Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

“How are things going down there?” he asks.

“Oh, they’re good. How about you?”

“Work is killer today. We balanced a couple of accounts this morning and …”

My attention wanes, drifting to a certain tattooed bar owner instead of Samuel’s tales of the accounting tape. I wonder what Mach is doing and what he had for breakfast and if he still sleeps on his right side with a pillow between his legs.

“Am I boring you?” Samuel asks.

“Sorry,” I say, faking a yawn. “It was a long night.”

The line quiets. “I wondered why you didn’t answer. Anyway, I’m glad to hear you’re having fun with your friends.”

“Yeah. Me too.” I scrub a hand down my face. “Are you having fun with yours?”

He laughs, and it pains me a little. The idea of Samuel having friends—the real kind, the kind like he knows I have—shouldn’t be funny.

“We worked until three this morning. I guess the slight conversation we had outside of numbers and figures over cold pizza could be construed as a good time,” he says.

“You need to have more fun. What about that one guy? Ryan? Brian? Whatever his name is. You guys should go out and have some drinks tonight.”

“We’re all too busy. Hey, how’s your brother? I thought of him today. A guy tried to write off his gym membership, and it made me think of Cross’s gyms.”

I flop back on the mattress and think about the awkward meeting between Samuel and Cross a few weeks ago. How Cross kept looking at me like I was crazy, and Samuel couldn’t understand why Cross didn’t want to man-hug when he left.

“He’s good,” I say. “He and Kallie are living together now. They’re pretty happy.”

“That’s good. I bet it’s nice for you to stay there and spend so much time with them while you can.”

“Yeah.” I get to my feet and begin to pace the small room.

A long, awkward silence fills the line. I walk back and forth, passing the table each time, wondering what in the world we’re supposed to talk about.

When did it get this hard to talk to him? Has it always been?

Papers rustle. “Well, that’s good. Do you think you’ll be home when I get back from Salem?”

“Samuel …” I close my eyes and kick myself for answering the phone in the first place.

“I know, I know. You can’t commit right now. But I’m hoping if we get some time away from each other, maybe you’ll change your mind.”

“We’re on a break. We mutually agreed to that.”

He sighs like this conversation is a distraction. “We did, but agreements change. Right? That’s why we took a break and didn’t break up. We can salvage this.”

I stop pacing and look at the wall. Salvage. “What kind of word is that?”

“What kind of word is what?”

“Salvage,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “It’s like garbage. Like a salvage yard where they take parts off old cars or something.”

“It’s a proper term. It means to rescue.”

“I know what it means, Samuel.” I sigh, feeling a weight on my shoulders. “My point is, is that what you want? To salvage our relationship?”

“Frankly, yes. I do. I want to rescue it from its current situation. With a few tweaks, Hadley, I think we can bring it in the black.”

Bring it in the black? I groan, and I know he hears it, but I just can’t make myself care.

I consider the possibility of going back to Vigo and seeing Samuel again. It would be nice. Orderly. Predictable. We’d have date nights on Fridays and intelligent conversations about business. We’d read separately before bed and fall asleep on crisp white sheets. But as my mind drifts to other possibilities, to ornery bar owners and spirited discussions and jokes, the idea of going back seems like turning off my favorite rock song and putting on elevator music.

“I don’t think it’s going to happen, Samuel.”

“Why?”

“Do I make you happy? Really? Do you come home with butterflies in your stomach to see me?”

“That’s the most overused analogy in the history of analogies.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I look forward to coming home every day and seeing you. I get excited to spend the weekend with you. And I can’t wait to get home from this trip and convince you to … maybe move in with me.”

My eyes almost pop out of my head.

“It’ll make things a lot easier,” he says. “I won’t have to rush home so our schedules meet because you’ll be there. And you won’t have to rush into that new job of yours either. I can more than cover our rent and necessities.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Is it not?”

“No. You don’t ask someone to move in because of ease,” I say with a sad smile on my face. “It should be about more.”

“I don’t know how much more you can get than synchronizing our lives.”