Crazy Good

by Rachel Robinson

  If this is a ploy to get me to date him, he is sorely mistaken. Money won’t win me over. If anything the exact opposite is the case. I know what type of people have this kind of money and I stay away from them. They are the ultimate assholes that don’t care about anything except number one. I shudder. Maybe Maverick isn’t even worth a one-night stand if he’s pushing this in my face on purpose.

  He lays his hand on top of mine. “I wanted to see you, Windsor.” He says my name and my stomach drops. He might as well have ripped off my clothing, for the reaction it causes in my body. I suck in a determined breath. Be professional, God dammit.

  “I need to know exactly what you want me to do with this money. We could diversify some of it. Use the bulk of it in a more aggressive nature. You are younger. What rates were you getting before? Do you have any ideas or expectations?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from going all freaking raspy with desire. This might be impossible.

  “I have high expectations, Windsor,” he says. I want to scream at him to be straight with me. Snatching my hand out of his, I get up and walk to the window overlooking the parking lot of Food Lion. Women juggling kids and groceries distract me.

  “Color me stupid. Could you spell it out for me?” I ask without turning around to face him. It’s a little better when I don’t have to look at him, or know he’s in touching distance. I cross my ankles to try to fight the fire between my legs.

  “I did my research. I know that you aren’t only a CPA. You are also very good at making money for people. I’ll up the percentage you make on profits if you go out with me. One date,” he says, his voice growing closer as he approaches. I turn around wide-eyed and supremely pissed off.

  “Are you seriously trying to buy me? I’m not a prostitute for God’s sake!” I scream, and then slam a hand over my mouth, praying Garrett didn’t hear my outburst.

  Maverick laughs. He has the fucking audacity to laugh at me. He shakes his head.

  I interrupt him. “Even though I’ll probably get fired for doing this, I’m going to have to say no thank you. You should take your copious amounts of money elsewhere to be managed.” My blood is boiling. I can’t believe he thought buying me out would be the only way to get a date with me. Walking around him, careful not to brush his arm as I pass, I sit down at my desk. “Did you even think to just ask me out?”

  He has the good sense to look mortified. He bites a corner of his lip and blows out a breath. “It didn’t cross my mind. I thought it would be much harder than simply asking. You didn’t want to give me the time of day Saturday night.” He cocks his head to one side. “I figured if I sweetened the deal a little, maybe you’d be more receptive to my advances.” Hands in his pockets, he approaches quietly, stealthily. I shuffle his papers on my desk, feeling ill. Ill that I have to send his accounts away and sick because I can’t sleep with him. Not after this show of stupidity. Even my libido has IQ standards.

  “You know what they say about assuming, I assume? It makes an ass out of you and me. Plus, it would be a conflict of interest if I handled both your money and your…” I trail off, and let him assume whatever he wants. He’s good with that.

  Now he looks really pissed off. Dragging a hand through his longish brown hair, he continues his head shaking.

  “I’m sure you have plenty of options, especially given your financial situation. You don’t want to date me,” I tell him, hoping to make him feel better about my rejection. Because I’m insane and I honestly feel bad because he thought this would work. Women don’t tell him no. “I’m all messed up. Ex-fiancé drama and all. Add in your womanizing and it’s a recipe for disaster,” I admit. I’m honest even though he doesn’t deserve my honesty, and even though my crazy heartbeat and the throbbing between my legs tell a different story.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you. You’re good. I did my research. I want you on my accounts. No date. I never should have tried that tactic,” he says, looking remorseful. He doesn’t even meet my eyes. He looks down at the floor as he speaks.

  Morganna’s words bounce around in my head. Bad news, Winnie. Bad news. I can’t even help it. I’m still inclined to throw myself at him. Thank God my brain speaks before my body does.

  “My associate, Garrett, will be happy to manage your accounts,” I say. Garrett will be more than pleased to have this pushed his way. I’ll have to make up some lie about not being able to comfortably deal with the amount, because I sure as shit can’t tell him the real reason I don’t want to deal with the money or T.H. I smile. “He’s good. Just as good as me, I assure you.”

