Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

Sorting through invoices, I force myself to be somewhat productive until the door chimes ring. Expecting to see Peck, I look up with a line on my tongue. Instead, invoices spill from my hands, scattering in a mess on the desk in front of me as I take her in.

A bright pink tank top showcases Sienna’s perfectly round breasts, drooping not quite low enough for her cleavage to be visible. Long gold earrings hang from her ears and her hair is a wild mess, held back only by a pair of oversized sunglasses. On her legs is another pair of cutoff jeans. Thankful I’m sitting so my cock won’t be visible, I try to keep my face passive. Hot or not, this is the girl who banged up my truck and ruined my weekend. “You’re late.”

She assesses me for a half a second. “That depends on who you ask.”

“I said this morning. It’s noon.”

“And I said I’d be here today. It’s still today.”

She saunters towards the desk with the confidence of a woman that usually gets what she wants. With every step she takes, I can almost taste the sweetness of her perfume, feel the silkiness of her hair wrapped around my fist.

Still, she knows she’s messing with me, and while it’s a turn-on to watch her almost stalk her way across the lobby, it’s also proving she thinks she can just flirt her way around this, the one thing I hoped she wouldn’t do. Maybe I hoped she’d be different and take this seriously.

“Why did you even bother to come by?” I ask, my tone even harsher than I intended.

“I came to tell you I’m sorry.”

The pen in my hand stops scrawling across the notepad in front of me, but I don’t look up.

“I mean it,” she adds. “I’ve thought about this all weekend, and I don’t think I even apologized to you.”

She waits for me to utter an acceptance of her apology, one I don’t quite believe because believing gets you disappointed. But when I lift my gaze, the complete somberness in her features has me giving her the benefit of the doubt.

Sitting back in my chair, I press my lips together. “You’re right. You didn’t apologize.”

“I’m embarrassed. I don’t know what happened to me . . .” Her eyes drop to the floor, a tiny smile gracing her shiny lips. “Please accept my apology.” She waits for my response, one I don’t give her. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she looks up at me. “So . . . you’re still really pissed?”

“You took a bat to my truck, Slugger.”

“Stop calling me ‘Slugger.’”

I can’t help but return her lopsided grin, despite my best efforts. I hate the way my anger is dissipating, the way my shoulders feel lighter than they have since Saturday night.

“You have one hell of a swing,” I note, remembering more about what her body looked like moving the bat through the air than the actual mechanics of the swing. “I bet your daddy is proud. Were you a college softball standout or something?”

“No. Just a good learner.”

I try not to frown. “Ex-boyfriend play?”

“Nah, just my brother,” she says with a shrug. “I spent half my life at a baseball stadium or practice field watching him do his thing.”

“Was he any good?”

“Decent,” she says. “I take credit for any success he ever had. I threw him so many pop flies growing up he owes me.”

“I’m sure he owes it all to you,” I chuckle.

She grins, the damn thing lighting up the room. Leaning against the desk, she bites her bottom lip. “So, about Daisy . . .”

Before I can respond, the chimes ring behind her. We jump like we’ve been caught doing something we weren’t supposed to be.

“Peck was right,” Kip says, taking off his brown Sheriff’s hat and purposefully not looking at Sienna. “And that’s all I’m going to say about that.”

“You called the Sheriff?” Sienna whips around, her eyes wide. “Damn it, Walker. I said I’ll pay for it. Don’t you believe me?”

“Sienna—”

“Let me introduce myself,” Kip says, extending a hand. “I’m Sheriff Kooch, the man in charge of this county. And who might you be?”

“Sienna.” She squares her shoulders and bats her eyes once for good measure. “I told him I’d pay for the damage. There’s really no reason for you to be involved. Don’t you have a lot of other things to take care of today? Things that matter?”

Kip doesn’t say anything, just turns to me with a slightly raised brow. He’s putty in her hands. If I don’t watch it, he’ll be writing me the ticket.

“Daisy matters,” I say, ignoring the rest for now.

“My legal footprint matters,” she shoots back.

“Yeah, Walker,” Kip adds in. “Peck told me what happened. Pretty silly to get the law involved in an accident.”