Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

A whistle screams through the air from Blondie as I lift the edge of my diesel truck logo shirt. I spin my hat around backward, the music just starting to feed into my blood when it shuts off.

“Down, Peck,” Machlan barks.

“Don’t blame me if you go broke,” I shout back to him.

The bar is flooded with light. The front door open, and Dylan steps inside.

My stomach flip flops at the sight of her.

She has on the same cutoffs that she had on the day she ripped my ass at Dave’s. A T-shirt falls easily off one shoulder. It has a rainbow across the front.

Her eyes scan the bar, lighting up when she sees Navie. I stand still—both unable and afraid to move.

“Hey, Navie,” she chirps. The door closes behind her. She makes her way across the room toward the bar. “Thought I’d check this place out tonight …” Her voice falls as her gaze lands on me. “What are you doing here?”

I gulp.

I’m not sure how to play this off … and in front of Navie, no less. I look at my friend and spy a quirked brow.

“I’m volunteering to host a strip tease event on Saturday nights,” I say. “Want a preview?”

“Get. Down,” Machlan says. Again.

Dylan presses her lips together. Still, there’s a hint of a smile that makes me grin. I don’t know what it is about her refusal to be nice to me that’s so amusing, but it is.

“I can’t believe they let you in here,” she says.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Navie asks.

I bow my head as I hop to the floor. The soles of my boots squeak against the concrete. If I look up, I’ll see the equivalent of a rainbow-shirt wearing iceberg get plowed by a few Titantic-esque truths that are probably going to hurt.

Me.

That’s who it’s going to hurt. Because she’s going to blame me for not telling her, and her fingernail poking my chest hurts like a motherfucker.

Dylan pops her hip, a hand finding the bend right above it. Her eyes are glued to me as she sighs. “Well, at least he returned what he stole.”

“Good thing we don’t kick him out over not paying for shit,” Machlan says, heading toward the storeroom. “Fucker always has a tab.”

“I pay it off every month,” I yell at him.

I turn slowly back around to see Navie and Dylan looking at me. Dylan looks defiant, as usual, but Navie’s something else. Curious, maybe.

“I didn’t know you guys knew each other,” Navie says.

Dylan raises a brow. “I told you I met him yesterday.”

“Huh. I must’ve missed that.”

My heart starts to pick up its pace as I feel the impending bomb drop hovering overhead. “I’m going to head out.”

“You want me to add your beer to your tab?” Navie asks.

Dylan’s jaw drops. “How can you be so nice to him? I mean, I know he brought everything back and all that, but seriously, Navie. Be mad. Be angry.” She balls her fists up and shakes them in front of her. “Stand up for yourself, girlfriend. Don’t let him ghost you and then just pop back up with that stupid charm and cute smile.”

Navie cocks her head to the side. I smile sheepishly.

“Tab. Yup,” I say, walking backward toward the door.

“See ya later, Peck,” Navie says.

My foot halts midstep as the realization I’ve been waiting to hit Dylan flushes over her face. Her eyes widen before they narrow. The apples of her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink as she starts putting pieces of things together.

I retreat again, quicker this time—

“Stop,” Dylan demands.

Navie comes around the bar, a white bar towel fisted in her hand. “What’s happening here?”

“Who is that?” Dylan asks, pointing at me.

“I really gotta go,” I say.

“What’s his name?” Dylan looks at me. “What’s your name?”

“Little late to be asking that now, isn’t it?” I rotate my hat around again, pulling it snugly down as far as I can.

“You’re Logan. Right?” Dylan watches me intently. “Tell me your Logan, or I’m going to flip tables.”

“What are you talking about?” Navie asks, laughing at her friend. “That’s not Logan. That’s Peck.”

Dylan lets out a little shriek as she flies in a half-circle to face Navie. “What are you talking about? That’s not your cute best friend here … until I moved here. Now I’m your cute best friend here. Anyway, that’s Logan. The jerkface that ghosted you!”

Navie’s laugh fills with confusion. “No, it’s not. That’s Peck. Why on Earth would you think …” Her voice trails off. A lightbulb goes off as all the pieces in a puzzle are snapped together in her brain.

“Yeah ….” I mumble.

“Peck,” Navie warns.

“Don’t Peck me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“The hell you didn’t,” Dylan interjects. “You let me think you were Logan. You brought Logan’s pots and pans … or Navie’s pots and pans that you—I mean, Logan—stole … Ugh. This is giving me a headache.”