Crazy Good

by Rachel Robinson

  I haven’t seen his face, outside of photos, since the day he left. I push the black lacy lingerie down my thighs and run my fingers through my hair. I’m more nervous than I was the night I lost my virginity in high school. And that guy? He shook my hand to congratulate me on a job well done. So, you understand just how unusual this feeling is to me. I miss Maverick so much. Not just him, but everything about him. The way he looks at me, the way he handles the world around him so effortlessly. I miss the way he knows what I’m thinking even before I know. His lack of presence in my world leaves a gaping hole.

  I take two of the throw pillows on my bed and puff them together to make them bigger, and climb onto my bed to continue my wait. I slipped Goose into Gretchen’s bed early this morning so I could have some privacy. He shouldn’t see what’s about to take place. Right?

  TMH pops up on my list in a blaze of loud alerts and my stomach flips completely over. He types me a message the second he gets online.

  TMH: You’re up? Good.

  WinnieF: I’ve been up for a long time. I’m so nervous. Is your Internet connection good enough for a face call?

  Please say yes. Please say yes. And if he says no, please don’t let me cry.

  TMH: We’re a go. The door is locked, which means I slid a heavy box in front of it and I kicked everyone off the wifi in our hallway just to make sure the picture would be clear.

  More stomach flipping. I smile the hugest smile and no one can even see it.

  WinnieF: I miss you. I want to see your face.

  Old school ringing blasts through my computer speakers. Accept or Decline boxes pop up on my screen. Please…as if there were ever a question. Click. A medium sized black box pops up in the center of my screen and my pulse skitters like crazy. I narrow my eyes and watch closely for the Nano-second when Maverick’s face appears. I realize he might be able to see me first so I make sure to smile. I cross my legs underneath me and take a deep breath. Maverick’s hairy face appears and it’s fuzzy at first, but grows clearer.

  “I see you!” I squeal, clapping my hands together. His huge smile appears a few seconds later because of the delay.

  “You are so fucking beautiful, Win. I can’t believe we haven’t done this yet. I need to see you all the time. Like this.” He reaches a hand out, like he’s trying to touch me and brings it down again.

  I frown. “I can’t see your gorgeous dimples under all that hair,” I admonish. It looks kind of hot in a way that only a person insanely in love could rationalize. “Will it hurt to kiss you with all of that?” I ask. Maverick laughs, leaning back in his chair. His shirt is off. If I squint I can make out my tattoo on his chest. A part of me is with him there. My heart squeezes a little.

  His full lips, because I can still see those, form a line. “What did you think of my last e-mail?” Maverick asks. I know what he wants from me. Assurance. Taking into account the delay, I start speaking before he even finishes his question.

  “You couldn’t scare me off even if you were a bearded, trained killer…oh, wait.” I laugh and then finish, “Maverick, I’m glad you were honest with me, but it doesn’t matter what happened in your past. We’re moving on to the future. Our future together. Everyone has things in their past they wish they could erase—some more than others. You don’t have to worry. Okay?” He shakes his head with a little smile on his face. I continue, “I won’t worry either.”

  “How did I get so lucky?” The screen pixelates for a second, but I see him again a few seconds later.

  “I’m asking myself the same question right now, Mr. Shirtless hulking eighth wonder of the world.” I bite my lip, only because I know it drives him nuts. It used to be a bad habit to keep from talking back to my mother, now I use it purely for seduction.

  “Speaking of shirtless. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you in that state,” Maverick admits. The lip bite had the intended effect. I laugh and point the laptop camera at my very black, very see through, very lacy slip camisole. Maverick whistles, folding his arms behind his head. I aim the screen back at my face.

  “I thought you might like it,” I say. Maverick’s smile fades, though I can barely tell with all the facial hair. “What’s the matter?” His hands still perched behind his head, he merely stares at his computer screen.

  “I just wish I was there…that’s all,” he sighs.

  Oh, how I wish he were here too. Seeing his face and knowing how far away he is makes me miss him that much more.

  “I knew I’d miss you, but your face…right there,” he says reaching for the screen. “I didn’t think it’d make me so…homesick. For you.”

