Gibson Boys Box Set Page 7

  “And …”

  “He wears a plain black t-shirt almost every day. His eyelashes are the longest I’ve ever seen on a man. When he’s amused but doesn’t want me to know it, the left corner of his lip turns up.” The words come out in a rush and I know I’ve said too much but can’t stop myself from saying more. “Walker tries really, really hard to be an ass,” I say, rolling my eyes, “but I think he’s probably really kind. His grandma, Nana, makes dinner every Sunday like our mom does and expects him to show up, and when he doesn’t, she comes in and gives him hell.”

  My laugh is free and easy, my downtrodden spirits now lifted. “He has a cousin named Peck. I have no idea why they call him that or if it’s his real name. The two of them remind me of Lincoln and Ford,” I say, thinking of my two brothers that can be oil and water. “They’re always nitpicking each other, but you can tell if someone messes with either, it’s game on for both.”

  Cam gives me a second to catch my breath. “Sounds like you like them.”

  “They’re … interesting.”

  “Maybe they’re more than interesting.”

  If Delaney had said that, I’d fire back with some reply as to how I’m not interested in Walker Gibson. But it’s not Delaney, it’s Camilla, the one person in the world I can’t lie to.

  “They remind me of being in Savannah,” I admit, looking at the gold ring on my right pointer finger. It’s a thin band with a rustic teepee design. My brothers got Cam and I both one for Christmas. They blamed the whole thing on Ford who deflected any responsibility in getting his two baby sisters something so sweet for the holiday. In truth, I’d bet it was Barrett found the jeweler, Graham funded it, although I’d bet Ford probably did come up with the idea, and Lincoln probably picked it out. But we’ll never know. “They remind me of our brothers in a weird way, but without the expectations. They don’t care if I say the wrong thing, and if I came in with a new tattoo, they’d probably like it or at least find it interesting,” I say, finding a warmth spreading inside me. “They don’t know our last name, but if they did, I don’t think they’d care.”

  “That’s hard to find,” she notes.

  “Almost impossible, but I think I might’ve,” I say, feeling a swell in my chest. “They’re just easy, even though they’re difficult. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Do you think you’ll stay there then?” she asks softly.

  “No,” I scoff, running a hand through the air. “No way. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m not staying here. Have you ever seen an Illinois winter?”

  “No. Can’t say I want to.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Maybe you’ll come home then?”

  My mind settles back on my father and the image Camilla posted. “Maybe this time I won’t go as far away. Maybe I’ll look into Atlanta or Florida or something.”

  “Can I ask you something, sis?”

  “Sure.”

  “Would it be that bad to come back? To settle down here. Meet me for lunch and go shopping and take yoga at Mallory’s …”

  I imagine my sister’s face, all twisted in hope like she does when she’s afraid someone is going to tell her no. I sit at the table and feel my spirits drop with my body. “It wouldn’t be bad, Cam. It’s just not for me.”

  “What’s not for you?”

  “I just … Mom gave up everything when she married Dad.”

  “She did not,” Cam says, defending her. “She had a role in Dad’s campaigns, in Grandpa’s campaigns. She’s spent her life changing other people’s through her charities and raised six kids.”

  “I know that. But Mom could’ve rocked her own political career. Probably better than Dad. Think about what she could’ve done had she not stepped back and fallen into this other role. She could’ve ruled the damn world.”

  “I think she does,” Cam says sweetly. “Her world is Dad and us.”

  What Cam is saying is true. I know that. But it doesn’t negate what I’m saying. “Isn’t that kind of sad? That her world shrank to the size of the Landry Estate just so she could fill some stupid role?”

  Cam sighs. “I get what you mean.”

  “No, you don’t,” I scoff. “You’ve wanted to be our mother since we were little girls.”

  “That’s true. I’ve always thought our mother was the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

  “So do I,” I insist.

