Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

Before I know what’s happening, she stops. “Something wrong?”

Looking at the floor, I shove around the desk and head for the garage. “Nope. Have a good day, Sienna.”

“You too . . .”

WIPING MY HANDS ON a towel, I push the door to the lobby open with my shoulder. My brain is calculating the quantity of line I need to order when I stop in my tracks. Sienna is standing beside Nana who has a half-eaten muffin in her hand.

“Oh, there you are, Walker,” Nana says, popping the rest of the muffin into her mouth. “I came in here looking for you and found this sweet girl instead.”

I look at Sienna out of the corner of my eye. Smug doesn’t even begin to describe the look on her beautiful face, like she won over Nana. Like that means something.

“I just got out to the garage yesterday and had a look at the work you and Machlan did for me. Such good boys, the both of you,” she says, patting the side of my cheek. “What would I do without my sweet grandsons?”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I say, feeling a little smug myself.

“If you come to dinner on Sunday, I’ll make a pecan pie.”

“Are you bribing me with pie?”

“Would you rather have cake?” Her hand drops from my face with a sigh. “I need your behind in a pew on Sunday, Walker. You can go out on Saturday and be friends with Jack and Jim, but I need you friendly with Jesus the next morning.”

Sienna bursts out laughing, the melody like a song.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“That Jack and Jim line. My mama would love it, Nana.”

Nana’s attention switches from pie to Sienna. “Does your mama expect you to attend services on Sunday?”

“Well . . .” Sienna blushes. “We go on Easter, Christmas Eve, Grandma’s birthday when she was alive. But not every Sunday, no.”

Sienna doesn’t know the pass she just gave me. As Nana heads her way, the pie all but forgotten, Sienna looks at me. I wink, watching her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink.

“Well, dear, I expect your behind at Holy Hills church on Sunday. Services start at nine and run just under an hour. Surely, you can find it in your heart to give an hour to God.”

“I . . . um . . .” Sienna looks at me for help. “I’ll try.”

Shaking my head, I cross my arms across my chest and watch her struggle against my grandmother. It’s a battle of strong-willed ladies, and I’m not sure who will win.

“It’s next to the library. Big ol’ cross in the front. You can’t miss it,” Nana says. “I’ll see you there. Both of you.”

“I’ll be there,” I tell her, watching her beam. “You know how much I love pecan pie.”

“Don’t come for the pie, Walker. Come for the lesson. Then the pie.” She turns towards the door, calling over her shoulder, “Your muffins were delicious, Sienna. I’d love the recipe.”

“I’ll bring it on Sunday?”

It’s more of a question than a statement, but it lights Nana’s face up all the same.

“You do that. Have a good day, both of you.” She sends me a knowing grin before fluttering out the door.

The chimes settle and the room draws smaller. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I look at the girl next to me.

Her legs are capped with a pair of navy shorts and a brown tank hugs her curves, dipping low enough to showcase the tops of her breasts. As if the roundness weren’t enough of a draw, she’s added a long, gold necklace with a heart at the end that snuggles just above her cleavage. It’s like a warning sign and an invitation all at once.

“You two seemed comfortable,” I note, trying to start us out on neutral ground.

“Who?”

“You and Nana.”

“Your Nana is a pistol,” she says, circling around the desk. She lifts a tray into the air. “Want a muffin?”

A muffin is the last thing I want right now. I know not to do it and the entire time my eyes draw up her arm, over her chest, and up to her gorgeous face, I tell myself to stop. Pleading with my brain to take over and force the rest of me to get in line, I continue to roam over her, committing each little curve and dip to memory.

I’m an asshole for doing this. I’m a complete dick for letting myself pretend anything with this girl is possible. Yet, when I settle on her bright blue eyes, they twinkle happily, which only makes me feel worse.

“Is that a no?” she asks. Setting the tray down, she watches me with a confidence that I want to fuck right out of her. Ignoring me as I start to speak, she snaps up the landline. “Crank,” she singsongs into the line.