Page 23 of Highball Rush
“It was.” I glanced down, the question leaving my lips before I could stop myself from asking. “You don’t have a girlfriend who’ll show up and get mad because I’m here, do you?”
He scowled. “No.”
I had to fight to keep the smile off my face. “I was just making sure. I wouldn’t want to make more trouble for you.”
He took a few steps closer. His arm moved a little, as if he was going to touch me, but changed his mind. “Look, this mess is bigger than both of us. All I know is right now, I have my friend back. I’d kinda like to make the most of it while I can.”
I met his eyes. They were so blue. “Okay. I’ll stay a while.”
He went into another room and came out with an acoustic guitar. I took one corner of the couch and he sat on the edge of the other. After plucking the strings and making a few small adjustments to the tuning pegs, he strummed the opening chords to “I Fall to Pieces,” a classic Patsy Cline song.
God, it felt good to sing with him again.
One song turned into another. Soon we were singing and talking like we used to. Not about Callie, or investigations, or the Kendalls. About music. I told him about some of the artists I’d worked with. The things I’d seen. Places I’d been.
And he told me about Bootleg. About the tourism boom. The new vacation rentals and spas in town. The things that were different, and the things that were the same.
He talked about meeting his half-brother, Jonah, last year. About Scarlett’s mini real estate empire, and the unlikely man who’d captured her heart. He told me about his brother Bowie finally marrying Cassidy Tucker. About Leah Mae Larkin coming back to Bootleg and getting engaged to Jameson. About Jonah’s girlfriend, Shelby, and her brother George, the big football player who was dating June Tucker.
There was so much I’d missed. The kids I’d known had grown up and started their lives. So many were still here. Bootleg Springs was that sort of place—the kind of town that drew people in and made them want to stay.
A lifetime ago, I’d daydreamed about living here. Making this my home. I hardly remembered what it was like to have a home, now.
We talked and played well into the night. Gibson produced some snacks from the kitchen, and neither of us said anything about the time. I needed to go. It was a long drive on winding roads to get back to my motel. But I couldn’t seem to make myself leave.
Finally, my eyes were getting too heavy for me to deny how tired I was. “I should probably get going.”
Gibson rubbed his chin and seemed to consider something for a moment. “It’s late. You should just crash here.”
Every bit of me wanted to take him up on his offer. But I couldn’t stay here. “Thanks, but I shouldn’t.”
“Sweetheart, it’s three in the morning and I’m not gonna let you leave just so you can run off the road on the way back to your crappy motel.” He stood. “Come on. You can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch.”
“You don’t have to—”
He turned and leveled me with a glare. Apparently he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
And really, I didn’t want to go.
“Thanks.”
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled. “I’ll get you some fresh blankets.”
I followed him to his room and Callie made a momentary reappearance, my heart fluttering and cheeks flushing at the thought of being in Gibson Bodine’s bedroom. I tried to tell myself I was being silly. I was far from the teenage virgin of thirteen years ago.
But being with him in his bedroom, even while he was making up the bed for me to sleep in alone, felt a little thrilling. Even dangerous.
I liked it.
He said a gruff goodnight and left me there. I glanced around at the tidy room. The walls made of logs and the bed with a quilt that looked homemade. It was so very Gibson. And I still couldn’t quite believe I was here.
8
GIBSON
The sound of someone knocking on my door woke me with a start. It felt like I’d fallen asleep about five minutes ago, but sure enough, light peeked in through the curtains. Whoever it was knocked again. I groaned, hauling myself off the couch. Why the fuck were so many people banging on my door these days?
I ran a hand through my hair, still blinking the sleep from my eyes, and opened the door.