  “But here’s where we differ,” Cam says gently. “I don’t think she gave anything up. I think she chose a role that could give her heart more than she ever could’ve gotten out of politics or business or whatever else. Look at what Dad accomplished. Look at Landry Holdings. But he never got to do the fun stuff with us, Sienna. He gave up a lot of things to create his legacy for them, for us, while Mom got to do other things. Important things, just in a different way.”

  “Maybe …”

  I see her point, but I still don’t agree. I watched her for years sit back with the answers to my father’s quandaries and only offer them up in the solitude of their bedroom after we’d all gone to sleep. I watched her friends jet off to Europe on vacations and go to see Broadway shows and she stayed behind, raising us. I don’t want that life.

  I want ripped jeans, nights with whiskey slurring, and laughing with no regard to who is taking a picture. I want to experience Yosemite on a whim. To live my life without the constraints of someone else’s.

  “I need to go, Cam,” I say, taking the towel off my head. My hair falls to the small of my back as I run my free hand through it. “Keep me posted on Dad, okay?”

  “Okay. And, hey—don’t call out there tonight. He’s pissy that anyone knows at all. Lincoln showed up when I was leaving and I think the only reason Dad tolerated that was because he brought the baby. Mom has her hands full, you know?”

  “Okay. I won’t call tonight.”

  “Thanks. Talk to you soon.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Eight

  Sienna

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I hiss as Delaney leads me down the sidewalk towards Crave.

  “You put up little to no fight, my friend. Stop acting like you’re shocked you’re here.”

  “You said you wanted to go out. That it would be one of the last times we got to hang out for a while.”

  “And, here we are. Mission Hang Out is commencing.” She tugs open the door before I can say no. “After you.”

  Sounds of the bar spill onto the sidewalk, as does the multi-colored glow of beer advertisements and signage. The air smells of salt and I’m turning on my heel when I hear a familiar voice inside calling my name.

  “It’s the blond,” she whispers. “What’s his name?”

  “Sienna! Get in here,” Peck lures me in from somewhere in the depths of the building.

  With a deep breath and an eye roll, my nerves on high alert knowing that if Peck is here, there’s a decent chance Walker is too, I step inside.

  It’s brighter than I imagine and not as busy as I would’ve thought. Delaney stands beside me as we get acclimated to the venue.

  “Hey,” a bartender says. He has short, dark hair and wide, broad shoulders. A goatee dusts his chin, and with the five o’clock stubble spattering his face, he’s right up Delaney’s alley. “I’m Machlan. You must be Sienna.”

  “This really is a small town,” I sigh.

  “It is, but that one,” he says, nodding towards Peck, “is my cousin. Being that you are working with my brother, you can bet I’ve heard about you a time or two … dozen.” His lips part into a smile as his gaze settles on Delaney. “I haven’t heard about you yet, love. Wanna fill me in?”

  “I’d love to.” She bats her lashes, taking a seat at the end of the bar. I nudge her in the back, in shock she’s leaving me alone, when she waves me off. “Go on. Go have fun.”

  “I hate you,” I whisper. She fails to respond, too enchanted with Machlan’s smirk.

  Peck, a beer in one hand, sidle
s up to me. “What brings you by tonight?”

  “Her.” I nudge Delaney again. “I didn’t imagine I’d see you here.”

  “No, right? So totally crazy and random. Why would we be here, the place we met you?”

  I force a swallow past the lump in my throat. “You say ‘we’ …”

  “Walker’s sitting back there by the pool table. Wanna come say hi?”

  “No.”

  Laughing, he motions for me to follow with his head. “Let’s go.”

  “But Peck,” I whine.

  “What else you gonna do, Slugger? And let’s be honest, you came here to see him.” He stops. “Unless you came to see me?”

  “Peck …”

  “That’s what I thought,” he sighs. “It’s never for me. Come on.”

  Against my better judgement, but totally in line with my libido, I follow Peck through the small groupings of people. As we near the end of the bar and the billiards area comes into view, I see Walker. And he sees me.

