Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

“What’s it to you?” I ask instead, taking the last slug of whiskey from the glass in front of me. The burn of the liquor is gone, dulled by the whiskey before it. And the whiskey before that.

“It’s not shit to me. I was just pointing it out.”

“Well, thank ya for that.”

She rolls her eyes, resting her arms over the back of the chair. “What’s happening with you, anyway?”

“What does it look like is happening with you? I mean, me?”

Grimacing, I close one eye in an attempt to steady myself and also to see if it helps me see her clearly. It doesn’t. My hand slaps against the table as I catch myself from falling onto the floor.

Nora laughs, her red lips spread wide at my state of undoing. “I’ve never seen you this toasted.”

“Ah, I’m not toasted,” I say, struggling to regain my composure. “I’m just enjoying the Friday night. Isn’t this what people are supposed to do?”

“Sure.” She watches me closely, narrowing her pretty green eyes. “Is she back—”

“Nope. I’m not that drunk, Nora.”

Leaning back, she blows out a breath but is stopped when Lance shows up at her side. This causes her to sit upright and smooth out her shirt. “Hey, Lance. I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.”

“I thought it was odd you were wearing pants,” he says, testing her reaction.

“Careful there, Nora,” I say, wagging a finger in her direction. “It’ll be you falling out of the chair now.”

“Fuck you, Walker,” she says, getting to her feet and storming off as I chuckle at my own joke.

Lance flips the chair Nora just vacated around. “You look like hell.”

“Will you stop saying that?”

“I only said it once, but I take it someone said it before me.” He works his head side-to-side. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Who invited you here?”

He leans in, his eyes glimmering even under the dull light at my state of inebriation. “I’m actually here because I had to get out of town,” he grins wickedly. “There’s this girl—”

“This story is starting like all of your other ones.”

“Which means I have the best stories, right?”

I don’t want to hear his damn stories. I want to sit here and brood over my own mess, replay my own story, and pretend like I didn’t just write “The End” on it with the tip of my cock.

“Want to hear it?” he asks.

“Let me guess—you fucked her.”

“Senseless,” he laughs. “I had her sprawled out on top of my desk, my tie shoved in her mouth, as I fucked the shit out of her.”

He goes on about his fuckfest, but all I can think about are the hours before now. I’ve come to the conclusion there’s not enough whiskey to block that out.

Her scent is still nestled in my pores, the taste of her pussy fresh in my mouth. Every now and then, my shirt catches on one of the indentions on my shoulder from her fingernails and I’m reminded, yet again, of Sienna.

My body, naturally, wants to have her again. I want to get off on seeing her respond to me, want me as badly as I want her—almost desperately. A craving to see her in my t-shirt, on my sheets, digs at me to the point I feel like screaming until I pass out. I almost don’t care if it meant waking up to a reorganized kitchen and that’s the scariest part of all. Is this what happens when you lose your mind?

If I lose it, I know the exact moment the fall began. It’s not the look in her eye as she moaned my name or the pleasure glossed on her skin as she came. It’s the way she watched me pretend like it was a transaction to me, another night with another woman. That is what’s going to haunt my nightmares if I’m even able to sleep.

Of all the ways to stop her from feeling, I chose that. I did that. To someone who just might’ve given a fuck.

“You still here?” Lance asks, waving a hand in front of my face.

“Get that away from me before I break it.”

“I’m going to guess that tonight I could actually take you,” he laughs. “What the fuck happened? You don’t drink like this.”

“I’ll tell ya what happened,” Peck says out of nowhere.

“Peck—go home,” I say, trying to focus on his face.

“Nah, Peck, sit. Stay, little cousin,” Lance laughs, pulling a chair out across the table from me. “Tell me what my brother did.”

“Well, I don’t know for sure,” he says, cringing as the song gets louder. “But I will say I just sat down with Sienna over at Peaches.”

Both palms splay on the table, trying to root me in place. “You did what?”

“I don’t know what he did,” Lance says, pointing to Peck, “but you,” he says, dragging his finger through the air until it’s pointing at me, “fucked her, didn’t you?”