I join him at the bar, pulling a stool next to him, and dive into the breakfast burrito made to my exact preferences.
“I have the tools in the garage to fix the door. I picked up a new knob this morning. Did you check the surveillance footage yet?” he says around a mouthful of food. I tilt the burrito toward him, swallowing a huge bite.
“Thank you. Perfect,” I say. He smiles and nods. “I pulled the footage and set it out for Phillipe to go through when he gets here Monday morning.” I take another bite, kicking my heels off to the side. I always uphold a certain look when I’m working, be it at home or out and about. When I’m with my friends, I can relax a little bit. I can be myself. “One. Two. Or Three,” I ask jokingly. I mean, I definitely want to know, but I kind of don’t too.
Steven chuckles, pushing his lips to one side, deciding if he should lie or be honest. We talk about everything. He has absolutely no reason to lie to me. He sighs. “It was two. I broke it off, though. She’s a little more clingy than I’m comfortable with. She knows it, too. I think last night was an ode to goodbye.” He watches my hands and fingers as he talks. I’m not sure why, but hands are his thing. I wiggle my fingers and his gaze darts up to meet mine.
“You’re down to two? No way. Shock and awe, Steven Warner. Shock and awe. I bet you’ll mend fences with her.” This knowledge makes me happy for some unknown reason. I actually hope he doesn’t get back together with her. I guess it’s one less girl I have to worry about sharing Steven with. That thought excites and confuses me even more.
After seeing pretty much everything in my career, I don’t judge anyone for anything anymore. If someone is happy and not breaking any laws, and all parties are well informed, let them be happy. There’s no deceit in what Steven does. I guess I’ve just come to realize that it’s his normal for whatever reason. Love isn’t his thing. Sex is. Dating normally never met his needs as far as I can tell.
“You know the non-exclusivity clause will make it pretty fucking difficult to find a replacement. Whatever is a man to do? You wouldn’t happen to want to put in an application for the coveted position?” The Steven smirk flicks over his mouth. I narrow my eyes at him. He continues, “You’ll submit to an STD test and sign a non-disclosure. Agreed?” Now he’s making jokes.
I don’t blink. His full lips twitch. I hold his gaze. This is a game. He’s trying to play dirty. I see his black fringed eyelashes flutter, trying as hard as he can to not blink. It’s officially a stare-off, but I take his joke of an offer and I actually consider it. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it a million times before.
It would be easy like Sunday morning with Steven. The guilt of replacing Stone would be more than I could bear, though. What if I did begin a non-exclusive relationship with Steven? That’s not cheating on Stone’s memory at all. It’s actually the opposite.
Steven seems to know the thoughts that are churning through my mind, because his eyes slit further and he cocks his head to the side, his brown eyes studying mine.
“You blinked,” he growls. “More than once. You never lose a stare off, M. What in the hell is going through your mind? Are you worried about the security footage on the camera? You know I won’t let anything happen to you, right?”
I shake my head, caught off guard by his insane assumption. The non-blink is a non-action I’ve perfected for use in court, but it comes in handy when we do our stare-off contests.
“Hell no, I’m not afraid,” I almost yell, my southern drawl licking each syllable. Damn it. “I was just thinking about a case, that’s all.” He looks at me sideways, knowing eyes calling me a big, fat fibber.
“Whatever you say, Morga-liar. I’m going to hang in the garage and find what I need. My offer stands,” he says. I think I hear him whisper, “always” when he walks off, a Home Depot bag in one hand.
There it is. The reason I can’t be with Steven. The reason I have a date tonight with some random guy I met on Daterpro.com. He’s a struggling guitarist who burns incense and probably hasn’t been in a home improvement store throughout his entire life. He’s the opposite of Stone. He’s the opposite of any of The Guys. He’s safe.
I can honestly say SEALs never make the same mistake twice. It goes against their genetic code. That doesn’t mean I won’t or can’t. It’s my solitary weakness. It’s best to steer clear of temptation. Even non-exclusive temptation.
