Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

I refuse to look at him, even when he says my name again. I look away, focusing on a pile of papers on the makeshift desk next to the microwave.

My tears are hot. My nose burns. My brain wrestles for control of my overstimulated nerves. Gently, I shake my arm free from him and turn completely away.

“I’ve never talked to anyone about that but you,” he says in an almost-whisper.

I sniffle, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my shirt. “I haven’t either.”

“I’d hug you if I didn’t think you’d hit me.”

I can’t suppress the soft laugh. “How can you be such a jerk and then almost sweet in the same minute?”

“It’s what happens when you’re the fourth sibling. You get whatever genes are left. My bag of DNA didn’t include enough of either, I guess. I kind of hop back and forth between them.”

“You really stay on the jerk side most times.”

He shrugs. “Probably.” He finds my car keys on the nightstand and holds them in his palm. He looks them over as if they might tell him something, before sitting on the bed. “Let’s get back to this Samuel guy.”

Plopping down on the sofa, I tuck my legs under me. Machlan watches but doesn’t press, and that concerns me. He’s a presser. The kind of guy who doesn’t give you a chance to get yourself together. But here he is, giving me space to articulate a response.

It’s enough to make me want to answer him.

“He’s nice, Mach. He …” I look around the room, trying to figure out the words to use. “He’s kind and smart and responsible.”

Much to my amazement, Machlan doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t grin or smirk or give me some one-liner that makes me want to throat punch him. Instead, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve been seeing him a while,” I add.

“Does Cross know this?”

“Yeah.”

He mumbles something I can’t hear. His knuckles turn a bright white before fading back to his usual skin tone. “I’m gonna have to disagree.”

“On …?”

“All of it.”

“All of what? There’s nothing to disagree with,” I say. “I told you my opinions.”

“And I told you mine. Look, Had. If this guy was so fucking great, first of all, he’d be here trying to get you back.”

“No. Part of what makes him great is that he gives me room when I ask for it.”

“You don’t want room,” he scoffs. “When you say that shit, you really just want someone to chase after you.”

My legs drop to the floor. A tinge of sadness sits over my heart because it shows why he didn’t come after me when I left town. “Well, I’m glad to know you know that.”

We exchange a long look. He shrugs but looks at the floor. “I’m glad to know you want someone kind and smart.”

“What did you think I want?”

“I don’t know.”

He might say that, but he doesn’t mean it. There’s an idea of what he thinks I want that he won’t say, and I wonder why. Before I can ask, he jams his hands in his pockets.

“You won’t commit to the kind, great guy. That’s what’s going on?” he asks.

“Basically.” I stand, too. “I’ll be honest with you.”

“I wish you would.”

“I want to be in love with Samuel.”

Machlan stills. He narrows his eyes just a touch, as if trying to comprehend what I said, before his hand slides in his back pocket. Out comes his can of tobacco, and the thumping of his thumb against the lid strums through the room in an easy rhythm.

“You can’t just ‘be in love’ with someone,” he says finally.

“Tell me about it.” I sigh. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t be in love with him.”

The thumping stops. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“It kind of is.”

“No, it’s not. Do you really want to wake up one morning next to someone you made yourself love?”

I look at the floor. “Sometimes I think it would be better than not having anyone to love at all.” Shrugging, I flip my gaze to him for a moment because I can’t linger on the sadness I see in his eyes. “I’m being dramatic.”

“You still being honest?” he asks. “’Cause I’d like to know why you’re here. For real. No bullshit.”

When I turn away, he touches my arm lightly. I let him spin me to face him.

I wish I hadn’t.

His eyes search mine with a tenderness that makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry. It’s my favorite Machlan look, the one that I’ve only seen a handful of times. Usually, he’s too guarded and ornery to let himself be exposed like this, but when he does, it’s a sight to behold.

I stare at him for a long time, letting my heart find a steady pulse.

“Why are you here?” he asks again.