Swear to God, this girl was going to kill him.

Not in the usual way—the rugby kind of way, where you took a bad hit and saw your life flash before your eyes for a solid ten seconds.

No. She was going to kill him softly—with your sweetness, with those big, innocent eyes blinking up at Gibsie every time he said something he definitely shouldn’t have.

And Jesus, was he trying. Really trying.

Gibsie lasted a whole hour around the lads without saying anything too filthy, which was a personal record. But then Hughie had to go and say something about a “solid five minutes” being enough for any girl, and Gibsie—instinctively, like a goddamn reflex—started to open his mouth.

But then you laughed.

Not because you got the joke. No, you laughed because everyone else did, and was sweet enough to pretend like you were in on it.

And Gibsie could not do it. Couldn’t let you keep laughing along without knowing, because the moment you figured it out? You’d blush, and then he’d die, and it’d be a whole thing.

So instead, Gibsie nudged you lightly with his elbow, leaning in closer.

“You, uh… you didn’t actually get that, did you, sunshine?”

You wrinkled her nose, tilting your head up at him.

“Not really,” You admitted, soft and unbothered. “But it made everyone else laugh, so I figured it was funny.”

Christ. His heart actually ached.

Gibsie grinned, looping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in.

“You’re better off not knowing,” He said, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Trust me.”

You huffed, feigning irritation, but he saw the way your lips twitched.

“You always do that,” You complained.

“Do what?”

“Censor yourself around me.”

Gibsie bit back a smirk. Not very well, apparently.

“You just have a delicate little mind, princess,” Gibsie teased.

“I can’t be responsible for ruining it.”