  Dimples flash at me. They look less mouthwatering and a little more menacing. Eyes narrowed he asks, “That’s two no’s then?”

  “Yes,” I tell him as I extend his paperwork out to him. “I have an afternoon appointment. I appreciate all of your interest. Garrett’s office is out my door, first door on the left.” I take one more look at the assets and liabilities on the page before he takes it from my hand and strides out of the door like a freaking Viking called to war.

  I should have just accepted the date, because now I feel like all I managed to do is poke a grizzly with a long stick. I won’t be able to find that long of a stick next time. I don’t want Steve. I don’t want anyone that will make me think of Maverick. I need to get him out of my system…and fast.

  *****

  Maverick

  She sent me away like a diseased leper. Not only that, but she did it easily. She didn’t even consider fucking me, even when she saw the money. No dollar signs flashed in her eyes like a normal woman. No. She said “No.” And she even tried to make me feel better about her rejection, doling out some story about how messed up she is.

  I passed desperate asshole status a long time ago. Hanging out in this level of embarrassment is new. I had no intention of going to visit Garth’s office. I’m so fucking pissed off and frustrated. To top it off, my dick is hard. It didn’t get the rejection memo yet. The tight skirt, the flawless skin in daylight, the blue eyes that show every emotion she has. If I saw another guy I’d probably end up doing something stupid, breaking something or saying something really incriminating.

  It took more self control than I knew I possessed to walk out of that woman’s office without saying anything else, or just bending her over the desk and fucking her senseless. This pit in my stomach would be gone if that had happened. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, though. The challenge to bag her while she screams my name is now the only thing that consumes my thoughts.

  A new layer to the game surfaces—I want her to care about me. I want her to give a shit. I want the very thought of my absence to cause her physical pain.

  “You know what?” I whisper to myself as I pass Garth’s office. “What the fuck. Why not?”

  I turn around and grip the doorknob to his office and blast inside. I cock my head to the side at Garth’s startled appearance. He holds his desk phone to his ear.

  “Uhh,” he says into the receiver, “he just got here.” He pauses again as he listens to the female voice on the other end, a voice that can only be Windsor’s. Garth holds up a finger in the air. Seriously? This little prick is telling me to wait? “Sure, Win. Drinks sound good. Tonight?”

  Windsor shoots me down and asks this asshole out? Not even minutes after I leave. Win? He uses a nickname, too and it sounds intimate and familiar. I want to crack his skull against a wall. I want to use her nickname.

  Reel it in, Mav. Why do I care what he calls her? I don’t give a shit. Garth is fucking with my game. That’s why it pisses me off. That’s it. Nothing else.

  “Captain’s at 8 o’clock,” he whispers, probably trying to be discreet because I’m staring him down. He hangs up the phone and smiles a goofy fucking smile. Because Windsor asked him out. I’d have that smile if she said yes to me. Now, I get to see what it looks like first hand.

  “Ms. Forbes said you’d be coming over,” he says.

  Now she’s Ms. Forbes. Fucking convenient. My hands are sh
aking at my sides. I can’t control them. When I hear the papers I still carry rustle, I know I have to get the fuck out of here before I explode. I want a drink.

  No you don’t.

  I need to fuck something. I know getting laid won’t even appease me. The game is now fucking with my head and my damn dick. I realize I haven’t said anything to this pansy prick.

  “I already got everything I need,” I say, confusing him. I turn around and blaze out of the stifling office building as quickly as I can. I slink a leg over to mount my motorcycle, the only thing I’ll get between my thighs today, and shake my head. This whole afternoon is shot to shit. The rumble of the engine does little to soothe me, so I push the accelerator faster, urging it to take me where I need to go.

  Captain’s at 8 o’clock.

  Chapter Five

  Maverick

  “Just screw her, dude. It’s easy. Pull the thong down or rip it off and shove your dick in there and bump it around. Ahh yeah,” Stone says.

