Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

Glaring Peck’s way, I throw it all to the wind and fling open the door to the lobby. I try to ignore the legs and hair and scent of her pineappley perfume that’s as unavoidable as a category five hurricane. Marching around the desk, I fiddle with the mouse and wait for the computer to wake up.

“Good morning,” she chirps. Her voice is sunshine, a bright reprieve to my otherwise bland day. “Sorry I’m a little late.”

“You mean you actually have a starting time?”

She giggles, stepping off the stool she’s perched on, wiping at the window blinds. “I’ve tried to be here when you open every day. Haven’t you noticed?”

I’ve noticed a fuck lot more than that. “Yeah, now that you mention it . . .”

“Aren’t you going to give me a cookie or something?” she sighs. “I hate getting up this early.”

“We open at eight. That’s early?”

“No, but seven is.” She tosses a rag into the bin. “I don’t work on other people’s schedules often. You should be honored.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She hops up on the desk, her ass planting on a calendar I need to see. The way her back arches, her hair spiraling down almost to her waist, has me gulping. Her legs swinging back and forth, she watches me. “So, what’s happening today?”

“Work.”

The door chimes and two boys walk in wearing navy blue t-shirts with white writing on the front. “Hey, Mr. Gibson,” the one on the right says. “We’re here seeing if you’d like to help our science club.”

“What are you raising money for?” I ask.

“We want to go to camp in Houston this winter,” the one on the left says. “It’s an astronaut camp. It’s going to be really cool, but really expensive. That’s why we’re selling these.” He holds out a box of chocolate bars wrapped in gold foil. “They’re really good and they have a coupon on the inside for pizza. You really can’t lose.”

Grabbing at my wallet in my back pocket, I narrow my eyes. “So you want to be astronauts?”

“I do,” the right one says. “But he wants to be an engineer.”

“But camp would help me learn so much to do that,” the left one says earnestly.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Eleven,” they say in unison.

Sienna watches from the side. She’s itching to interject, opening her mouth a few times, but closing it before she does.

“How many do you have to sell?” I ask, doing a quick perusal of the contents of the box.

“As many as we can,” the left one groans. “We have until Monday to finish selling this box but people don’t want to buy them. It’s chocolate! What’s wrong with chocolate?”

Chuckling, I open my wallet. “How much are they?”

“They’re a dollar a piece.”

“How many do you have?”

“Total?” the right one asks. He does a quick count. “There are twenty-two in here.”

“All I have is two twenties,” I say, fishing out the bills. “I’ll trade you.”

“We don’t have change.” The right one closes the box. “I could ask my mom to bring it by to you tonight.”

“Just use it for astronaut school,” I say, taking the chocolates. “And when you get to the moon someday, do a shout out to Crank for me, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” the right one says, his smile stretching from ear to ear. “Thank you, sir.”

“No problem.”

They skip out the door, high-fiving each other when they hit the parking lot. My eyes drag to Sienna. “What?”

“Nothing. That was just super sweet of you. I didn’t know you had it in ya.”

I shove my wallet back into my pants. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Want to tell me?”

“Nope.”

“Can I ask you something? About cars,” she adds.

Scooting the mouse away from the keyboard, I turn towards her. “Sure. What’s up?”

“There’s a light on in my car.” She sets off describing it in the most girlish terms I can imagine. She’s animated today, rambling on and on about calling the shop but wanting to know what it means so she can go in there armed to the teeth and not get taken advantage of. “Do you know what that is?”

“It’s your oil light. When’s the last time your oil was changed?”

She shrugs. “When I was in Georgia.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Last summer.”

My head falling back, I sigh. “You’re way overdue. You can’t let your car go that long.”

“Well, my light should’ve come on before now,” she insists. “I have an appointment after I leave here at the dealership. I just don’t want them lying to me. I usually have one of my brothers take it in and handle it. Or Troy.”

“Who’s Troy?” I ask, not sure I want to know.

“My brother Barrett’s guy.”

“Is he gay?”

She bursts out laughing, leaping off the desk. “That would be a no.”

She prances around the room, making a pot of coffee and wiping off the table where sugar appears to have been spilled. This is why I can’t start looking at her—I can’t stop. As she buzzes around the room, fiddling with everything she can, I don’t even get annoyed. It doesn’t even bother me. I’m too absorbed with a plethora of questions to pay attention to all the things she’s moving around.