Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

“It was on my way,” he insists. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t have volunteered if it wasn’t.”

“I could’ve ridden home with Peck. And both of your brothers offered.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Oh, I bet those fuckers did.”

“I was leaning towards Machlan, but Lance seems a little gentler,” I grin.

“It’s the glasses and it’s a ruse,” he laughs. “Lance is as rough as any of us. He was actually the only one to get thrown out of school before we hit high school.”

“Lance?” I laugh. “For what? Charming the pants off his teacher?”

“It had to do with pants, but there wasn’t much charm involved,” he chuckles.

Our laughter mixes in the air, my high, feminine sound swirled with the bite of his rasp. The leaves blowing in the breeze outside the truck window, the sun pouring in the glass, it’s a moment I could fall in absolute love with. Maybe a man I could fall in love with too, if I tried.

He fiddles with the button on the cuff of his shirt. “I know you said you weren’t coming in to Crank anymore . . .”

“I say a lot of things. Besides, Delaney is basically gone, and other than mostly being on hiatus for a little while anyway, I do most of my design work at night. My creativity comes out after dark.”

“I’ll remember that,” he winks.

The plastic bag rattles as I wind the top around my finger.

I look at Walker. There’s a level of uncertainty mixed with the way he’s twisting his lips together that sparks something inside me. Not roots, not that at all. But maybe a branch extending to him that I want to see if he takes. If he holds on. If it breaks.

“I don’t really have any plans for what to do now,” I tell him, gulping back a hot swallow. “Maybe I could help you out until I get my life sorted? I’m going to have to switch some gears around now that I’ll be working by myself and I need some time to wrap my brain around that.”

His brows lift to the sky, his hand stalling against the sleeve of his shirt. “You don’t have to, Sienna. Really.”

“What if I want to, Walker?”

It takes a full five seconds for the grin trying to spread across his lips to actually form. But once it does, he lets it go and I realize—I’ve never seen a full smile from him before.

My heart hiccups, skipping a couple of beats, as I absorb the warmth radiating off him. He lays his arm on the console and rolls his palm over so it’s facing up. Like a rip current drawing things its way, my hand drops into his immediately.

“You’re so weird,” he laughs.

“Me? How do you figure?”

He laces our fingers together, watching them intertwine. My pink fingernails look odd against his torn knuckles, my ivory skin almost unreal against the dark, stained, almost olive-y hued tone of his. He works them back and forth, taking them in from every direction like it’s some kind of anomaly.

Ignoring my question, he squeezes my hand one final time before resting them on the console. “Does this mean you’re coming by tomorrow?”

“I’m still not cleaning the bathroom.”

“I can deal with that.”

There’s an unsteadiness to his eye, something that makes me think maybe he’s gone too far in one day.

Blowing out a breath, I squeeze his hand before slipping mine from his. “I better get going. I have a lot of things to think about.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Besides be a distraction?” I laugh, reaching for the handle.

The door is partially open, the scent of evergreens whispering through the air, when he speaks.

“Sienna?”

“Yeah?”

Looking over my shoulder, I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. He stills for a split second before leaning across the console. I meet him somewhere near halfway.

He takes my face in his hands and presses a sweet, simple kiss that dizzies me as much as if he deprived me of oxygen for days. When he pulls back, he’s no more certain but seems resolved.

“See you tomorrow,” I whisper.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

I slip out the door and into my car without breathing or looking back. The light is brighter, the birds happier, the colors in the stained glass of the church more vivid as I buckle myself in and start the engine.

Walker watches me, one arm over the steering wheel. I wave. He holds his hand in the air in some guy version of goodbye, the engine ripping alive before he pulls out of the parking lot and heads in the opposite direction of my house.

I sit for a few minutes, trying to get my bearings. I can still smell his cologne on my skin. The deep, dark tones linger and I take a deep breath and hope they stick around for a while.