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Chapter 21
Patience – a trait Gibson lacks when it comes to Mercy
Gibson
It’s been five days since I’ve seen Mercy. I’m officially done waiting for her to come to me. And, damn it, I’ve missed her. I’ve missed her laugh. I’ve missed her sass. I’ve missed her. Period. Messaging on the phone is not the same.
I’m beginning to understand why Cash, Fender, and Dylan get antsy when we’re gone from Winter Falls too long. If I’m lucky, I’ll be annoyingly antsy on our next mini-tour.
I park in the driveway in front of Mercy’s garage and scan the area. Basil’s house is next door but otherwise the garage sits on land in the middle of a field far away from the rest of Winter Falls.
I climb out of the car and walk to the side entrance of the garage. I knock but when no one answers I try the door. It’s unlocked.
I enter the garage and realize why no one answered my knock. The radio is blaring music. I have no problem with blaring music but country? Really? I’m going to convert my sassy girl to a rock listener if it’s the last thing I do.
I find the radio and switch to a rock station. I smile when I realize the Cash & the Sinners song Resurrect is playing.
“Basil, switch the music back!” Mercy hollers from underneath the car she’s working on.
“Wasn’t me!” He yells from where he’s working on some engine part on a table in the corner. He glances over at me and winks. I lift my chin in greeting.
Mercy glides out from underneath the car. I wait near the radio for her. She gets to her feet and scowls at me.
I ignore the scowl since I’m too busy being enchanted by her body. She’s wearing overalls but the top is pulled down and tied around her waist exposing her sports bra and the smooth skin of her stomach. As she stomps toward me, her breasts bounce and my mouth waters.
My cock twitches. He wants to fuck those breasts. I fist my hands before I reach for her and draw her into my arms. I still need to convince her to be mine. To give us a chance.
“Lead mechanic chooses the music,” she declares as she reaches for the radio.
I snatch her wrist to stop her. “Just listen to this song.”
Her eyes narrow. “Is it one of yours?”
I nod. “Cash wrote it for Indigo when he was trying to win her back.”
She grins. “Ah, how sweet.”
I used to think it was disgusting. Why write a song for one woman? There are plenty of them to choose from. You don’t need to get stuck on one of them.
But then I met Mercy and I’m starting to get it. I’m starting to get all of it. Why men give up careers for women. Why men choose to forgo other women for the one.
“This song isn’t bad,” she says after the chorus finishes.
I chuckle. “Isn’t bad? It’s been at the top of the charts for months now.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
I tweak her nose. “Really. Have you not googled the band yet?”
“Nope. And I don’t plan to either.”
I used to get annoyed about how she didn’t care about the band. Not anymore. I’m enjoying how she likes me – Gibson Lewis – for who I am. Because I am more than a rockstar. I am more than a man who can play the guitar. And fame eventually fades.
The song ends and I lower the volume.
“I’ll convert you to rock music eventually.”
She rolls her eyes. “In your dreams, guitar man. In your dreams.”
