Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

“Fine.” I suck my cheeks in to keep them from breaking in half and head to the door. “If you’re sure.”

He swats my ass, making me yelp. “Keep it up.”

“That’s what she said.”

I don’t look back as he starts laughing. I make my way toward his truck with the lightest steps I’ve ever taken and the best music in my ears.

Twenty-Three

Hadley

The hardwoods creak as I make my way down the hall. The house is dark, pitch black in most areas. A night light glows from the living room, and I know without looking that it’s a little plug-in shaped like a tea rose. It’s been there since the first time I came to this house. It belonged to his mother.

I venture through the house in a pair of shorts and an oversized T-shirt with a slogan from an athletics company on the front. My hair is wet from the quick shower I took while Machlan took a call from Walker.

The air is crisp as I mosey around, like a window is open somewhere. Scents of pine from the trees surrounding the house and a hint of cleaning product and tobacco flood my senses. It’s a weird combination, but one that’s definitely Machlan.

I’ve walked this hallway a hundred times before. I know each plank that will give a little when I step on it, and that the section by the front door will echo a little louder than the part in the back. The closet to my left is filled with coats and shoes, and the door to my right used to be Machlan’s dad’s home office.

Out of all the houses I’ve ever stayed in, this one feels the most like home. My mother and I had to move too often to afford rent in California. Living with Dad and Cross, and then just Cross when Dad took off for Reno and never came back, wasn’t very heartwarming. This place, though, always felt cozy and smelled vaguely of fresh flowers and home cooked food. It still does.

My movements slow as I near the kitchen. The light is bright ahead of me. Soft rustlings and the snap of a refrigerator door roll from the room. The soft material of the burgundy rug lining the last few feet to the kitchen caress the soles of my feet.

Hand over my mouth, I stifle a yawn as I reach the threshold.

Then I stop in my tracks.

Machlan is doing something at the counter with his back—his bare back—to me. He’s naked except for a pair of gray sweatpants hanging from his narrow hips. Each movement causes the muscles in his back to ripple. The pushing and pulling of his perfectly sized muscles make me gulp.

Knowing he was in the shower earlier and not peeking was super hard. The door was cracked, so it wouldn’t have been hard. But going in there and not making things even more complicated would’ve been impossible, so I didn’t. I busied myself by texting Emily instead.

“You gonna stare all night or what?” he asks.

“Maybe I’m not here.”

His body vibrates with a chuckle. “I see you in the window, genius.”

“Oh.” I yawn again, forcing it a little this time, as if to say I’m tired and not completely turned on. He grins smugly, seeing through it, but I ignore his delicious smirk. “It’s after three.”

“Nice you can tell time.” He turns and hands me a plate. There’s a perfectly browned grilled cheese sandwich cut into four little squares. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“You come home from work and make grilled cheese sandwiches?” I ask, taking the plate.

He takes a square off my plate and pops the whole thing in his mouth. “Fuck, that’s hot!” His mouth pops open, and he waves his hand in front of it. A dollop of cheese is stuck to his bottom lip, and I want to wipe it off, but I don’t. If I touch him with his six-pack abs looking all glorious, it would be the end of me. I’d have an orgasm holding a grilled cheese.

“That’s why you shouldn’t steal.” I sit at the table and pick up a piece. I hold the sandwich so it looks like I’m giving it serious attention when, in reality, I can see across the golden crust and watch Machlan pour two glasses of water. “When did you learn how to cook?”

He pads across the floor and hands me a glass. Our fingers touch as I take it. I pretend not to notice.

“I hardly think grilled cheese is considered cooking.” He grabs another plate off the counter and then sits across from me. “But I can reheat food like it’s nobody’s business.”

I take a bite. The cheese oozes out the sides and melts in my mouth. It’s buttery and gooey, and the crunch on the outside is so satisfying. He grins as he takes a careful bite of his.