Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

Stress, the doctor said. What in your life is stressing you this much, Ms. Snow?

Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that it’s falling apart.

I sat on the examination table—an appointment I only made because Navie made me swear I would go—and looked at him blankly. Wouldn’t it be an easier question to answer if he asked me what isn’t causing me stress?

Surely, this was normal. That’s what I kept telling Navie. Doesn’t everyone walk around with pain in their shoulders and their chest squeezed so tight that they can barely breathe at least twice a week? Aren’t panic attacks normal when your boyfriend leaves you for his ex-fiancée and your mother basically makes you earn her love?

Apparently not. And this whole breathing easy thing is everything they said it would be. It’s definitely something I could get used to.

Closing my eyes, I feel the muscles in my body give in. The tightness that’s become second nature starts to relax when my phone rings.

“Crap,” I say, eyeing the contents of my suitcase strewn around the room.

I hop up and dig through the clothes that will get me through until the moving truck delivers the rest of my stuff. Finally, under a tee shirt with a pair of lips painted on the front, I spy the phone.

“Hey,” I say, testing my weight on my toe.

“You doing okay?” Navie asks.

“Yup. It’s been a very eventful afternoon.”

She sighs. “That worries me.”

Laughing, I retake my spot on the couch. “Don’t be worried. It’s fine. My toe isn’t broken, and Logan was effectively put in his place.”

“What did you do, Dylan?”

I twirl a strand of hair around my finger and smile. “I might have gotten bored, and I might have just happened to see a sign for Dave’s Farm Stand or whatever it is. And then maybe I wanted to see if he had any produce—”

“You did not.”

“Or I remembered that you said Logan worked out there sometimes and helped Dave, whoever he is, work on trucks and farm … shit. So I took a look.” I shrug. “I can’t help it that fate decided Logan and I should meet. He was just standing there, so-to-speak, when I arrived.”

“Fate didn’t decide that. You did,” she deadpans.

“I’d rather be karma than fate. Anyway, I did my greatest Best Friend Fuck You speech, and he promised to stay away from you and bring back your pots and pans. I think that’s a total win. You can thank me later.”

I pluck at the hem of my shirt. How nice would it be to be karma? To have the powers of justice and fairness? That might be better than endless tacos.

A girl can dream.

“You know,” Navie says, “I don’t even think I want the shit back. I’d rather just forget he exists at all.”

“I’ve had those.”

“Had those what?”

“Those guys you wish didn’t exist.” I drop the edge of my shirt. “Case in point: Charlie. I’d rather forget that I was left after committing a year to a relationship because he realized that he didn’t love me—that he couldn’t possibly love me because he truly loves Vanessa.” I sigh. “Or take this one guy I dated once. Super cute. Looked hygienic. Paid for dinner and let me pick some movies. But there was this one night,” I say, feeling my stomach rumble as the memory comes back to me. “I got up in the middle of the night to pee and legit stepped in his urine. The dude sprayed all over the floor, and it was on my foot.”

Navie makes a gagging noise, and I try not to throw up in my mouth.

“I wish I could forget they both exist,” I say, fighting off a shiver.

“I bet you do. That’s how I feel about Logan. I didn’t even really like him. I’m just pissed off he took my kitchen utensils and then ghosted me. He was just a stupid fling. I don’t know what I saw in him in the first place.”

Logan’s face flutters through my mind. His bright blue eyes and almost shy, yet mischievous smile light a bubble of excitement in my stomach.

I snort. “I do,” I say before I can catch myself.

“What?”

“I saw him. He’s cute, Navie.”

“Dylan …”

“I mean, he’s an asshole,” I say, getting to my feet. “We know that. But it’s not hard to see why you took him up on whatever offer he threw down.”

She groans. “He’s not that cute. I have guys in the bar every night cuter than him.”

“Then I think it’s time that I accompany you to work.”

“Not tonight,” she says. “Machlan just left, and I’m here alone. I can’t protect the men from you.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. See ya when you get home.”

“Adios.”

I end the call and toss my phone onto the couch. The apartment is ridiculously quiet—even quieter than my apartment in Indiana. There are no neighbors fighting or talk shows seeping through the walls. Heck, there’s not even the smell of burnt pizza. Everything is just … still.