  The sadness hangs between us, somewhere in cyberspace, or in the atmosphere both here and in Afghanistan. It’s weird. It has a tangible quality to it. I can’t touch Maverick, but the sadness is wholly formed and ready to be grasped. I don’t want it to seep into this brief time I have with him and ruin it.

  “Hey, I’m right here. We can Skype each other as much as your pervy friends let us. Tell them to curb their porn addiction so you can see your girlfriend.” I slip the strap of my camisole off one shoulder. His lopsided grin appears a second later.

  “I like the sound of that. The girlfriend part. Not the pervy friends part.” He leans forward to see me better.

  All of a sudden I’m nervous. I’ve never done anything even remotely this brazen. Well, what I’m about to do. Get naked in front of a webcam and do God knows what.

  “Have you ever thought about being more than my girlfriend?” he asks seriously.

  My eyes bug out of my head and my jaw drops. I wait a few beats, staring at him curiously. I stutter. “I mean…has it been long enough to be appropriate to think about that?” The logical Windsor steps up to the plate. I also added a trick of his: answer a question with a question.

  “That’s not what I asked. Drop your preconceived notions about everything you’ve been told about relationships and be truthful. Have you thought about being more than just my girlfriend?” He swallows as his chest heaves. I’d guess his heart is hammering a mile a minute.

  I slide my strap back on my shoulder. This conversation took a detour into new, uncharted territory. The truth, Windsor. Tell him the truth. I can’t say I love you to him, because I’m still sorting out that whole concept in my twisted mind, but have I ever thought about being more than his girlfriend? Yes. I’m female. A flash of a white dress, two point five kids, and a picket fence simmer to the surface whenever a woman dates a man. Even a first date so, watch out, guys. It’s an uncontrollable response whether love is involved or not.

  “Of course,” I exclaim. I make it seem he’s crazy for having to ask. Men don’t know about the inner-workings of a female brain, though. I can’t fault him for that. “Is that the right answer? Have you thought about me being more than your girlfriend?”

  “If it’s true, it is the right answer. I have. I hate that we’re not having this conversation in person. I wasn’t joking when I said forever, Win,” he replies. My heart thunders and my breathing speeds up, my body responding to words from a man on the other side of the world. It. Is. Ridiculous. Maverick’s hazel eyes land on mine. “I’m not good with words,” he starts saying, but I cut him off.

  “You are excellent with words. The song you wrote me? Perfection, Maverick. I wish I could tell you how I feel about you as easily,” I say, looking over to my window to break the cyber eye contact. I hear him clear his throat. He won’t push me to say or admit anything no matter how much his curiosity gets the best of him. I face the screen again. “How do you know when you love a person, Mav?” I take a deep breath. He’s steered this conversation to this deep, scary place. Why not ask what I really want to know?

  “I can’t answer that question for everybody. I can answer it for me…about you,” he says, pausing. “I knew I was in love with you when I wanted you more than I wanted anything else. I don’t need you to live my life. I want you in my life to make it worth living.” He clears his throat, noddi
ng. “It started off as a challenge. I won’t lie, Win. I wanted you because I couldn’t have you. You were like this jagged mountainside that I had to climb to get what I wanted. I never anticipated wanting to open up to you and what that would lead to. The day you trusted me enough to jump out of an airplane, I took a leap too. I decided to go all in. I’m all in, Windsor. There’s no going back from this, or pretending I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know I love you because you’re good. Your honesty is the most beautiful thing about you. You make me a better person without even trying. It’s uncomplicated because it’s innate for you. I’m just waiting for you to realize how amazing you really are and leave my sorry, fucked-up ass. I know I love you because of this,” he says putting his fisted hand over his heart—over my tattoo. “It would stop beating if you weren’t mine. I’m yours, Windsor.”

  I sniffle. “I told you about my crying problem and you go and do that?” I laugh, but it’s broken up by a small sob. Maverick smiles a wistful smile.

  “I’m taking your lead in the honesty department,” he admits.

