Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

Mom’s eyes go wide, the mask she uses when she’s being watched falls effortlessly over her features. I’m distracted from her performance when his arm stretches around my waist and he pulls me to his side.

He’s warm and solid and if it wasn’t already weird, I would bury my nose in his chest and just breathe him in like a bouquet of flowers. One of my hands plants in the center of his chest to steady myself. His heartbeat pounds against my palm as roughly as mine clangs in my chest.

“I dropped my keys back there,” he says, peering down at me. The greens of his eyes are filled with some nameless emotion that I could watch swim in his irises all day. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. Who are you?” My mother shifts her weight, the front of her shirt dropping. It’s a patented move and many men have fallen for it. I glance up to see Lance’s reaction.

He’s looking at me. With a wink just for me, he turns to her. “I’m Lance. You must be Mrs. Malarkey.”

“Oh, no,” she says, swishing her hips. “I’m Taylor Stevens. Mariah’s mother, yes, but her father was hell on wheels. We haven’t been together for decades now and I took back my maiden name. Couldn’t stand to be associated with that monster another day.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Lance’s fingers dip into my hip, sending a proprietary impulse darting through my veins and pooling in my belly.

I almost don’t want to breathe this close to him. I almost don’t want to if that means pushing away and stepping back into reality. Not that I know what’s real anymore. This is surely an alternate reality if Lance Gibson has his arm around me like we’re lovers.

Mom studies Lance’s grip on my side. The end of her sunglasses finds its way to her mouth as she tries to discern why a man like him would be with a girl like me.

Panic bubbles in my gut, overriding the foreplay from Lance, and I push away. “I need to get going,” I say to him.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

Mom’s huff stops me. “Mariah, you are so rude.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I sigh. “I have a migraine coming on.”

“Always an excuse with you,” she says. “Haven’t we talked about this?”

Resigned to the fight, I steady myself. “It’s not an excuse.”

“You always have one and then you wonder why you have nothing good in your life. It’s because people don’t want to coddle you, honey.”

“Woah, wait a second,” Lance says, chuckling to cover the anger I can hear just below the surface in his voice. “Mariah has a headache. Let’s take it easy on her.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper to him.

His response is to tuck me back under his arm. This time, I rest my head against him. My body sags. He squeezes me harder.

“You obviously haven’t been with her long,” Mom says, eyeing him.

“That’s true. But I know she has a lot of great things in her life. Me being one of them.”

The smolder he emits could burn down a house. It’s his special mix of cocky and confident that burrows its way into uninvited places. His rough knuckles graze the soft skin under my navel, gliding along my hip. The contact is incendiary, the friction—pure dynamite.

“Well, if that’s true, why don’t you accompany her next weekend to my birthday party?” Mom asks, trapping me.

“I’d love to.” Lance’s response is quick, too quick to allow me to intervene.

“I haven’t said I’m going yet,” I remind her and inform him. “I might have plans.”

“With whom if it’s not him?”

“I have other friends besides him.”

“You do?” he asks. He bends over as I jab him in the stomach with my elbow.

“Yes. I have more friends than just you. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I’m even your friend.” The words don’t come out without a laugh.

He pulls me in front of him, his hands locking behind me and dragging me against his body. Ignoring my mother, he grins. “I don’t need to be your friend as long as I get the benefits.”

“You mean cupcakes?” The question is breathier than I expect, huskier than I intend, but the spot in my brain that controls motor skills is host to an impressive display of fireworks going off in quick succession at the moment.

“You can call it whatever you want, sweetheart.”

I laugh, pushing him away. It’s potentially the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m the one who needs a cupcake for that bout of willpower.

“So you two will come?” Mom taps her lips with a manicured nail. “Your sister would love to see you.”

Glancing at Lance, I snort. “Oh, I bet she would.”

“Stop it, Mariah. You need to get over this. Act like the woman you are and not a child. I’m sick of your behavior.”