  Soaping up my hair I let a chuckle slip. We’re in the showers after a long ass workout. I hit it hard. My shoulders are sore and no matter how long I stand in the lukewarm water, my skin burns. Images of Morganna and her thong flit through my head and I wince a little. Won’t be telling Stone that. Windsor wasn’t at Captain’s when I casually stopped by the night of her date with Garth. Her absence only made me think she was probably screwing him at home in her bed. The thought of him in her bed enraged me. If I couldn’t have her, I didn’t want anyone else to either.

  “Why are you doing this to yourself? The Maverick fuck club is extensive. Bag one of your many admirers. Don’t get bent dicked about the one who won’t have you.”

  After the no-show date I fucked four girls this week, but I didn’t tell Stone that. I wanted to prove to myself and to Windsor that I was fine. That it didn’t matter what game I was playing, I still had it. Each chick was equally excited to be worked over and I just didn’t care. I wasn’t into it. I got off…barely with the last one.

  You know what I had to think of to get there? Blue Eyes on her knees, whale eyeing me, lips wrapped around the base of my cock, while she fingered herself and hummed my name. I tossed the girl out of my hotel room the second I ripped the condom off my dick, so disturbed with the mental image of Windsor. I jacked off three more times that night to the same mental image, or some variation. Always Windsor. Always saying my name. Always her hands on me. I choke on the mental image now.

  I shut off the water and wrap a towel on my hips, before I pop wood and have to ante up my mental images of Windsor, because I’d have to offer up something to Stone as explanation. “I need to talk to her. I just need to talk to her,” I say. I half hope he doesn’t hear me sounding like such a pussy. I already have her cell number and I’ve almost dialed it a few times, but I haven’t. I’m stronger than that. Or so I’ve told myself.

  It’s Saturday morning and I haven’t seen her face, in person, since Monday. I paused the game for the week so I could try to figure out what exactly I wanted or needed from her. Why the game? What was it about her? Could I fuck someone else and get over her? When the last one didn’t work, I knew I had to try to see where this went. I have to fucking date Windsor on the regular. Try to get to know her and do my best to find something wrong with her—something really awful that I can’t stand. Then she won’t be this unobtainable dick-sucking queen. She’ll just be another bag I can forget.

  Stone groans behind me, still in the shower. “Morg will fucking kill me if I tell you this. Look,” he says.

  I turn. My eyes are drawn down because he has his dick and balls tucked between his legs. His pubes are the only thing visible. It’s called the goat. The fucking asshole got me. He laughs loudly. I meet his eyes, smiling, and shake my head. I’m going to belt buckle that son of a bitch the next chance I get. He knows it, so he makes the most of his jab.

  “Do you want to fuck me, Mavvy? My vagina is so tight, it’s like a magic twat or a vice grip wormhole,” he says in a high, fake girl voice. “I walk dogs on Saturday mornings at 10 on the beach in front of the Hilton.” He rubs both of his hands over his large pectorals and cups them, circling his damn nipples. His voice sounds like a fucking transvestite with throat cancer. “Maybe you can come make me into a sugar cookie?” Stone purrs.

  That’s it. I lunge forward and lay a fist into his stomach and retreat quickly. He curls into himself, his shoulder hitting the back of the shower room wall, laughing through gasping breaths.

  “You’re a fucktard, Stone. If you wanted to homie glide, all you had to do was ask,” I say. I don’t really want his dick gliding between my butt cheeks, but I’d do almost anything else for him. He’s my bro. He’s got my back always. Down range and home and pretty much anywhere else. He’s known me my whole life. Not only do we share the same legal first name, Thomas, but I dealt with his vagina dick way before we decided to be professional badasses. It’s why I would do anything for him. We went through BUD/s and SEAL qualification training together; bitching and moaning about night sweats and the inability to sleep, and how Hell Week was for pussies. Which it wasn’t; it was torture, but we’d never say that to each other. We are the same—him and I, strong for each other and strong for our teammates. You fuck with him and you are automatically fucking with me. It’s like that with all my brothers. They are the closest things to family I’ve ever really had.

