Crazy Good

by Rachel Robinson

  “I’m walking him for one of my friends. I didn’t realize he belonged to you guys,” she says. Her voice goes a little caustic at the end.

  I nod my head. Lowering my voice I say, “Fuss,” pronounced Fooss. The dog immediately heels and we start walking down the beach. I take the leash out of her hand. She looks at me sideways, very quickly, but doesn’t object. I tap my sunglasses so they fall back over my eyes. “I missed you this week,” I say. As the words pass my lips I look around to make sure no one else heard me. She stops walking and faces me front on.

  Crossing her arms under her perfect tits, she fixes me with an angry glare. “Seriously? You missed me? You offer me a cool million for a date and then don’t call me all week? For someone who wanted something so badly, your follow through sucks.”

  This is why I need my sunglasses on. We have a joke about the huge, fucking ugly sunglasses chicks wear in San Diego. SCUBS. Southern California Ugly Blockers. My sunglasses have a different acronym. LB. Lie Blockers.

  I grin. “I needed time to reassess. I made a huge mistake. I want to get to know you.” I reach out and hold the side of her face in my hand. So fucking soft—perfect. I’m obsessed with the game. It’s like a drug. “Go on a date with me. Tonight,” I plead.

  I see my touch affecting her. Her breathing speeds up. Her cheeks flush. A few more seconds and I’d be able to smell her wet pussy. For me. Only me. The dog yanks on the leash, but I don’t dare break eye contact. I see the second she decides. It flickers in her blue eyes. With her unspoken yes I see the whole thing play out. A date. Fucking like rabbits in a couple different hotel rooms, because once probably won’t be enough, and then tossing her away like empty casing. Game. Set. Match.

  “One date. One date. Dammit. Morganna is going to kill me. You realize that right?” she asks, turning from me to face the ocean. I watch her brown hair blow to the side, and then let my gaze fall to her tight, round ass. Maybe I’ll need a few hotel rooms. “Why are you so bad, Maverick. Why?” She turns around, hands on her hips and hurt in her eyes. “I won’t sleep with you. Just a date.”

  It even sounds like a lie to me. I have to shift my over excitable dick. Fumbling for her phone in her jacket she pulls it out and dials, ignoring me completely.

  “I need to talk to Morg,” she barks, turning to block the phone from the wind. My heart picks up. She said yes, and all my plans are about to get crushed by the ball-busting Morganna.

  “I’m standing here on the beach with Maverick, who conveniently knew where I’d be walking the dog, and he asked me on a date. Tell me the worst thing about him. Right now, or I’m going on a date with him,” she says, looking right into my eyes. I stop breathing. Morganna knows all my dirty secrets. I snatch the phone from Windsor.

  “Hey Morg. This isn’t like that. I want to get to know her. Just a date…nothing more,” I promise. Windsor looks shocked, her hand still up where the phone was just moments before.

  “I swear to god I’ll eat your balls for dinner if you fuck with her, Maverick,” Morganna says. She sounds exasperated. I can’t blame her, really. She knows me better than any woman because of Stone. She didn’t have a choice in the matter. Lucky bitch.

  “I like her,” I return. I smile so wide my face hurts, when Windsor’s eyes bug out of her fucking head.

  “Bullshit,” Morganna whispers. The line goes dead.

  “Great. Thanks, Morg,” I say, then hand the phone back to Blue Eyes. She still looks shocked when she grabs the phone from me.

  “Morganna is fine with a date,” I say, already planning to call Stone to have him control his wife for a few days while I lure Windsor into my web. I can’t have anyone else influencing her decisions except me. I want her to only see me. Eat me. Breathe me. Drink me. I want to consume Windsor Forbes.

  “Looks like you have a date, then,” she says, breaking me from my triple X visions. She grabs the leash from my hands. Indecision lights her face for a second. She pulls her hair to one side using her free hand. The rush and adrenaline are still going strong, pumping through my veins thicker than blood. I never feel like this about a girl, not even when I’m pumping inside them about to blow my load.

