Her face crumples. I close my eyes and let my trembling hand open the door so it’s wide enough for her to see inside. She brings her delicate hand up to cover her mouth. That’s right—all these women in my house. In my world. You aren’t special, Windsor. You were never special. I stare at her, committing her pain to memory as punishment for all time. I have no doubt this will be the last time I see her. She shakes her head in disbelief as she surveys my living room full of women.
“Christ knows no one else holds a dick sucking candle to you,” I say. Her gaze flicks to mine. I see the moment she writes me off forever.
It’s odd. I like it. More punishment. Her hand still covering her mouth, a heavy tear drips from one eye. She walks away like it was nothing. Like I’d said “see you later,” instead of the horrible things that I actually spoke. She didn’t lower her chin or bat an eyelash, but her proud tears fell all the same. Those tears told me she knew this would happen all along. She knew I’d fuck up…that our demise was inevitable. That hurt worse than the quiet indifference spilling down her face. Because it wasn’t supposed to end like this—no.
It was never supposed to end.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Windsor
Two more months later
“He’s the cutest dog on the planet. I don’t care what anyone else says,” I say, pausing as I watch Goose prance around the dog park. “Do you think I should put him in doggy modeling? He’s so well behaved he could star in a movie. Like those kids’ films full of animals?” I ask Gretchen while nodding at the women currently ogling my dog.
Gretchen sighs, a long and drawn out noise. “Stop transferring and being evasive. You’re talking about Goose and his cuteness as avoidance. I mean, I agree, he’s cute, but he’s late Windsor. Your date is late to your weird ass doggy park date…with your best friend. I don’t even understand how this is an actual date. People do this type of thing all the time? So weird,” she exclaims, rolling her eyes.
I admit it’s weird. I wanted to do things differently this time though. No bar or club trolling. I’m thirty now. My dating life needs refinement. I forced Gretchen to come because she doesn’t believe me. I guess it’s a hard thing to believe.
I hear him in the distance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m late! Windsor!”
I smile, narrowing my eyes at Gretchen. Thank God he’s finally here. I turn and look at him. His hair flops as he runs, awkwardly. His turquoise polo shirt matches the seersucker stripes in his shorts. He’s waving his arms, which seem to be filled with all sorts of stuff, emphatically. I wait but the butterflies don’t come. More time. I just need more time.
I push all the hesitant thoughts away. “Told you,” I hiss under my breath. I stand and greet him, wrapping my arms around him in a loose hug. He smells like he always does—like Crew hair product and Armani cologne. He’s used the same products for at least a decade.
His eyes work their way over my body and land on my face. “You look beautiful, Winnie. So sorry I’m late. I wanted to get some…presents,” he says. I look at the bags curiously. “For Goose. It’s a dog park date. The gifts are for the guest of honor,” he explains, flashing his lopsided grin. I nod and grab the bags he holds out for me.
“Goose thanks you, I’m sure,” I reply. “Hear that, Gretch? He brought Goose presents.” I take a deep breath when I hear her approach.
“Well, what if Goose doesn’t want presents, Windsor?” she asks, stopping right next to me. I take another deep breath. I hate that the tension is still so crazy. It’s been months of trying to defuse. It’s why I want her here. Maybe they’ll eventually work out…my past. Our past.
“He loves presents,” I say through my teeth. “And his manners are far better than yours.” I shoot her a pointed look.
After an exaggerated sigh, Gretchen says, “Hi Nash. How have you been?” I tilt my head and smile a fake serene grin.
“I’m great, Gretchen. Sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to show up empty handed,” Nash explains, raising his eyebrows. “Should we play with the toys now?” He’s trying. Good Lord is the man trying. Almost embarrassingly so.
“So much better, Gretchen.” I pat her arm and grab Goose. “Look baby, you have new toys and a new collar,” I say pulling a bunch of random shit out of the bag. It’s obvious Nash does not have a dog. Or a pet of any kind. Gretchen groans, and wanders over to a bench and pulls out her cell, her fingers flying over the keys. I’m keeping her from Benji, but a girl needs her friend every once in a while, too. I get the animosity, as does Nash. He keeps telling me that all he needs is more time—to win over everybody.
