Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

“Just thinking that you’re a giant pain in my ass.”

She laughs, pulling away. She brushes a stray lock of hair off my face. “I don’t believe that’s true.”

“You don’t, huh?” I grin.

“Nope. I think—Ah!”

I grip her sides, right below the bend of her hip, and tickle her. She squirms in my hands, her hair flying everywhere as she bends and contorts in the sexiest of ways. I have to stop before I’m thinking with my cock and not my head. Again.

Stepping away, I watch her straighten her towel.

“I’ll get the popcorn,” I say. “You get the movie on. Deal?”

“Deal.”

She hops off the counter and swipes a hand against my ass. I turn to grab her again when the doorbell rings.

“Why don’t you get that?” I ask. “I’ll get the popcorn on.”

“Um, I’m in a towel.”

“My robe is on the chair. Slip that on,” I offer.

She grins and drops the towel right where she stands. Her body is round and full, and seeing her breasts hang—full and vuluptous—makes me hard.

“Dylan …”

She laughs, pulling my robe around her and tying the belt. “I’ll be back. Stay focused, Wes.”

I shake my head at the nickname as she disappears around the corner. Retrieving the box of popcorn, I take out a packet. The plastic is removed and in the trash when I hear her feet come pitter-pattering down the hallway.

Glancing over my shoulder, I expect to see her prepping a story about the kids from the house down the road pranking us. Instead, her jaw is set.

I stop in my tracks. “What’s going on?”

“You have a visitor.”

Her words are short. Crisp. Cold.

“Who is it?” I open the microwave and shove the bag of popcorn inside.

“Molly.”

Oh, fuck.

I hit two minutes on the microwave and then start. And then, with a lot of trepidation, I turn around to deal with the latest development in my life.

“What does she want?” I ask.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Okay.” I think as quickly as I can. “Do you want to go out there with me?”

That might be the worst idea I’ve ever had—or close to it, anyway—but I don’t know how else to manage this. If Molly is here, maybe something is wrong. She never shows up here just for the fuck of it. But under these circumstances, with Dylan living here and … being with me, it feels wrong. To me. I can’t imagine what Dylan is thinking.

I run a hand down my face because I haven’t thought this far ahead. I should’ve, though. I should’ve had a game plan.

“I think I’m going to stay here,” she says.

“Dylan, I … I didn’t invite her here.”

“I know.” She forces a swallow. “I guess, really, there’s nothing wrong with it. I mean, she’s your friend. Right?”

Her attempt at being reasonable knocks the wind out of me. I pull her into me and kiss the top of her head.

Something washes over me. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before. It’s the best, warmest, quietest feeling that’s also the most powerful thing I’ve ever felt. I feel … calm. Which is completely at odds with this circumstance.

The doorbell rings again, and Dylan sags into me.

“I’ll go handle that, and then we’ll have a movie night, okay?” I look her in the eye. “I just …” I gulp. “I’ll be right back.”

She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

My insides twist as the words I was about to say so nonchalantly are still sitting on my tongue. Are they true? Do I really feel that way?

Before I can think about them too much, I have the door handle in my hand. When I swing it open, Molly is standing on the porch. I’d hoped she’d changed her mind and left.

“Hey,” I say, shutting the door behind me. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Well, here I am. Shoot.”

She looks over my shoulder, presumably to see if Dylan is anywhere in sight. “I, um, I just … I don’t want to talk about it here. It’s private.”

Irritation claws at my brain as I try to stay calm. I just want to get back in there with Hawkeye and watch our stupid romantic comedy and eat popcorn that will make my stomach hurt all night.

“Fine. What do you want to do?” I ask.

She starts down the sidewalk. I follow. When she hits the gravel of the driveway, I start to wonder if something really is wrong.

This is unlike Molly. She’s usually so self-centered that she plays a very forward card.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

The night is dark, but the sky is clear. The moon gives off plenty of light to see. Stars sparkle overhead. Molly sits on a wicker bench by a patch of sunflowers that have seen better days.

I sit next to her. “Look, I’m happy to help you, Molly. But I have plans tonight, so if you could spit it out, that’d be great.”