  “The only man I ever loved cheated on me. I found out about his two-year long affair while I was trying on my wedding dress for the final time. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.” She pauses and shakes her head. “I just want you to know so you don’t expect much from me,” she says.

  Adrenaline crash. Baseline. Some dickhead had her perfection almost locked down and he fucked it up? I wouldn’t believe it if she hadn’t said it. Her blue eyes break a little as she admits it. This is going to be way more complicated than I thought. In fact, I feel fucking sick. I want to kill the guy for doing that to her, making her eyes look so sad. In the same breath, I don’t want to care, but I do.

  I also want to kick my own ass because what I want to do to her is not much better. I wince a little when she starts walking away. I haven’t even responded. I can’t. What lie would I counter to that blatant honesty? I’m going to have to open up to her completely if I’m going to gain any headway. I should walk the hell away. Turn around now before I fuck her up even more. I can’t though. I’m a lot of things and a quitter isn’t one of them.

  “Fooss,” she says to the dog with a smile on her face. “Pick me up at seven,” she hesitates, “I’m sure you know where I live.”

  I do. I watch her walk for a little while and I’m so pissed off. At whatever this chick is making me feel. Because for a small, fucking second I think I want Windsor Forbes to consume me right back.

  Chapter Six

  Windsor

  “You’re just going to bang Benji all night anyway. Why do you care if I have a date?” I ask Gretchen. She’s standing in my bedroom wearing black lingerie and brandishing a riding crop. She whips the foot of my sleigh bed. She finally gave Benji the time of day. And night. And every other time they are free and aren’t working. I’m happy for her, if not a touch jealous of all the sexual attention she’s been getting.

  “Let’s get this straight. I was okay with you banging Mr. Sexy Badass. Like a one night stand. I did not say you should go on a date with him. You saw him.” She fixes me with her gaze after the crack of the leather ceases. “He is not the dating kind of guy. He’s the guy you do anal with because you plan to leave after you bang him and never see him again. Not exactly the bring home to mom type.” She’s right.

  “Good thing I don’t bring anyone home to meet my mom then, huh?” I don’t even visit her. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her, I’d be meeting her for the first time again. My inability to lock up a husband really pissed her off. Gretchen looks a little embarrassed, but I don’t blame her for the mom comment. Mom comments are normal for most healthy adults. Unfortunately, I don’t fall into that category.

  The doorbell rings saving me from Gretchen’s pity party. I rush out of my room to get the door, slinging my high heels on as I go. “Get out of my room,” I yell over my shoulder. She shoots me a dirty glare and disappears down the hallway. Nervousness hits me in spades.

  This is the first date I’ve been on in a long time. I canceled my drink date with Garrett last minute. Like so last minute that he’s still pissed off at me. I tried to make amends, but his butt hurt over the flaky date night combined with the fact that neither of us landed Maverick’s account mixed like oil and water.

  I yank open the door expecting to be knocked flat on my ass. “You’re early,” I admonish. I don’t plan to make anything easy for Maverick. Everything in his life seems easy. He wants a date. I’ll give him a date, but that’s it. He thrusts a small bouquet of flowers into my hand.

  “For you,” Maverick says, peeking into the condo, gaze darting around like he’s taking inventory.

  When his gaze lands on me, he smiles. Dimples. Scruffy jaw. Just a date may prove to be harder than I thought.

  I wedge the flowers into a vase on the entryway table that already contains
a bouquet from Benji. He looks a little put off at the placement of his gift. “Thanks, they’re pretty. Ready to go?” I glance over my shoulder hoping Mistress Gretchen doesn’t show her face…or weapons.

  “You look absolutely stunning tonight, Windsor. I like your dress.”

  God, I hate when he uses my name. It does things to every part of my body, mostly everything below my belly button. I smooth the yellow dress down and smile. It took me a while to decide on something that said “I like you and I want to have sex with you, but it’s not going to happen.”

  “My dress thanks you,” I say, shutting the door behind us. I hear the tail end of a whip cracking and have to stifle a laugh.

  “What was that?” Maverick asks, eyebrows raised, looking back at my door.

