Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

It’s as if I’ve forgotten how calming Crave is to me and the only way to get that peace is to skip back in time to this morning. To her lying upstairs on my futon. To the sleepy look in her eyes.

“Who’s that?” Peck asks as he walks behind me.

“Who?” I glance up, annoyed to have my attention drawn away from Hadley. Following his gaze as it settles near the storeroom, I see a head of blond hair with purple streaks framing a heart-shaped face. “Oh, that?”

“Yeah. That.”

“That’s Navie.”

Peck climbs on the stool across from me again. This time, he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at her.

I expected as much when I hired her. Hell, I hoped as much when I hired her—not so much from Peck, but from patrons.

Navie is pretty. Tanned, muscled body, full lips, and cheekbones that nearly touch her blue eyes. She’s smart and cool and can talk to anyone about anything. But it’s her moxie that makes her perfect for this job.

“Hey,” she singsongs as she approaches. “I hope you don’t mind, but I just swept the storeroom.”

“Why would I mind?”

“Because it doesn’t look like you’ve done it in maybe forever. I thought it might be some barkeeping superstition or something. Like if you don’t sweep the floors, you get good luck.”

“Nah,” Peck says, leaning forward. “Mach’s just a mess.”

Navie turns her attention to my cousin. Her body follows suit. “And he’s apparently also rude. I’m Navie.”

“Nice to meet ya. I’m Peck.”

They exchange a smile that has me rolling my eyes.

“You’re on the clock,” I tell her.

“This is a part of my job. I’m just getting to know the customers,” Navie says.

“He’s not a customer.”

“I am too!” Peck bristles. “I’m in here almost every day.”

“Customers pay,” I point out.

Navie laughs. “Is he the one you were telling me would rack up charges?”

“That’s him.”

“I always pay, though,” Peck protests. “Don’t let him fool ya, Navie.”

She laughs again. The melody does something to my cousin. As she walks back toward the storeroom, Peck floats behind her. I almost yell at him to leave her alone, but before I do, my gaze lands on my binder at the end of the bar.

A sinking sensation washes over me as my head muddles. I should be training Navie. I want to reminisce about Hadley. I need to be preparing for the meeting I have with Spencer Eubanks in less than an hour.

Sliding the book around, I open it. My entire business plan is sprawled open—including my proposal to Eubanks. Bank statements and credit letters and all the other bullshit he wanted are organized in little clear inserts for his viewing pleasure.

I wish it didn’t come to this. But even if I used all of what’s left of my inheritance from my parents to buy the building on Ash Street outright, I wouldn’t have enough left to do the renovations necessary to make it what I want it to be. I need him to let me give him half and pay the rest in installments.

Sweet-talking people has never been my strength. Lance got all of that in the gene pool. I sure as hell don’t kiss ass either. Lance got that too. What I did get is a stubborn streak that might just come in handy for the first time in my life.

“What are you doing?” Peck asks before a fresh bottle of beer cracks open.

“Looking at this shit for Eubanks.” I flip a page in the binder. “This is probably my last shot at convincing him. If it doesn’t happen today, it’s not gonna happen.”

“You know if I had the money, I’d loan it to you.”

I look up at Peck as he takes a long swig of his drink and am reminded why I like him. As much crap as he gives me, and I give him, he’s good people. The best people, really.

“I know,” I say, looking back down. “I appreciate that.”

“I mean, if I loaned you money, you’d have to be lenient on my tab, right?”

A glare is what I aim to fire at him, but a laugh comes out instead. “You’re a jackass.”

The door opens, and Spencer walks in. A crisp white button-down with khakis looks as out of place in Crave as a nun would. He takes in the space as if he’s grading it, measuring my worthiness to pay back a loan by the looks of my bar.

My teeth grind together as I remind myself to be nice. Play nice. Let this judgmental asshole do his thing while I do mine. Peck turns his back to Spencer and makes a face before tipping back his beer and disappearing from my peripheral vision.

I take a deep breath and unlock my jaw. “Thanks for coming by,” I say. Clearing my throat, I extend my hand. Spencer takes it and shakes it like a wet noodle. “Good to see you.”