  I love you, I think. I feel like a liar, not the queen of honesty he portrays me as. I wipe underneath my eyes. “You’re not fucked up, by the way. You’re sort of magnificent. So is your heart. Our connection is pretty soul shattering, isn’t it? I’m yours, babe. I’m all yours,” I say.

  He chuckles. “So, you’re mine? All of you? Every inch?” he asks, wiggling his brows.

  “So, now you want to see me naked?” I tease. I’m still trying to control my rapid-fire pulse. I never anticipated making declarations like this at this early freaking hour. I was ready for smut…not love. I’m glad he brought this up. Hearing his confession makes it easier to sort though my own hang-ups over my strong, unexpected feelings for Maverick.

  “I always want to see you naked. I just want to make sure we are okay,” he says, his voice warbling with the worsening Internet connection. When he says things like this it shocks me. I bet he rarely needs reassurance of anything. Then I remember his past. His family totally abandoned him. Of course he needs to know “we’re okay”. He’s far away with nothing to hold on to except words. Words are just words until they’re not.

  “We’re okay. One hundred percent okay. Take off your pants and show me what you’re working with,” I command, sliding the camisole off both of my shoulders and down around my hips. His eyes widen when he sees my naked body. I tilt the camera so he has a perfect view of my breasts and the bottom half of my face. I bite my lip.

  “How can I refuse you when you ask me like that looking like that?”

  “See, that’s the thing…you can’t,” I say, shimmying the scrap of lace and throwing it across my bedroom. I catch Maverick trying to touch me through the camera at least twice while I strip. I crawl toward the laptop and watch as he takes off his perfectly hot, baggy camo pants revealing his very large and already hard friend. “I wish it was in my mouth right now,” I admit. A vision of Chat Roulette pops into my mind at the sight of a dick on webcam. Morganna and I had our share of drunken laugh fests in college with that creepy website. Maverick and his amazing member are anything except creepy. I love the double standard.

  He groans. “Not more than I wish it was in your mouth. I guarantee that, baby. Lean back let me see all of you,” he orders.

  Here goes nothing. I try to remember what it feels like to be naked with Mav in person. How uninhibited he makes me feel. I make sure the screen is at a good angle and crawl to the head of my bed, making sure he sees my ass as I go.

  Another loud whistle buzzes through my speakers. “Damn, woman. Damn. Do you work out?” I giggle at his joke.

  Sitting, I turn around and face the camera my knees bent up, exposing myself. Maverick shakes his head. I say, “I want you to work out…right now. Let me see your dick.” I have to speak louder because I’m further away from the mic and I want him to hear me clearly. I pray Gretchen is still in the REM stage sleep. Shit.

  His camera points down to his lap. His huge hand is wrapped around the most ferocious looking hard-on imaginable. I’m immediately wet. The erotic sight does crazy things I wouldn’t ever expect. I think it’s because it’s him.

  “You’re so hard for me,” I purr. “Do you always think about me when you touch yourself?” His hand works faster.

  “Always,” he grinds out. “Always.”

  I let my legs fall open as I lean back on all the throw pillows men don’t understand. Bet Maverick will now. I close my eyes and pretend it’s Maverick’s hand as I rub my nipples and slide my hand down in between my legs. “What do you think about exactly?” I ask him, peeking through my lashes.

  “Your mouth on me. Your sweet, tight fucking pussy milking my cock.” His breathing is labored as he replies and the sound turns me on even more. I move my fingers, finding the perfect rhythm, using my wetness to take it to the next level. “I think about fucking you in my shower, on my bed, in my car…making you scream my name as I fill you with my come.”

  Circling my fingers a little faster, a small moan escapes.

  “Inside. Put them inside,” Maverick growls. I do and it feels divine. I watch the computer screen and imagine it’s his hot dick sliding into me instead of my own small fingers. “Yes. Like that. Just like that,” he groans. He slows down his stroking to match the pace I’m working myself. He is the one screwing me now. It’s hot. Everything about this sets me on fire. I feel my cheeks flush and tingles flash everywhere.

  I come hard, moaning small pants as I float down from the epic high. I close my eyes to regain my bearings and when I open them, Maverick has his camera pointed back at his face.

