Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

Peck bursts out into laughter. “That’s gold.”

“Coming,” Navie shouts down the bar. She taps the wood in front of me with her knuckle and grins. “Please don’t get into any trouble tonight. I don’t really have the money to bail you out.” She winks. “Come on, Machlan.” She grabs his arm and pulls him down the bar with her.

Peck toys with the label on his bottle and looks at me from the corner of his eye. “So …”

“So …”

We grin at the same time.

“Machlan is an asshole,” Peck says. “Just kind of ignore what he said.”

“No way. He said I was cute. I’m not ignoring that.”

Peck’s grin turns into a smirk. “He said you were hot. Not cute.”

His lips twist around like he’s not sure what to say next. I’m not sure either. I’m not sure I can talk because my temperature just spiked to a million degrees. But if I don’t say something and just sit here in all my feels, this could get weird.

“Well,” I say, “I’m okay with him thinking that too. It’s not bad for the ego to think a guy finds you attractive.”

“He’s not wrong, you know.”

Our gazes collide in the small space between our bodies. His smirk digs in deeper, pulling mine along with it.

The room gets hotter. His cologne stronger. My shirt feels like its plastered to my skin as I let Peck Ward taunt me with his eyes.

Dear lord.

He leans toward me. I’m not sure if it’s to whisper something he doesn’t want to be heard or if it’s … something else. But as I bend toward him, ready to accept either thing, the music overhead changes, and the bar erupts with chants of Peck’s name.

“Can you excuse me for one second?” He grins. “I’m being beckoned.”

Pulling back, he shoves a hand up in the air. The crowd roars loader.

The iconic song by Ginuwine that has absolutely nothing to do with a pony pulses through the building. Peck downs the rest of his beer and then hops up on the top of the bar.

My heart pounds in my chest as I watch him roll his hips as he plants his feet on the bar. He looks down, his hat over his forehead and hiding his face.

He pops an invisible collar. Cheers erupt from the back of the room. He lifts the hem of his shirt just enough to show a sliver of skin, and I wonder if this happens regularly. If it is, where the hell have I been?

I get situated in my chair and watch as he grabs the bill of his hat with one hand and his junk with the other. He thrusts his hips forward a couple of times before twisting his hat on backward. His eyes find mine immediately, and he grins.

Raising a brow, I grin back. He laughs. I can’t hear it over the roar of the music, but I wish I could.

He dances down the bar, gyrating and rolling with the beat. A whistle breaks out through a lull in the lyrics, and Peck tugs on the neckline of his shirt. His hips tilted forward, hat on backward, tongue sticking out of his mouth makes me crazy.

I can only imagine him doing that in that stupid white towel. Or less.

Knowing how hard his body is was one thing. Now I have to know that he can move the damn thing? Having knowledge of both of those delicious pieces and not being able to partake in them shouldn’t happen. It’s not fair.

I squeeze my thighs together as Peck dances back down the bar. He stops in front of me, towering over my perch in the chair.

“Not bad,” I mouth.

He points in my direction and then bends his finger, curling it for me to join him.

I lean back. “What? No,” I say, shaking my head.

His grin grows wider. He squats down, extending a hand my way.

The crowd loves this, goading me to join him. Blood roars through my veins as he looks at me with a sexiness that I’m not even sure he realizes he possesses.

“Peck …”

He reaches forward and takes my hand. His palm is hot and sweaty and such a turn-on that all resistance melts. I climb onto the top of the bar, ignoring Navie’s shocked face a few feet away, and stand next to Peck.

My brain gives up trying to process the sensations ripping through me at the speed of sound. It switches on autopilot as my endorphins take over.

Peck’s eyes are glued to me as he turns me to face him. I can feel the heat off his body.

The song hits the chorus. Peck puts a hand on my shoulder, leans back, and pops his hips toward me.

“Come on, Dylan,” Navie yells behind me. She’s seen me dance before. I’m not great at it, but I’ve danced a time or two on top of a bar.