Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)
“Fine. You’re right. Go see him Monday and say you’re sorry. But if he offers any other exchanges, follow through and give me details.”
My cheeks heat as I consider being in Walker’s orbit again. All night, I kept telling myself I imagined the weight of his gaze and the crackle of energy that passed between us as he handed me the bat. It will do me no good to create some infatuation with the sexy stranger. When I see him again, especially being a desecrator of his property, I need to have my wits about me in case I need to think straight. That means not fantasizing about him. Again. Too much.
Delaney hops off the barstool and rinses out her coffee cup. “If you won’t go to Linton, I’m getting a shower. Let’s do something this afternoon. We could get manicures.”
“Let’s do that.”
She flips me a thumbs-up and pads down the hallway towards the bathroom.
Gazing out the window, my heartbeat picks up at the thought of seeing Walker tomorrow. He was playful with his teasing, but there was a glimmer of seriousness buried in those deliciously dark eyes. Just pretending to feel them watching me has a rash of goose bumps flittering across my skin.
It may not be a bad way to spend a few nights while I’m still in town. Then again, something tells me spending even one night with Walker might be the worst thing to ever happen to me.
“IT WAS THE ALTERNATOR after all,” Peck sighs, wiping his greasy hands off on a blue towel.
“I’ll get a new one ordered. What about the tire for the Ranger? Did you get it on? David should be in this afternoon to pick it up.”
“Done, boss.”
Rolling my eyes, I push open the door to the office of Crank, holding it open for my one employee. “Why don’t you go ahead and get lunch?”
“Okay.” Peck tosses the dirty rag towards the hamper along the back wall. It hits the rounded top of the pile and spills onto the floor with an assortment of others. “That’s getting a little out of control, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Maybe I’ll take them to the laundromat tonight.”
Glancing around the shop, I take in everything that needs to be done. Shit I don’t have time for. Shit I never thought about needing to do when I took this place over after my parents passed away a few years ago. I just saw the business that I’d wanted to have as my own since I was twelve and decided that being a bull rider might not be for me. Despite helping out here since I could walk, I never realized all of the little things that had to be done. I hate them.
Besides the shop rags, there’s a coffee pot that hasn’t been washed maybe ever. A bathroom with more discarded toilet paper tubes than actual toilet paper. Mud that was tracked in last week in the rain still dots the floor, and piles upon piles of receipts, work notes, orders, and shipping logs are scattered across the desk. And I have no time or energy to sort any of it.
“I’m going to head home and grab a bite to eat,” Peck says. “Nana made fried chicken yesterday and sent leftovers home with me.”
“The one Sunday dinner I miss and she makes fried chicken. Are you kidding me?”
“I think she was going to make meatloaf and then you skipped church. This was your punishment” he cackles. “Miss next week, will ya? Maybe we’ll get dumplings.”
“Get out of here while you still have a job. And bring me back some.”
“That’s the thing,” he says, calling out over his shoulder. “She only sent enough for me. Seems like she knew you’d ask that.”
His laughter trails through the room as the door snaps shut behind him.
Taking a quick look at everything I need to do, I do what I did all weekend and don’t do any of it. I can’t think of the last time I let things go like this. Normally when I’m stressed, I throw myself into my work and forget the world. Not this time.
A fog presses against my shoulders that hit me after the whole incident with my truck. It wasn’t the truck that bothered me so much. It was her.
Something about Sienna flipped me sideways and I haven’t been able to get upright. It, meaning she, has not been far from my mind since they pulled away from Crave. I can’t shake it, can’t escape this ripple in my stomach that keeps pulling me back to the memory of her.
Regardless, it’s made me sleep-deprived, blue-balled, and as confused as I am after a fifth of Hennessy. I have no time or business dealing with this. I just need to shake it and move on.
Glancing at the clock, it’s clear she’s not coming by. As much as I hate admitting it, I was hoping she’d actually show. Best case scenario would include her saying or doing something completely horrible that would put an end to the fascination that had me up so late Saturday night I missed church and Nana’s dinner. Something has to give because I can’t hack many more nights like that. Or mornings in the shower, squeezing one off in my hand while I imagine what the curve of her hip feels like beneath me.