  There’s no indication of whether this makes him happy or pissy and all I can do is try not to let the spiraling anxiety swirling in my belly take over.

  “Look what I found,” Peck tells him. “Just standing up there by the bar, waiting on Tommy to find her.”

  “Who’s Tommy?” I ask as a flash of something fierce flickers through Walker’s features.

  “You just get here?” Walker asks, ignoring my question.

  “Yeah. Peck thought I should say hi, and in case you saw me, I didn’t want to be rude.”

  He roughs a hand down his face. When he puts it back on his lap, rocking his chair on the back two legs, he averts his gaze to his cousin. “Get her a drink, will ya?”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll go up there and get one in a minute.”

  “What’ll it be, lady?” Peck grins.

  “Um, an amaretto sour?”

  “Typical chick drink. Be right back.”

  Peck dashes away. A couple plays pool on one side and another half-dances, half-copulates on the other beneath the dick-shaped duck lights, but we’re alone otherwise. Tucking a strand of hair out of my face, I wait until I can’t take the awkwardness anymore.

  “I’ll go get the drink. It was nice to see you,” I say.

  “Wanna sit?” he gruffs out.

  “What? No, I’m fine.”

  “Sit down,” he sighs, sitting on all four legs again. “I won’t bite.”

  “I’m not totally convinced of that,” I mutter.

  He leans forward, gripping a bottle in front of him with both hands. “If I did,” he whispers, “you’d like it.”

  His tone dances across my skin, the words pooling in between my thighs. It takes every bit of self-control I can muster to remain unaffected—at least on the surface.

  Walker’s attention rests with me, every blink, twitch, and gasp duly noted. The power, although never completely mine, is slipping away quickly and I have to get some of it back.

  Sitting across from him, I let him wonder what my response will be before I finally give it to him. “If I didn’t,” I say, “that would be embarrassing for you, wouldn’t it?”

  A slow smile plays on his lips before he lifts the bottle and drains whatever is left in it. It sets with a thud. “What brought you to Linton, anyway?”

  “Tonight or in general?”

  He shrugs.

  “My friend wanted to come in tonight, so that’s why we’re here. She’s also why I’m in Linton at all, really. What about you?”

  “Born and raised here.”

  “I was born and raised in Georgia,” I tell him. “Went to school in Los Angeles. Ended up here for the time being.”

  “How the hell did you go from LA to Linton?” He leans forward, his brows pulled together.

  “Delaney had a business idea and I thought, ‘Why not?’” I say, lifting my shoulders and dropping them back down.

  “What is it you do?”

  “Design things. Clothes, merchandise, marketing material—whatever someone needs, really.”

  He looks beyond me with a slight shake of his head. “Can you design Peck a brain?”

  “Why?”

  I turn around in just enough time to witness Peck bent on one knee in front of a brunette, a beer extended in the same way a person would a ring. “Who’s that he’s … proposing to?” I giggle.

  “A girl who doesn’t deserve him.”

  Lifting a brow, I can’t help but smile. He flinches.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he insists. “Peck is just way too good for Molly and he doesn’t even realize it.”

  “I take it we aren’t big Molly fans?”

  “She’d fuck a dog with two dicks, if you catch my drift.”

  Not sure whether to laugh or vomit at that imagery, I just squeeze my eyes shut. “That is so disgusting.”

  “Then you catch my drift.”

  The rhythm between us slides into motion, calming my nerves and settling me down. His body relaxes too as we watch each other across the empty field of bottles on the table.

  “Did you drink all of these?” I ask, motioning towards the maybe ten bottles lined up.

  “Nope. I think I’ve had two.”

  “I can’t drink beer. I don’t drink a lot at all, actually.”

  A touch of surprise floats across his features as that sinks in. “Not even wine? Don’t all women drink wine?”

  “Not me. I don’t care for the taste of it, to be honest. And I really hate the feeling of not being clear-headed. If I drink, I’m home with my friends or sister or something.” Biting my lip, considering how that makes me sound, I make a face. “Guess I’m not much fun, huh?”

