Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

He handles the car with ease, singing the words to a song on the radio to himself. There’s no doubt he’s mulling over a thought, one I’m not sure I want to know. One I’m not sure I know how to process.

I’ll never look at him the same. It has nothing to do with knowing how he feels inside me or what his lips taste like after they’ve been all over my body. It has everything to do with him going with me today, providing a shield when I needed it.

I’ll never look at him the same, but yet nothing’s changed between us. We’re still two people with an insane chemistry that we can never let combust.

As the wheels hit the ramp, Lance speaks. “Want to take a drive? I know a little place we could go.”

While the thought of curling up next to Lance and watching the sun start to dip behind the trees is, by definition, an excellent thought, so is the idea of not getting my heart broken by him.

“I better get home,” I tell him instead. “I have some cupcakes to make for tomorrow.”

“Lemon?”

I let the sunlight warm my face. “Is that what you want?” When we pass Carlson’s Bakery and he still hasn’t answered, I look at him. There’s a look in his eye I can’t place. “Lance?”

“I was debating between lemon and red velvet.” He pulls his car against the curb in front of my house. “I can never quite make up my mind.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

He squeezes my leg a final time before getting out. Before he closes the door behind him, he pokes his head back inside. “You always surprise me, Mariah.”

By the time I get my purse, he’s opening my door. The walk to my stoop is slow and I wonder if he wishes the day didn’t have to end just like I’m wishing too. Tomorrow brings another day filled with unknowns. There’s a fear replacing all of the excitement inside me, a fear that I’ll second-guess my decisions today, all night, and tomorrow I’ll realize I somehow didn’t see the whole picture.

But when I look at him and he touches the side of my face as I stand in front of the door, I know that’s partially not true. I won’t regret today for as long as I live. And if this is the whole picture, if only for today, then I’ll have to deal with the rest of it as it comes.

“Thank you for letting me accompany you today,” he says.

My heart melts. “Thank you for accompanying me.”

I hold my breath as he draws his face lower, pressing a kiss to the apple of my cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I sigh.

I wish I could ask him in or tell him I changed my mind, to take me on that drive after all. But I just had sex in my mother’s pantry. I have to balance that out with logic at some point.

Turning to unlock the door, I yelp as Lance’s hand swats my behind. He’s jogging down the sidewalk when I turn around.

“What was that for?” I ask.

He stops at the car and grins. “I just wanted to touch your ass.”

“You’re impossible.”

He climbs in the car and starts the engine, honking as he speeds away.

Twenty

Lance

I’m about to throw back a shot of tequila when the doorbell rings. Setting it down with more force than necessary, a little splashes onto the dark kitchen countertop.

Unbuttoning the second button of my shirt, I yank open the door. Peck is standing on the stoop, a plate covered in tinfoil in his hand.

“Nana sent leftovers.” He says this like I couldn’t have guessed.

My stomach growls. “Guess it’s good timing.” Popping open the door, I step aside so my cousin can walk in. “You just leave Nana’s? It’s late.”

“Nah, I’ve had that in my car a while. Ran by Crank to work on a motor I took apart yesterday and got caught up in it. Didn’t realize I was there so long.”

“I do that grading essays,” I say, taking the plate from him.

“You could’ve said anything and I would’ve agreed. Television, a book, porn. But essays? Fuck that,” Peck laughs. As we enter the kitchen, he motions towards the shot of liquor. “That good of a day, huh?”

Hunger forgotten, I slide the plate down the bar. It hits the coffee maker with a thud.

I’ve paced these floors all damn evening trying to work out this kink in my brain, this fucking blip that seems to be overriding all sense and sensibility.

Lifting the shot glass, I swallow the tequila in one gulp. It burns like hell, making me cringe. “That shit is horrible,” I say, smacking my lips together. “Reminds me why I stick to Old Fashioneds.”

“So, why are you shooting tequila?”

“Peck. I have a problem.”

He eyes me warily as he pours himself a shot and downs it.