“There’s treats in there too,” Nash explains, leaning over to grab the box. His face comes so close to mine that I can feel his breath on my cheek.
Automatically, I pull back, stumbling a little. I may be going out on dates with Nash, but I can’t bring myself to be the least bit intimate with him. I can’t. You might think giving Nash another chance is the most idiotic decision I could make. I never dreamed I’d be in this situation, but Maverick taught me something. Sometimes second chances, if you work for them, are deserved.
I didn’t tell Mav how I felt for him until it was too late. I wasn’t granted a boon. Even cheating scum can reform. There is also the fact that this time Nash is…well, Nash is different. He likes that I make him work to earn my time. He’s respectful. He’s kind. He plays by my rules. He’s not the guy he was when I almost married him. The best way to put it is he’s grown up. I’m not even sure you can call what I do with Nash dating, really. It’s more of a process of gaining my trust back. It’s an implied friendship with a torrid past. That’s how my therapist explains it. Nash even comes to sessions to help me better understand everything. The key word? Understand.
Distracting myself with healing this relationship is the easiest way to dull my feelings for Maverick. He made it quite clear exactly what I meant to him, but my heart? It’s still clueless. My heart also questions me on a daily basis about what the freak I’m doing with John Nash, cheater extraordinaire. Maverick is a risky choice in life, but his volatility was one of reasons I fell in love with him. But I couldn’t live with that for the rest of my life comfortably—always wondering if he’s going to flip out and kick me to the curb. My gaze slides to Nash. He’s throwing a squeaker toy for Goose to chase. He’s what I always thought I needed. Safe. Steady. If he can keep his dick in his pants, that is. I have no doubt I’d be watching him chase our toddler around this park right now if he hadn’t cheated on me. The thought makes me wince. What’s the saying? Six one way, half a dozen another? Pick your poison? At least I’m not completely alone living with a house full of cats. There are worse fates.
Morganna tells me it was the alcohol talking that day, that Maverick’s a wreck without me. He regrets his word choice immeasurably were her exact words. He hasn’t apologized and I don’t bring it up to Morg anymore. Her hands are full with life after death and God knows what else. She’s kept her breakneck pace as a distraction, I’m sure. The heartache that came with Stone’s death won’t go away—maybe it never will, because that heartache is the reminder that you loved in the first place. That’s one of the few good things I took away from my father’s death. The very last thing I want is Morganna worrying about me, or trying to play matchmaker when the dead horse is not coming back to life.
Nash clears his throat. “I was hoping to talk to you alone today,” he says while glancing over to Gretchen. “It’s been a couple of months and you know that I’m fine with these dates, I love them, but I have to ask—can I make you dinner? Not at my house,” he exclaims. He adds the last part because my eyes are the size of planets. “Alone. Just you and me.” I stare at him, waiting to feel something…anything that lets me know what I feel for him or what he’s asking of me. Maybe an alone date will help me figure it out. Or it will be a disaster. Because both of those things are helpful, I smile.
Nodding, I say, “Sure, dinner at my house sounds great, Nash. Like
old times.” A million dinners followed by romantic nights flit through my mind. It’s both comforting and sickening at the same time. Get over it, Windsor. This is your reality now. “I’ll make dessert. You have to promise not to make Mexican food. That’s a deal breaker.” I smile. Laughing, he grins wide. Out of habit my gaze lowers to his mouth. No dimples there.
He winks. “Promise. Tonight then?”
“Tonight,” I say. I call Gretchen over and tell her of our new alone plans. She scoffs, her new Windsor special, and types out another text message. Nash is still smiling like he’s the luckiest person in the world. It’s a side of John Nash that I’m still getting used to—while still keeping a huge cup of skepticism nearby, of course.
Gretchen’s phone rings. She doesn’t greet the person on the other end. “Unfortunately, I’m not joking,” she says, pursing her lips at me. “Tell me about it. Oh, I know…” Gretch trails off as she turns on her heel to finish her conversation away from prying ears. I lower one brow and smirk at Nash. We walk around the park watching the dogs play like we’re the happiest couple in the world. Goose chases his tail and we both laugh out loud.