  I pull his hand to lead him toward the exit. “Just your warning,” I admit. He smells so delicious now that we’re in such close proximity that it makes my mouth water.

  “I figured I shouldn’t bring my bike tonight. Although, it would have been the highlight of my week to see you get on it. In that dress,” he whispers in my ear, and goose bumps prickle all over my damn body. He nods to his car. Which is a completely awesome, obviously old, and totally refurbished Chevelle. The paint is a deep blue and the racing stripe that spans the car is a light silver. The car is as hot as the owner.

  “Nice car,” I tell him, ignoring the comment about the highlight of his week. Hardly. I bet he’s seen multiple panties this week. His answering smile is, as always, breathtaking. I’m glad nothing covers his eyes tonight. I want to see all of him.

  He opens the door for me and I slink down into the buttery leather. Watching him walk in front of the car, I fight the urge to tear off my dress and have my way with him, right here, in my parking lot like a dirty hooker. So I focus on my surroundings instead. His car is pristine on the inside—insanely clean and meticulously kept. I assume when you have a car this nice, it’s what you do. Or pay someone to do it for you is likely the case with Maverick.

  I pull down the visor to use the mirror, and I sense his eyes on me, watching my every move. I brush at a loose eyelash and turn to him. “Where are we going? I guess I should have asked earlier, before I dressed up.”

  “We’re going to Swordfish. You look perfect,” he says. Not perfect. Overdressed. His dark green striped shirt is buttoned almost all the way up, concealing his tattoos. The sleeves aren’t rolled up either, so nothing shows there either. I’m momentarily disappointed. I may not be able to sample this perfect piece of trouble, but I really wanted to ogle him.

  He keeps his eyes on the road, completely aware of everything going on while he drives. I’ve never seen anyone so focused while doing twenty-five on a residential road. “I want to apologize for the day in your office. I want to start over. Starting tonight,” he says.

  His cell lights up, but he doesn’t make a reach for it. I can’t help but see Jessica’s green text bubble flashing in the center cup holder. Who doesn’t have an iPhone? Ugly jealousy rears and I tell myself only a horrible person would read the text, so I don’t. Though If I read more texts, I would have known about Nashhole’s affair. It was right under my freaking nose. I think he got off on parading it around without me discovering it.

  “I’m okay with that,” I say, leaning toward him. “I’m going to completely ignore all of Morganna’s warnings and have a nice date with you. Because she has me thinking you’re a crazy prick. I really just want to walk into her office and stick my tongue out and tell her I’m still alive, and you weren’t a complete Neanderthal—which you do kind of look like. So, please don’t disappoint me. Let me win this round with her,” I ramble. “One condition though.”

  “Anything,” he says.

  “Forget what I said on the beach today about the Nashhole, okay? I feel like by telling you, it gives him power over me…still,” I admit, trying to keep my voice strong, even though the mere thought of my former life makes me feel weak. “I’m embarrassed I told a complete stranger my woes.” He laughs and the sound makes me jump a little.

  “What exactly is a Nashhole?” I forget normal people don’t know what a Nashhole is.

  “Sorry, yeah. That’s my ex-fiancé’s name. Not really. It’s John Nash, but Nashhole fits him a little better,” I confess. His eyebrows scrunch together, and I regret saying his full name. “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. We’re both starting over tonight. I’ll pretend you didn’t say crude things at the bar…among other things, and you’ll forget I’ve lost the ability to love anything except numbers and my routine.” Another rumble of laughter buzzes around me, consuming the entire car. His voice…his laugh is like a stick of dynamite to my willpower.

  We pull into valet parking and he finally grabs his over-worked cell, but he doesn’t look at it. He slips it into his pocket instead. I shouldn’t give a shit, but I want to see his face when he sees the text. I’m sure it’s one of his many call girls. The specific, non-enviable term is frog hog. Women that only have sex with SEALs.

  “I can agree with that. Wait here,” he says getting out of the car. I see him take a huge breath as he slams the door and approaches the teenager eye fucking the Chevelle. The boy has his hand out waiting for the keys. I don’t even think he’s seen the Maverick wall yet. A quick exchange that leaves the teen completely somber finishes, and Maverick opens my door and offers his huge hand.

