Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

I want to tell him about all the more—the staying up late and breaking down the best songs of the nineties. Taking a truck to Bluebird to see if we can get it stuck in the mud. Sitting around a campfire with your friends and telling stories. I would tell him, but I don’t think he’ll understand.

My head hangs. “You know what? I need to go,” I say. “I hope you have a great day.”

“I hope this vegetable juice kicks in soon, or I’ll be dragging all evening.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Hadley.”

I think he’s going to say more, like say I love you, so I end the call before he can. And before I can look at the phone and replay that entire conversation, I grab my purse and head to Carlson’s Bakery for lunch.

* * *

I wave to Dave, a little old man who’s driven the same black Ford Ranger since I moved to town. He waves back as he putts down Beecher Street.

Puddles are everywhere. The gutters are full as water streams into the storm drains under the street. Tugging my jacket around my body, I jog across the street to the opposing sidewalk.

The closer I get to Carlson’s, the more the air is scented with cinnamon and freshly baked bread. My stomach rumbles in response.

Just as the bakery comes into view, a clap of thunder cracks above and a downpour of rain comes out of nowhere.

“Ah!” I yell, the cold droplets hitting the pavement and splashing me a second time. I bow my head as if it’ll do any good and speed walk in the direction of Carlson’s. Pausing at the next intersection, I can barely see through all the rain. Just as I start to cross the road, a truck pulls up to the stop sign.

I don’t look over. Before my foot can hit the asphalt, the truck’s engine revs.

“What are you doing?” Machlan’s voice works its way through the rain.

Squinting, I shrug, the water sticking my hair to my face. “Getting lunch.”

“Get in here.” He grins, reaching over the console and opening the passenger’s side door.

I waste no time rushing to the truck. Getting inside requires a little hop, which amuses Machlan to no end. The door closes with a thud barely heard against the weather.

Smoothing my hair away from my face, I watch water drip off every inch of me. “I’m going to soak your truck.”

“I think you already did.” He hits the gas. The truck rips through the intersection before he eases up on the pedal. “Where were you going?”

“Carlson’s.”

“Why didn’t you drive?”

“Fresh air, I guess.”

“That worked out well for ya.”

He watches me out of the corner of his eye before reaching forward and adjusting the temperature. The air warms immediately, and I relax back in the soft leather as we roll through town.

The wipers streak against the glass. With each swipe, the quickness of the last few moments dissipate, and my present situation becomes clearer.

And hotter.

And squirmier.

I reach up and turn the heat down.

“I figured you were cold.”

“I was. Now I’m not.” I point at the bakery. “If you could drop me off there, I’d appreciate it.”

“You can’t have lunch there.”

“And why not?”

He grins. “Megan McCarter works there. She’ll poison you or something.”

“Molly’s sister?” I laugh. “She will not. What would she have against me?”

He bites his lip, and I know whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to get a reaction out of me—one in addition to the way my thighs clench together as I look at his lips.

“The first thing she’ll have against you is you have a vagina,” he says. “That’s enough for her to want to maim you for life.”

“That’s terrible!”

“That’s true, and you know it.”

I think back on the McCarter sister’s escapades. Like how Megan was accused of sleeping with the gym teacher in high school and he lost his job. Or how Molly slept with half of the football team her senior year so she’d be crowned Homecoming Queen. Not because she wanted it, but because she didn’t want Jessica Grimes to get it.

“You might be right,” I admit.

“And the second thing,” he says with a tease in his tone, “is she wants my cock so bad she could taste it.”

“Well, I’m good to know she hasn’t tasted it,” I say.

I turn toward the door so he doesn’t see the flash of jealousy in my eyes or the way my jaw tenses at the thought of that little hoochie being with Machlan.

He laughs, his hand gripping my thigh and shaking it a little as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. A bolt of flames extends from the center of his palm down my leg, up my side and radiating out until it settles at the base of my belly.

“Ooh, did that spark a little jealousy, Had?” he teases.