Crazy (The Gibson Boys, #4)

by Adriana Locke

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.

“Cleary,

Clearly

“Just passed that house with the big balcony on the second floor.

Just past

“Just passed that house with the big balcony on the second floor.

"Just PAST"

“Aha! I knew it.” “Want a cupcake?” “I always want a cupcake.” He shakes his head.

I have no idea why these lines were here. Made no sense at all.

Just passed

Just past

“No one calls me that. Sometimes, I forget my name isn’t Peck.” “Wesley, huh? What’s your middle name?” “Chapman. Wesley Chapman Ward.” I ponder that. It’s a very strong name and reminds me of a pastor in the Old West that would shoot you with his six-shooter if you acted up.

And I think I could probably get used to it, if I wanted to. “Easy, Peck,” I whisper. “Don’t get in over your head here.” Because I’m not. Yet. But I might be on my way if I don’t catch myself now.

“He left me for the woman he was engaged to before.” My insides twist as I remember the phone call when he delivered the news that he was not, in fact, coming back to Indiana. That he was staying in Wisconsin with “the love of his life.” “He loved her first, and I can’t compete with that.”

“Would I marry Molly? Yes. If she loved me, I’d marry her right now. But she doesn’t love me,” I say. The words burn my throat as I say them. “She doesn’t love me like that. I’m not sure she’ll ever love someone like that. But at least I’d protect her.” “She needs protecting from herself is what she needs.”

“We are going to Crank?”

No, they AREN'T going to Crank - they're going to CRAVE.

“It looked like you were pretty damn happy about it, if you ask me.” The corner of the label is nicked. I pick at it instead of looking at her. I suppose it’s obvious that I am pretty damn happy about it. How would anyone not be dancing with Dylan and having her enjoy it and not be pretty damn happy about it? I probably need to reel that in a little bit.

Molly doesn’t respect me. She’s happy to have me on the periphery, someone she uses when needed. But she doesn’t want me or love me. And maybe, just maybe, love isn’t what I feel for her either. “Good night, Molly,” I say again. A streak of panic flashes across her face. I give her the best smile I can manage before I walk out. And for once, I’m walking away from her. And it feels just fine.

“I wish there wasn’t a Molly spell,” I admit. “If there wasn’t, I’d be all over that. He’s … like sunshine. He makes you feel good.”

I’m Peck—the guy who will figure it all out. That guy who’ll be okay. The guy who’s just a goofball at the end of the day, so nothing really gets to him, right? Wrong. Shit does bother me. I just don’t go telling the world about it. Because the world thinks it already knows.

Peck’s footsteps scoff against the floor.

scoff

footsteps scuff, they don't scoff.

“I’m going to hold you to that little promise,” he whispers. “But can I just kiss you first?”

Peck is the absolute sweetest of all the men in these books.

I’m in awe that he didn’t want me on my knees first, pleasuring him, but wanted to kiss me before. First. Like it was more important. What sort of a man does that? This one. The one with a massive heart and a beguiling soul. And it’s at this moment that I know, without a doubt, there aren’t walls big enough to save me from him. If he wants to break my heart, I can’t do anything to stop him.

Peck doesn’t hold grudges. He lives and loves and lets go.

I’ve already let Nana down. I didn’t trust him to keep my heart safe. I didn’t love him unconditionally.

There’s a new Banana’s Foster flavor

Banana’s

bananas does not need an apostrophe.

Maybe I’m the hero of my story. Or at least, maybe I’m the co-writer of a tale as old as time, of a woman and a man who have all kinds of fears and bruises but come together to work them out. I know. Suddenly, I know. This is what love feels like.