  I’m impressed with his manners. Not that I was expecting him to club me over the head and drag me into his cave, but it’s almost like he has a refined touch that I never expected to find in a man…a SEAL, like him. He doesn’t let go of my hand as we walk in, or when we take a seat at a small candlelit table. I narrow my eyes and peek at him sideways as we settle in. I see his jaw work as he surveys the restaurant around us. His eyes dart around, but when his gaze lands on mine, he smiles.

  “The room has been mentally cleared?” I joke. I’ve seen all the movies about SEALs. Living in Virginia Beach, I’m surrounded by the allure of it. I’ve picked up some of the terminology…and I might have Google searched just because I was curious. It garners a small smile. No more SEAL terms. Check.

  “Tell me about yourself. Tell me something no one else knows,” he says. Wow. Cutting to the damn chase, was he? I shouldn’t balk, I wanted this—his interest in me…with clothes on, but I’m not prepared.

  His lips are pursed completely. It’s like he has major issues even asking me personal details. It’s not his regular M.O., I realize. “There isn’t much that everyone doesn’t know about me. It’s sort of obvious…you know, you probably already know the worst,” I pause. “I’ll tell you some important things though.”

  He glances over my shoulder. “Perfect. Let’s hear it.”

  “I come from a small town in Georgia. Which is where I met Morganna in college. I like dolphins and the beach, which is why I moved to Virginia Beach. I prefer animals to people, because you can always trust them without question. I go to the animal shelter at least once a month and can’t take home a puppy because the uncalculated risks are way too high,” I ramble, taking a sip of my wine that just arrived. “Running is my favorite form of exercise, and I hate gyms and gym rats with a passion. Everything outdoors is my jam. I’m probably the only person that has a classic rock station and a 90’s one hit wonders station on my Pandora. Gretchen is probably banging Benji reverse cowgirl on my bed as we speak,” I admit, take a deep breath, and continue, “I believe in romance and one true loves despite everything I’ve been through.”

  Maverick wears a huge goofy grin when I finally look his direction. I had to avert my gaze to be able to admit these things.

  Time passes as we chat about everything I just rambled on about. He seems interested in every aspect of my life, like a detective trying to gain as many details about it as he can. When it gets to the awkward level, I switch the focus off myself…or try.

  “Now, you tell me about you,” I demand, looking him straight in the eye.

  He rubs
his hands together, and the image is so youthful that it actually takes me back a little. “Not yet. Speed round. I ask a question and you give me a one word answer,” he growls. With his playful eyes and dimples wreaking havoc on my entire body, there is no way I’ll say no.

  “Go,” I say, smiling.

  “First thought that came to mind when you saw me at the bar.” I can’t control my mouth. It pops open in surprise and I start to stutter, but he silences me with a swift shake of his head.

  “One word, Windsor,” he says, leaning toward me. His delicious smelling cologne trickles into my senses.

  “Trouble.”

  He pauses, but his poker face is tight, unreadable. “Second thought after that one.”

  I want to say “bad news” in one word.

  “Stop thinking so much. One word. It’s easy,” he says.

  “Predator,” I whisper. I know he hears me because that wild smile licks up and I automatically retreat into myself a little. He looks exactly like a predator should look. It should warn me off or send me running with my tail between my legs, but it doesn’t.

  “Third thing.” He’s fishing. The almighty Maverick Hart is fishing for something. I grin a little.

  “Hot,” I admit, trying to keep the blush from my face. I already know what I’m going to say if he asks for a fourth. “But that doesn’t negate predator. That came before.”

  “Way more than one word,” he says. “Number three is always number one. You lied.” I fold my arms across my chest.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways. You’ll just have to trust me.” It’s something in the way he says it, but I do.

  “You’re wrong. I mean yes, I did lie. Number three wasn’t the first thing I thought when I saw you,” I tell him. I take a deep breath and get ready to shock the hell out of him. He folds his hands on the table in front of him and waits expectantly. Our food came during one of the lulls, so I shove some vegetables around my plate.