Now Gretchen is stabbing the air with a finger and stomping her foot like a child. “I wonder who she’s talking to,” I groan. Shrugging, he wraps his arm around my waist. I don’t flinch. He pulls me closer and I lean my head onto his shoulder and put my arm around his back. We continue walking. Our embrace is comforting. It’s familiar. It’s a place I’ve found comfort and shelter so many times in my past.
Most importantly, it feels absolutely, positively neutral. And I’m okay with it.
*****
Wearing sweaty running clothing, I point to cabinets that contain things he needs to cook dinner. He watches me move around the kitchen like I’m stripping instead of explaining. If I’m being honest, it creeps me out a little bit, because I know exactly what’s going through his mind. I know him. I know that look. That’s the thing about dating someone twice. “I’m just going to shower. You know where everything is at now,” I say.
Shaking my head, I scoot around him and out of the kitchen as quickly as possible. He laughs at my not-very-covert-maneuver and catches my hand in his.
“Hey. Thank you,” he says almost reverently. His tone makes my stomach flip. It’s his serious, business voice.
I clear my throat. “For what? You’re the one cooking tonight,” I reply, jokingly because I’m acutely aware this conversation is about to get serious.
“No.” Nash shakes his head. “Thank you for giving me another chance. I don’t deserve it…I know I don’t. I’m waiting for you to realize what you’ve done—and run far, far away.” Placing his hands on his hips, he sighs. “I was so stupid, Windsor. I know it’s going to take a long time for you to really grasp this, but I will never take you for granted again. If you give me a chance or keep giving me chances, I will spend the rest of my life making up for the foolish asshole I used to be.” His eyes close and he hangs is head. His words don’t comfort me; they cause me to freaking panic. Every word he uses is every word I dreamed of hearing him say during my darkest most depressing period. Coming out of his mouth right now? They’re a jumble of confusion.
Lifting his chin with one finger I say, “I’m not some fragile piece of glass, Nash. I’m not going to lie, I was sad for a long time. I got over it eventually. It wasn’t even the…cheating that was the worst part. I was mourning a loss of a life. No one died, but it was just as confusing and difficult to work through. We were supposed to be marrying, building a house, and having babies. Those dreams had to die right alongside our relationship. Because I was wrong about one thing…you. The rest of my life fell into shambles and needed to be put back together.” Nash presses his hand to his face. Shaking his head, he exhales, our entire relationship playing out in his mind no doubt.
“You were a freaking foolish asshole. You were selfish, sneaky, manipulative, deceptive, insensitive, caustic, out-of-touch, and lucky for you I’ve decided those are the type of people who should be given the chance to right their wrongs. Because people like that don’t get breaks. People like that rarely make the same mistake twice. People like that appreciate more. They love more. They admit they’re wrong, and never take a second for granted. So, you’re welcome…for the second chance. I’m not promising you anything, Nash. This,” I say motioning between the two of us, “may never be more than friendship. I forgive you, even though I’ll never be able to forget what you did. Remembering is powerful. It might not work out because of it, but you’re welcome for this.” I take both of his hands into mine, my chest light. I finally said all the things he needed to hear and I needed to say.
Nash blinks a few times, looking at me like I’m a stranger. “I can respect that, Winnie. I’m willing to work for it. For us. For however long it takes for you to decide it’s right. We aren’t the same people anymore. This will be a fresh start. I’m so sorry.”
I cut him off with a hug. I don’t want to hear him apologize ever again. It just reminds me of his mistake. Nash pulls me against him, hard and squeezes. Burying his nose in my neck he inhales. “I know you’re sorry. You can make it up to me by making dinner,” I tease. “My stomach is eating my intestines as we speak.” I pull away. His eyes focus on my lips and I know he wants to kiss me. I also know he won’t. Because this is the new Nash and he really, truly has changed.
