Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

Would she call me if something happened and she couldn’t get a hold of Cross? Because she does that now. Like nine months or so ago when she popped a tire on her way back to Vigo. She called me. Or the time before that when she thought someone had broken in her house—she called me. Would that stop too?

Nah, fuck that.

I shove open the door so hard it bounces the springs.

Hadley looks over the hood of the truck at me. “You okay?”

“I’m just gonna fucking say this,” I say, planting both hands on the damp truck. “And I want you to listen.”

“Oh, this should be good.”

“Don’t start. Please.”

“Uh, I believe it’s you who almost broke the door off its hinges and proclaimed you had something to say.” Both hands go to her hips as she squares up with me. It’s a defense mechanism loud and clear, and the fact she goes there automatically makes me feel like shit.

“I don’t wanna fight, Had.”

“You always wanna fight.”

I press off the hood and walk around the front of the truck. “I do always want to fight with you.”

Her shoulders drop. “Well, there ya go.”

“And on that note, I’ve been thinking …”

She blows out slowly, pressing her lips together in resignation. Her eyes flutter closed for no more than a second before she stands tall and opens them again. “I’ve been thinking too, Mach.”

A pain shoots across the back of my neck. “You first.”

As I watch her wrestle with what to say, as I feel the air between us swirl with the unknown, I almost wish I hadn’t seen her walking today. That I hadn’t picked her up. That I hadn’t bought her lunch or brought her to this place—our place.

“I always make this weird between us,” she starts. “I—”

“You don’t make anything weird. You’re honest.” I bite the inside of my cheek out of pure frustration. “That’s more than I can say for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means …” I sigh. “It means you’re not to blame for us not getting along.”

The can of tobacco in my back pocket is suddenly very present. Needing the relief a quick dip would provide, I start to grab it.

“You make it very clear what you want and don’t want,” she says, enunciating the words carefully. “It’s me who puts the pressure on us and makes everything awful.”

I forget all about the tobacco. “Everything isn’t awful.”

“Not right now. But a lot of the time.”

“Hadley, look …” I move until I’m standing just a few feet away from her. There’s a resolution in her eyes that gives me hope that we can work it out. I can’t not have her in my life, but I can’t be in it so deep I fuck her up either. “We have to figure this out.”

“Figure what out?”

“This. Whatever it is.”

There’s a pull from somewhere deep inside me that draws me to her. That makes me want to take her in my arms, bury my face in the messy, rain-mussed hair on the top of her head, and hold her tight. It’s so strong it takes all my strength not to reach out, pull her to me, and never let go.

She clears her throat. “Emily and I were talking last night.”

“Was she drinking? Because I’ve seen that girl drink more than anyone her size should be able to get away with.”

“She was.” She grins. “But her advice was spot-on, I think.”

“Which was?”

“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath. “She says I need to relax.”

A laugh flows from me before I even know it’s happening. “I’ve said that for years.”

“Well, it sounds more logical coming from her.”

“Of course, it does.”

“And that surprises me because Emily isn’t logical about much of anything.” She laughs. “Guess you never know where good advice might pop up.”

“Trust me. I know. Believe it or not, I found a little wisdom in something Lance said last night.” I cringe as I bring it up. His words echo in my brain again, and I feel them in my soul.

“Oh, this I have to hear.”

“If I go quoting Lance, the world might go up in flames.”

She laughs freely. “Taking advice from Lance might ensure the same ending.” She makes a face. “Did it have anything to do with dating apps?”

“No. I think Mariah would kill him if he even mentioned that.”

“I think I like Mariah.”

“You would.” I nod. The tension in my neck eases, bringing a relief I didn’t know I needed. “She’s pretty and smart and feisty like another woman I know.”

Hadley’s cheeks pink.

“Hadley—”

“No. Let me go first,” she says, cutting me off. “For the first time in your life, let me go first.”

“Oh, yeah, like you don’t always end up dominating a conversation.”

“What? I don’t. You’re crazy.”

“And”—I smirk—“can I point out I always let you go first?”

If her cheeks pinked before, they’re full-on red now. It’s adorable and sexy and even brought this conversation here, I need to redirect it. Immediately.