  He leans forward again, his cologne drifting my way. A shiver trickles down my spine as I sit under his heavy, wonderful gaze. “I think fun can be described a lot of ways. Alcohol usually takes a lot of that out of the equation.”

  “What about you?” I ask, needing the focus off me for a moment.

  “What about me?”

  “Are you fun?”

  He does this half-snort, half-chuckle thing that only increases my curiosity.

  “What’s that about?” I poke, picking up one of the bottles and sloshing the mouthful or two left around.

  “Why are you so full of questions?”

  Placing the bottle in the middle of the table, I contemplate my choices. Sit here and let him navigate the conversation or walk away for a bit and let him come to me.

  Decision made, I stand. “No more questions. See ya later.”

  I flash a smile at his slightly puzzled reaction and walk away before I change my mind.

  There are a few more people now than before, and by the time I reach the bar, I can’t spot either Delaney or Peck. Machlan is still behind the bar, wiping up a spilled drink.

  “Hey,” I say, taking a seat on an empty stool. “Did Peck order me a drink?”

  “Nope. What do you want?”

  “Something colorful, light on alcohol, but fun?”

  “Fun is my specialty,” he winks, heading off towards the blender.

  His back flexes and pulls as he works the bar, grabbing bottles and scooping ice. He reminds me of Walker in a lot of ways, but lacks that mystery that drives me insane.

  “Why do you do this to yourself?” I mutter, turning in my seat only to bump into someone beside me.

  Blond hair, emerald eyes, and teeth so perfectly straight they have to have been designed by a dentist smile back at me. “Well, hello,” he drawls. “Haven’t seen you before.”

  “Not from here,” I confirm, swinging back around in my seat.

  This man is off-the-presses hot, and if I were a gambling girl, I’d say he’s modeled before. The way he moves his long, lean body is something that’s taught, not something you’re born with.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

  “She ordered one.” Machlan sets a glass in front of me with more force than necessary. “What can I get you, Tommy?�
��

  The man I now know as Tommy looks at me as he answers Machlan. “I think I’m good right now.”

  “Make sure you’re still good the next time I check on ya,” Machlan says, a warning written in every syllable. “Feel me?”

  I slide away from the two of them, some unspoken pissing match firing between them. Machlan’s hand hits the bar, making Tommy flinch.

  “I, um, I think I need to find my friend,” I say, climbing off the stool.

  “What’s she look like?”

  “It’s fine,” I say, unable to shake the feeling from moments ago. “I’ll find her.”

  “I just walked through. Maybe I know.”

  His hand touches the small of my back as he follows me towards the area I last saw Peck. It’s too heavy for someone who just met me, too intimate for anyone who wasn’t invited.

  “Really. I’m okay. I’ll find her,” I reiterate, increasing my speed in hopes he’ll drop his hand.

  As I feel the coolness return to my back, my sight is drawn to the billiards area. Walker is standing, his arms over his chest, a look of death aimed at Tommy.

  “Where are you, Delaney?” I mumble, sorting through the crowd. With each step I take, I feel Tommy take the same one, his voice behind me, but I can’t hear what he’s saying over the music.

  I don’t find Delaney, but do spy the red sign for the restroom. Tommy’s hand again on my back, I spin around. “Gotta use the little girls’ room. Thanks for your help.”

  Before he can say anything, I’m off through the doorway.

  ***

  Walker

  “Why do you look like you’re two seconds from committing murder?” Peck’s question rings out from beside me.

  “I’d say two seconds is a stretch. Probably more like six.”

  My sight pinned on Tommy Jones, I follow that asshole through the crowd. He stops at various women, kissing their cheeks, grabbing a handful of ass, depending on what he can get away with.

  “Where’s Sienna?” Peck asks.

  “Bathroom.”

  “She hasn’t met Tommy, has she?”

  “Yup.”