“I’m doing a real fine job of convincing you to keep me around. Go shower. I’ll cook quickly,” he admits, eyes still locked on my mouth. I smile and turn to walk away, feeling his gaze bore into my back.
When I get to my bedroom I close the door and slump down the back of it, heaving a huge, disgusting sigh. The conversation was painful. Fixing things with Nash is supposed to make me feel better. Why doesn’t it? I wanted him to be the old Nash, that’s why. I didn’t want to find this reformed person that I wished he were years ago. No, this isn’t fair at all because so much has happened in between the scandal and now. Most importantly, I fell in crazy love. I wish I guarded my heart better
I take my time in the shower and take even longer choosing something to wear, my stomach no longer caring about food, my mind a mess of disproportionate madness. After fumbling through my closet and dresser for longer than is polite, I tie on my robe and head for the laundry room for the one chaste, unflattering dress I own.
Nash’s iPhone is blaring some sultry song through the speakers in the living room. I smile. He has always had the weirdest taste in music. I’m sure the next song will be just as odd. His singing, which happens to be horrible, breaks out from the confines of the kitchen. “Hey, Pavarotti the hounds of hell can hear you! Keep it down!” I yell down the hallway. Nash pokes his head out and grins when he sees me.
The doorbell chimes.
“It’s Gretchen,” I yell.
She told me she was going to ring the doorbell so she didn’t interrupt our alone time when she got home. She didn’t even seem as bitter as usual when she left earlier for a date with Benji—even going so far as telling me to have a good time.
I fluff my fingers in my wet tangled hair. Opening the door I say, “I would have texted if we were doing it on the dining room table, Gre…”
Maverick. He’s breathing hard and wearing workout gear. His eyes buzz up and down, taking in my appearance while surveying the room behind me at the same time. His shirt is soaked with sweat and a light dewy sheen glistens on every perfect inch of exposed skin.
“Maverick,” I whisper. My heart and stomach do a flip-flop at the exact same time.
Rocking back and forth on his feet he says just as quietly, “Win. I was hoping I could talk to you.” His eyes dart down to my thighs.
I tighten my robe in response. What I really want to do is rip it off and attack him. My brain catches up…eventually. “You already said everything that needed saying. Unless there’s something you left out before. Maybe you want me to write a manual on how to give you the perfect blowjob? I’m sure your girlfrien
ds would appreciate it. Or, did you need to talk to me about something else?” I ask. Maverick’s eyebrows pull in as he shakes his head.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m busy right now,” I say, looking behind me when the song changes to some 90’s power ballad.
“I know,” Maverick deadpans.
Nash’s soulful, out-of-key voice grows closer until he finally stops beside me, clutching Goose in his arms. I don’t even bother looking at Nash. I know what he looks like. Plus, the emotions flitting across Maverick’s face are so raw and blatant that I can’t look away. It’d be a crime. He obviously had no idea I was hanging out with Nash, tonight or otherwise.
When Maverick’s shock abates, his angry hazel eyes meet mine. “Him?” He works to swallow. “Out of all the worthy men in the world, you pick the one who already proved unworthy. Him? Really?” Yeah, that seems to be everyone’s logic. I get tunnel vision. All I can see is Maverick. I hold up one finger in the air.
“First off, this is not what it looks like.” I gesture to my robe and then to Nash, unsure why I care what the hell he thinks. I do, though. “And secondly, people deserve second chances. That’s actually a normal occurrence in the realm of good people. Lastly, when you’re ass backwards wrong about so many things, you question your initial choices. That’s what I’m doing here. Giving him a second chance and wondering why I made all the stupid ass decisions to begin with.”
Maverick nods. It’s scary, captivating. “Stupid ass decision?” he asks pointing to his broad chest. Nash walks away and I’m thankful to hear him slam a door somewhere in the condo.
I bite my lip to keep from saying something I’ll regret. I choose my words carefully. “You blame me for your best friend’s death, Maverick. You just walked away from me…from everything without so much as a backwards glance. Sure, it took me longer to tell you how I felt, but that’s because what I felt for you was so much more than love.” Maverick takes a few steps away from me.
Crazy Good Page 27