Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

“But you are. You know, pots and pans.”

He takes his hat off and scratches the top of his head. “But I brought the pans back and paid for the gas. So maybe I’m a good thief like the good witch in the Wizard of Oz.”

“She was still a witch,” I say.

“But pretty in that pink dress. It was pink, right? It’s been a while.”

He moves to put the hat back on. The air comes alive with his cologne. It’s aromatic with an aquatic, slightly woody hint that barrels through my veins and makes my brain foggy.

Glancing at his watch, he frowns. “I gotta be hitting the road.”

“Hot date?”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and grins. “Yup.”

My stomach flip flops as I take a step back toward the door. The logical part of my brain tells me that this is a good thing—that he’ll be leaving Navie alone—but the female part of my brain, the one that favors charisma and looks over sensible actions, is kind of sad.

“My date tonight makes the best cheeseball in the world. She puts extra bacon in it just for me, and word on the street is that she made fried chicken. It’s the best,” he adds. His eyes twinkle as he describes the night waiting for him.

“Good. I need to get going too,” I say, jamming a finger behind me. “I have to, you know … make sure all of my stuff is ready to move and all that.”

“Where ya movin’?”

“I’m renting a house on Vine Street. Just waiting on the tenants to get out. They were supposed to be out last week, but the landlord had a hard time getting them to go, so now I have to wait.”

He nods. “Cool. Well, if you need anything done around there, I know people who’ll work for cheap.”

“Thanks.”

“Now I gotta get going, or Nana will be pissed.”

“Nana?” I say as he heads down the sidewalk. “What kind of name is that?”

He smiles before climbing in his truck. The engine starts before he rolls the window down.

“Don’t forget to give Navie the pots and pans,” he says.

“I will.”

“And if you get a hankering for fried chicken, I know a grandma who loves to feed people. It’s one of Nana’s best recipes.”

My mouth drops open. “You just ghosted my best friend, and you’re inviting me to dinner? With your grandmother, no less.”

Even though I’m quietly thrilled Nana is his grandmother and not some exotic beauty, I feign indifference.

“Sorry,” he says, revving his engine. “I forgot about all that ghosting thing.”

“You’re a bastard, Logan.”

His laughter is loud as he backs down the driveway. He waves from the street before his tires bark as he pulls away.

I go back inside and close the door behind me. Venturing into the kitchen, I spy a shirt slung over the back of a chair. Navie tossed Logan’s shirt there this morning as she complained about not being able to make breakfast.

Glancing back at the door, I try to imagine Logan screwing Navie over like that.

It’s hard to imagine him being such a dick. He seems so … I grin before I can even get the words into a coherent thought.

“Face the facts,” I say as I pick up the shirt. “He’s a troll like Navie said.”

I toss the shirt into the trash can.

And force myself not to take it back out.

Four

Dylan

“I am an adult, for heaven’s sake.”

Glancing at the pile of paperwork in front of me—bills that need paid, papers that need my signature, and a budget that I need to peruse to remind myself of its existence—I do the logical thing: I fall back on the floor, sending papers flying in the air, and think happy thoughts.

Happy thoughts that, by definition, don’t include adultish things.

“I need a grown-up,” I moan.

I think back to my last birthday, the one where I turned twenty-nine, and how I thought this would be the year I got myself together. The year I felt like I knew how to handle all the things. Life. Paperwork. Insurance.

Instead, I’m camping out on Navie’s couch at two in the morning while she’s at work, and I’m killing time. I don’t even have my own place yet and am living out of a suitcase and a duffel bag.

I might never reach adult status when it comes to all the things.

I gasp as the front door pushes open. The only available weapon close by is a tube of mascara. I grab it and hold it in front of me as Navie walks in.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I say, blowing out a breath.

“Sorry. I just live here.” She shoots me a tired smile before dropping her purse on the table. “And what were you going to do with that?” One of her fingers makes a slow circle in the air as it points to the mascara in my hand.