Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

Walker leans back, the most peaceful smile in the world planted on his kissable lips. “If you two don’t stop giving my stuff away . . .”

“She’s the boss,” Peck says, holding his hands up. “I can’t argue with her.”

“You argue with her about every-fucking-thing else!”

“Not totally true,” Peck challenges. “And you told me whatever she wants, to do it. She wanted to fix the truck.”

Walker looks at me. There’s a twinkle buried in his eye that makes me want to kiss him, but I don’t. Instead, I cup his cheeks in my hand. “I owe you.”

“You’ve owed me since the day you met me.”

“And you haven’t let me get even yet,” I say, kissing him. Our lips touch sweetly, at first, and as his fingers dig into my hips, his tongue swipes across mine. “Oh,” I moan, feeling the ache building in my thighs.

He breaks the kiss, his breath as strangled as mine. “I can’t let you get even. You might leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” I laugh, pulling his hand until he stands up. “There’s not a chance.”

He lets me lead him through the house, pausing to tell Nana thanks for dinner. In no time at all, we’re out the back door.

Nana’s sheets are hanging off the clothesline, the last of her tomatoes lined up along the railing of the porch to ripen in the late afternoon sun.

A breeze trickles through the yard, a slight hint of the cold that’s sure to come. I used to blanch at the idea of winter in Illinois. It doesn’t seem so bad now.

Looking up, I see Walker watching me. “Where are we going?” he asks, his voice alight with humor.

“You can have sex with me on a random dirt road or at Crank because it’s fairly close,” I say, as he opens the passenger’s side door of Daisy for me. “But pick. Quick.”

“Ah,” he says, leaning against the truck. “There is a Mustang pulled in one of the Crank bays now. Could be fun.”

Leaning out of the truck, I grab the door handle and pull it closed. “Get in.”

His laughter finds my ears, his love fills my heart.

As we pull out of Nana’s and onto the gravel road, I watch the fields go by.

Just a few months ago, I didn’t know where I belonged and I definitely didn’t think it was in a place with cornfields and snowstorms. But I was wrong.

You belong in a place where you can plant your roots and feel safe enough to let them grow. You belong somewhere your tank is filled as much as you take from it. You belong in the little niche of the world where you can’t imagine waking up anywhere different.

As Walker takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, this is it for me. This is the place I’m spreading my wings and trusting the rowdy Gibson boys to have my back. It’s somewhere I feel like it would be impossible to give as much as they give to me. Despite the cold on the horizon and the miles away from anyone or anything Landry, being anywhere else isn’t an option.

I, without a doubt, belong here. With him.

“Hey,” Walker says, shaking my thigh. “What are you thinking about over there?”

I could tell him and get all sappy and find myself gushing over how much I love him. Instead, I grin. “I really hate going to the laundromat.”

“That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“It smells funny and I hate lugging in the soap and sitting there forever.”

He pulls back a little and looks at me with a furrowed brow. “Why do I think this is a lead-in?”

“What would you say if I told you I bought all new towels for the shop?”

“Sienna . . .”

“Walker . . .” I mock, scooting into the middle of the truck and leaning my head on his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you love me.”

His arm settles around my shoulders and tugs me into his side. “It’s a damn good thing I do.”

THE END