Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

Biting the inside of my lip, I try to keep my mouth shut so as not to ruin his flow. He’s softer than I’ve ever seen. More vulnerable. More real. And despite the overwhelming urge to plant my lips against his, I don’t. If I do, I’m not sure when, or if, I’d ever get him to this point again.

“You know, the day you paid for Dave and MaryAnn’s cars, I almost told you to just go.”

“I thought you were going to.”

“I remember that afternoon, after you left, Peck looking at me and asking me what I was going to do.” He forces a swallow. “We both knew he wasn’t referring to the money.”

Squirming in my seat, my chest rising and falling so fast I quickly run the odds of passing out, I try to focus on staying present and not letting my thoughts get carried away. “What was he talking about, Walker?”

“He knew I was already in over my head.”

I’m not sure if I reach for his hand or if he reaches for mine. Regardless, our hands are locked, his easily encompassing mine, somewhere in the middle of the room between us. With a gentle pull, he gets me to my feet and over to him.

My heart races as I sit on his knee and he locks his hands around my waist. It’s not the closest we’ve ever been, nor is it the most intimate. But there’s something so tender, so private, in this moment between us that I can’t recall ever feeling so close to a man in my entire life.

Tilting his head back, dragging me closer to his torso, he looks at me unguarded for the first time. “I want to apologize for ever making you upset or confused or that you felt like I counted you as a mistake.”

“For what it’s worth,” I tell him, “I knew you were wrong.”

He rolls his eyes, a sweet grin playing on his lips. I love this look on him. It’s what someone like Walker should look like—young and happy and carefree.

“I know you’re leaving . . .” He unwraps and rewraps his hands at my waist, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“I don’t have to do anything,” I say, running my finger along his bottom lip. “I kind of do things on my time, if you haven’t figured that out by now.”

He snaps my finger between his teeth before I see it coming. Yelping, I instinctively try to pull it away, but he holds firm. It’s only when I give up and stop fighting that he wraps his lips around it and lets me slide it from his mouth.

The feeling sends a shot straight to my core. It’s heightened by the look of pure, unadulterated lust coming from Walker.

“I need a minute,” he says, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know what’s happening here. I have shit to deal with. I—”

“Stop talking,” I say, pressing a sweet, simple kiss to his lips. “You can have a minute. You can have an hour or a week or a month or a year. Hell, I might not even like you two minutes from now—Walker!”

In one quick, seamless motion, he stands, picks me up, and lays me on my back on the floor of the treehouse. Hovering over me, his forearms nestled on either side of my head, he grins down. “If you might not like me in two minutes, I better get to work winning you over now, hadn’t I?”

Caressing his face in my hands, his stubble scratching at my palms, I look in to his eyes and find what I’ve been looking for: peace.

“Better hurry,” I whisper. “You’re down to a minute and a half.”

My legs wrap around his waist as he lowers himself to me, his sweet lips finding mine. He kisses me this time not with a sense of urgency, not out of lust, but out of something else. Something that tickles the back of my brain to pay attention, but I don’t. I’m too caught up in the moment.

NANA’S CARE PACKAGE NESTLED safely on my lap, I pick at the edges of the grocery bag housing the leftovers. Walker rolls the truck to a stop next to my car parked outside the church. He kills the engine, his elbow resting against the middle console.

“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him, arranging myself in my seat so I can see him without craning.

He looks different this afternoon. His frown lines aren’t dug as deep, his jaw relaxed instead of looking like it was grinding his teeth into oblivion. Even as his family gave him boatloads of crap as we left Nana’s, he didn’t seem as ready to kill any of them.

“It was on my way,” he notes.

“Seriously, Walker?”

“What?”

“It’s okay for you to admit you wanted to drive me to my car,” I prod. “It won’t make you less of a man.”