With Mach.” Lance’s brows pull together. “I need some help here, guys. Have you had the fight yet? Or are we still gearing up to it? I can go inside and wait with Peck, if that’s better.”

  “Fuck you,” Machlan says.

  Lance laughs and pops his car into drive. “Good to see ya, Had.” The car starts down the road, but he looks out the window at his brother. “I’ll grab some tequila for later!”

  I take advantage of Machlan’s diverted attention and climb into the driver’s seat. I don’t get the door shut before he’s in the way. Again.