  “Hey,” I breathe. “No fair.” I sit up, wrapping my arms around my knees.

  “Oh it was perfectly fair. I’m a fucking mess over here. I underestimated your virtual appeal.” He points the camera down to his come-covered stomach and quickly back up.

  “I like seeing you a mess,” I say.

  “I like seeing you come,” he counters.

  “I’m the newest fan of SF. Can we do it again?”

  He tilts his head in question, eyes wide. “Right now?”

  I laugh. “Not right now but another time?”

  “Okay good. I’d love to beat it again while watching you writhe on your bed like the world’s hottest porn star, but Stone will be back soon and I’m not sure I can be that quick again. Though, if you asked me, I wouldn’t say no,” Mav admits, smiling widely.

  “I feel bad. I didn’t even get to tell you what I think about when I use Bob late at night.” I wink.

  He presses his lips into a firm line. “Oh, come on, Win. You don’t have to breathe a word to have me blowing my fucking load,” he says. An uneasiness creeps onto his face. I frown.

  “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and says, “We both know exactly what I do want you to tell me.”

  The words die on my lips. I love you, I think once again. I open my mouth to explain or play dumb, I’m not sure which. I’ll never know because the screen cuts to black and the Skype call is lost…or disconnected.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Maverick

  We have a mission tomorrow night. We spent two months planning it. It’s a big one and I’d be stupid if a little nervousness didn’t mix with my excitement. It’s all I think about. The scenarios flit through my mind like a Power Point slide show.

  That’s how it’s supposed to be. I’m reassured knowing that Windsor won’t cloud my brain as we storm a compound vice shack and kill some fucking bad guys, but she’s always there in some form or another. She won’t admit that she loves me. She tried to explain in an e-mail after the greatest Skype call of all time, but her explanation fell short.

  Here’s the thing: I know she’s in love with me. I recognize it as the same thing I feel. It’s in her eyes, in her words, in her heart. It’s everywhere, blatantly staring me in the face, taunting me, because she won’t say three words. I feel guilty after I
get upset. She went through a lot with Nash and I can’t get pissed about that. It’s that jackass that ruined her to begin with. She’s mine to fix.

  I thought she’d be past him by now. It will be in the corner of the room for the rest of her life, I realize. It sucks. I know the feeling.

  When I do let myself think about Windsor it’s all consuming. I pull up the Facebook and Julio Bigcock sends Windsor a quick message explaining that he won’t be able to talk or e-mail for a few days. She’s always understanding when I can’t write her. She’s good at this…at deployment. It makes my chest well with pride. I hear stories about girlfriends cheating a week after we take off. This life isn’t made for many men. It’s made for just as few women, too. I found one.

  Steve and Stone are in my room pacing around like a couple of caged panthers ready for their raw meat. I only hear snippets of their conversation because I’m scrolling through Windsor’s Facebook page like a superstar stalker. I read what her friends post, I click on photos of people I don’t know to try to figure out how she knows them, and then I scan through her newest photos. It’s addictive. It’s like glimpsing into her life—a life I’m not currently a part of. Sometimes she’ll write little updates about missing me or private jokes that only I’ll understand. I like that.

  What I don’t like is the tagged photos of her out at the bar with the “girls” from the night before. Her tight, navy blue dress is too short and she looks too stunning to be out without me. Her brown, wavy hair is loose, falling over her shoulders and down her back. Her blue eyes are a little glassy and she has a different drink in her hand in every picture that’s posted. She gets drunker as I continue clicking. The other women are dressed similarly and are all inebriated, but they aren’t mine. I don’t care who looks at them. That’s when I get to the last photo. It’s a group shot.

  “Fuck!” I roar. It’s him…the fucking nightmare that will never leave me alone. John Nash. His arm is draped around Windsor’s shoulder like it’s always been there, like it belongs there. I see red. No, I see blood red. “Fuck!” I scream again. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I’m overreacting. I know it, but I can’t control my impulses. She doesn’t make me crazy; what I feel about Windsor makes me fucking crazy.