Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

“Really? I kind of like the purple.”

“I mean, you’re the one that’s going to wear it, but …” She plucks a shirt off the rack and dangles it in front of me. “Try this one. Same cut but in blue.”

“Ooh. I like that.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

She takes the shirt in my hand, puts it up, and then hands me the blue one.

“What’s been going on with you today?” I ask. I spy a cute little dandelion print top and pluck it off the hanger. “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”

“I know. I was watching this video online last night about how to cut up a shirt and make it all edgy and cool.”

“That’s a good use of your time.”

“I know. It was one of those two a.m. rabbit hole things. Anyway, I woke up this morning and wanted to try it out.”

“How’d it go?” I inspect a charcoal-gray suit that would look awesome with a crisp white shirt, but it’s overkill for the bank, so I put it back. “Not good, I’m guessing, since you look like you’ve been wrestling a whale this morning.”

She sighs. “Very funny. But you’re right. It wasn’t nearly as easy as the cute little chipper blonde made it look. Hers looked chic and retro. Mine looked like a five-year-old got a hold of her mommy’s scissors and hacked up her shirt.” She scrunches up her face. “Why are things always harder than they look online?”

“That’s not something you hear a lot,” I say with a snort.

“What?”

“That things are harder in real life than you see online.” I wink. “Bad joke. I apologize. But you’re right, and that’s why I don’t attempt that sort of thing.”

We walk through the store, holding up various garments for consideration. I’ve already looked at most of the things in the little shop—the only thing that resembles a department store in Merom. Linton had nothing. Not even a store where everything is a dollar.

Navie slurps the rest of her coffee. The straw sucks air, sending an obnoxious sound through the store that gets her a side-eye from the cashier.

“Can you stop it?” I ask her. “You’re going to get us thrown out of here, and I’m not done shopping yet.”

She tosses it in a trash can. “Are we just looking at clothes for the bank, or we looking for … other things.” She stops in the middle of the walkway and grins.

“Just work,” I say carefully. “I don’t like that look on your face.”

“Ha.” She spins around and grabs a light pink negligee. It hangs from her finger like it’s made of spun gold.

The garment is beautiful. The fabric begs you to touch it while the lace lining the top and bottom teases you to touch what would be underneath.

My eyes flick to hers. “Navie …” I warn.

“What? You’d look awesome in this.”

“Don’t what me. I know what you’re implying.”

And that implication has my body humming. Dim lights, candles flickering, Peck’s eyes filled with unbridled passion …. I shiver.

“Um, I’m not the one who started this,” she says. “You were implying a whole hell of a lot when you were dry humping him on the bar.”

“I was not.” My face burns. “We were dancing.”

“It’s a choice of words.”

“The correct choice,” I say. I take the item away from her and put it back. “Don’t start this.”

When I turn around, Navie is watching me with a hand on her hip.

“Don’t regret that,” she says.

I walk away from her toward the perfume counter because it’s the farthest thing from her at the moment. My mind ponders her request.

Don’t regret that.

Do I?

The back of my brain says I do. It says things are going to get weird between Peck and me. And being that the more I see of him, the more I like him means that I’ll probably be packing myself up and out of there. Maybe even with a broken heart.

But my heart has things to say of its own. It doesn’t take being shattered into consideration. It’s contemplating lazy Sunday afternoons watching football and arguments over who is making dinner—things that I’ve never really wanted before, and things I have no business wanting now. Not with him, anyway.

The push and pull ripped at me all night after Peck left my room. It was present through my shower this morning, all during breakfast, and accompanied me here.

I’m a mess.

“Does that frown mean nothing happened when you got home last night?” Navie asks. “If you say yes, I’m going to be so disappointed.”

I frown deeper.

Her face falls in a dramatic fashion. “No, Dylan.”

“We … talked,” I say. “It was fine.”

I turn my attention to the sample perfume bottles. Suddenly, I’m very interested in the smell of sunflowers.

Navie leans her back against the glass counter. “You talked. After that?”

“Yes. Because we’re adults, and adults talk. I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of it.”