  My real family only gave me a trust fund and a nice pat on the ass out the door because I wasn’t like them. I would never be like them. Of course I appreciate the money; it affords me to do whatever the fuck I want. I can follow my dreams. I can kick ass for a living.

  The money doesn’t make Henry and Barbara Hart my family, though. It makes them large donating entities to fund my fucking. Because I never bag girls at my house. Ever. Hotels are my first choice and their place comes in second. My house is too personal, says too much about me. I don’t want them to know anything about me. Except that my dick is hard and they should do something about it.

  Cruel? Yes. The way my parents raised me facilitated that, but the SEAL Teams are where I found the only family I felt like keeping. That’s what matters.

  I grab some of my shit and get dressed.

  “Thanks for the info, asshole,” I throw over my shoulder as I bust out of the locker room. I have new plans this Saturday morning.

  *****

  I lean against the Neptune statue like a real fucking creeper. The statue is a beacon. If you’re at the beach, you can tell someone your location by using Neptune. Today though? I’m hiding behind the damn thing so I can watch Windsor without her knowing. Not yet, at least. I just want to see my prey in her natural habitat—before she feels threatened by a predator. I see her in the sand by the water.

  Windsor is wearing the tiniest, tight, black shorts possible. They are made of that stretchy shit. I wouldn’t even have to take them off to fuck her; I could just yank them to the side. Her smooth legs are miles long. I picture them wrapping around my face and my dick gets hard. Her body is so damn fuckable. She is in shape, but not in the gross Crossfit-crossover man way that so many women seem to think looks good. Windsor has curves. Banging fucking curves. She holds a pair of running sneakers in one hand and a leash in the other. At the end of that leash is a huge German Shepherd. I recognize the dog and smile. This is going to be too easy. She pets his head and lets it lick her in the face. I grimace. She stoops down to pay the dog more attention and I figure it’s show time.

  The dog sees me coming, but she doesn’t. “Steh,” pronounced shtay, I command using a rough voice. Windsor startles, falling back on her ass. The dog? Well he stops what he’s doing and looks at me, ears down, ready to obey. “Sitz,” I growl. Her head swivels the second she realizes what’s going on. The dog sits, completely submissive to my German commands. This dog works with us, here and overseas. I only know a few simple commands, because it isn’t my job, but I know it’ll be enough to impress her. I extend my hand down to her an
d the dick sucking, doe eyed image pops into my head. Fuck. She wraps her hand in mine and pulls herself up, dusting off her shorts that look like panties. If I can’t pull my head out of my dick I’m going to be in trouble. Date her. Get a date with her. Reminding myself of the ultimate goal, I swallow my fucking pride.

  “What are you doing here? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised,” Windsor says, staring at the dog instead of looking at me. This woman infuriates me. I don’t even get eye contact, but Garrett gets a date. What the fuck does that douche have that I don’t?

  Since I can’t answer her question without diming out Stone, I ignore it. I pet the dog on the head, just so I can brush her with my arm. She twists out of my way, trying to play it off by rearranging the leash. I make her squirm. It gives me a small amount of hope. I push up my Gatorz sunglasses so they rest on my forehead. I’m about to go 100 percent charming-panties-off on her.

  “How was your week, Windsor?” I ask, making sure to draw out Windsor. At her name her head snaps up finally, looking at me and really seeing me. I lick my lips. I smile, tilting my head in question. Glossing over our meeting in her office seems a good idea. I don’t want to remind her of that asshole move. It still embarrasses me.

  “It was fine. Normal, really.” She looks down at the dog, still alert, awaiting his next command, and then looks back at me. “Do you want to walk with me?”

  I can’t believe my fucking ears. She narrows her eyes, but she looks hesitant and maybe a little scared. Of what? Does she think I’ll turn her down? I am so fucking thrilled right now that it scares me. I feel my adrenaline spike like it does when I’m about to shoot something or jump out of a damn plane. This feeling that I have right now is what I live for. What I thrive on. Except the origin of it now makes me very fucking wary. Play it cool. Be smooth, you fucker.