Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

Navie: I watched two men have an arm-wrestling contest tonight at Crave, and the loser ended up with a broken arm. I heard the snap and everything.

Me: That’s disgusting.

Navie: Tell me about it. Why can’t you sleep?

Me: Don’t know. New place, maybe?

Navie: Probably. I need to finish picking up the bar so I can go home. Call me tomorrow?

Me: Ok. Be careful.

Navie: Yes, Mom.

I toss my phone on the nightstand.

Looking around the room in the muted light from the moon streaming through the window, I can make out the barn in the distance. Everything I own, except for what fits in my suitcase in the corner, is in that barn. In cardboard boxes. Probably getting trampled by mice.

What has my life become?

I never really cared to have some deep connection with a person or a place. That’s probably because I never have felt that way about anything besides Navie. But I didn’t expect to be almost thirty and basically starting over. I have nothing to show for my life up until now except for a wariness about life.

That’s sad. Even I know that.

My legs swing to the side of the bed. I get up and stretch before heading to the bedroom door. It opens quietly as I step into the hallway that extends off the kitchen. I make my way down the little corridor that holds the bedroom I’m staying in and a separate bathroom.

My bare feet smack against the hardwood floors as I make my way into the kitchen. There’s a light on above the stove but no sign of Peck. He said he had some things to do when we got home, and even though I waited around to see him again, I finally took a shower and went to bed.

I pull open the refrigerator and try not to laugh at the contents. There’s a tub of butter, a gallon of milk that I’m fairly certain is expired by the date printed on the container, a couple of takeout cartons, and a few bottles of water.

After making a note to go to the grocery store for necessities, I take a bottle of water and close the door.

The drink is cool as it trickles down my throat. I gaze out the window over the sink at the barn in the distance. The yard looks like it falls on the far side of it, and I wonder if there’s a lake or something back there.

I’m mid-daydream about swimming in the lake I might have just made up when a sound causes me to jump. I spin around and

My

Mouth

Drops

Open.

Holy effing shit.

“Sorry,” Peck says. “I … um …” He forces a swallow as he takes in my body barely covered in a pair of short shorts and a tank top. “Guess I need to remember I’m not here alone anymore, huh?”

Not if it stops you from walking around like that.

A white towel is tied around his waist. It sits just below his belly button—low enough to show off the top of the lines etched into his sides.

His body is thick and strong, his skin tanned to perfection. His stomach is cut into hard, muscled squares, and his shoulders are broad. The line from his neck down to his shoulders is enough to make my mouth water.

The corner of his lips turns up.

“Oh,” I say, clearing my throat. “Yeah. Um, I guess I need to do that too. Remember I’m not here alone anymore. I mean, I’ve never been here alone, but you know what I mean.”

My cheeks flush as he chuckles.

“Right. Learning curve,” he says.

He saunters past me like we do this every night. Like he’s not displaying a body that looks handcrafted by God himself.

He rummages around in a cabinet. I watch his back flex and his muscles move. The towel dips to the lowest part of his back, and the way his sides taper down is incredible.

I think my brain might explode.

Sure, Peck is good looking. I’d bet any girl he’s ever met has a crush on him. There’s nothing to not like. But does anyone realize just how hot this man is because, if they do, how is there not a woman here permanently?

He turns around with a box of cookies in his hand. The simple smile on his face matched with the layers of sexiness below is a complicated vision. Add in that he’s crushing on someone else and I’m his renter for a while, and that leaves me in a conundrum.

“Want one?” he asks.

Definitely.

I shake my head and try to gather myself. “No, I better not.”

“Suit yourself.” He takes a cookie and shoves it in his mouth. “I have a thing about snacking at night. I can’t sleep if I haven’t had a bedtime snack.”

I drink in his body again. “I like bedtime snacks.” Stop talking.

He flashes me a puzzled look before sitting the box on the table. “So are you a night owl or just can’t sleep?”