Steven peels off a faded, gray t-shirt as he walks down the hallway to my garage. Tanned, smooth skin stretches over bulging muscles. The large, frog skeleton crawling up one shoulder is the only thing marking his flawless skin. It should also mark him as off limits.
Why am I looking at him this way now? Literally after years of placing him in the friend zone. Maybe I’ve denied myself the privilege before. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop. The realization hits—I don’t want to stop. The truth creeps out and penetrates the air around me. My heart pounds in response, blood whooshing in my ears.
Steven turns his head and looks back at me, fully aware I’m staring. He raises one perfectly manly, dark brow, and then he winks, turning around to continue down the hall, humming a song I’ve never heard before. Normally I’d scoff or fling a small insult about his ego, but this time I don’t. He notices the small absence because I see his broad shoulders shake with laughter.
When he disappears into the garage I let out a breath and a string of obscenities leak from my mouth in a whisper.
They aren’t really that similar. Right?
CHAPTER THREE
Steve
SHE’S ACTUALLY DOING this. “I can’t believe you’re going out on a date with some douche lord! Someone you met off the internet, to boot. You’re going to end up swinging by your feet, gutted like a fish, massive amounts of blood trickling down ruining your Brazilian Blowout.” I bang my palm down on the cold cement slab in her kitchen. Morganna merely smirks at me, knowing damned well I’d never let that happen to her. It’s mother fucking infuriating. “Does Maverick know?”
I only ask because I know Windsor wouldn’t approve of her dating some dude off of a dating website. They’ve been friends since undergrad. While Morganna ultimately has the last say, Windsor’s opinion is surely factored somewhere into the equation. Any one of her girlfriends would be angry. I know exactly why I’m so pissed, but Morganna can’t know why. Hell, maybe she already knows. I think everyone does. The thought just incenses me further.
“Of course he doesn’t know. As it should be. It’s none of his business anyways. It’s time I start dating again, Steven. You have to agree with that,” she explains, her voice clear, true, almost as if she’s asking permission. She knows damn well she doesn’t need permission from anyone. She’s a force. She knows she’s a fucking force. Forces don’t need help finding a date. They can have whoever they fucking want. Whenever they fucking want.
She continues staring at me, waiting for me to talk her out of it. Maybe talk her into it? I am her friend. Is that what I’m supposed to do right now? My stomach starts roiling. Her husband died years ago and she’s refused to date anyone since. I’m not even sure she looks at the male species the same way. She’s programmed as a married woman with one flaw: she hasn’t been married to anyone for quite some time. What is best for her? Shit. I am. Morg must sense my indecision because she continues.
“Tell me that I haven’t waited long enough. Tell me that Stone wouldn’t want this. Tell me I should wrap myself up in my career and stay single forever, because I’ve already told myself all of these things plus a million more. If two people agree, then they must be correct. Am I right? ” Her gray eyes, ringed with black makeup, start to water. I know she won’t let tears slip past. They’d mess up her makeup and show the world how she’s really feeling. Closing her eyes, she reins in the emotion, a master at hiding. It’s her art form. But she can’t hide from me—she never could.
What would a real man do? I lie. “Go on the damn date. It will be good for you. Nothing you said is true and, by God, y
ou know it. It’s high time you move on. I don’t say that lightly either. You’ve waited so long that I guess I’m surprised that it’s happening now…after all this time. I overreacted. I just worry about you.” Because of how beautiful you look right now. I want you all to myself.
Black waves fall around her shoulders in a new, subtler way. Morganna’s teased southern belle hair died when Stone did. Her lips are slicked with clear gloss that makes me think of a perfectly glazed donut—something I want to eat while it’s still hot. These lips have been off limits for so long that I haven’t appreciated them in full, until right now, when I think about some random dude having them. I can’t help but stare—she’s beautiful. I wouldn’t even call her conventionally beautiful because Morganna Sterns is a fierce beauty. I think maybe she’ll fuck you, then kill you for not performing well. She’s borderline scary. It’s the ultimate turn-on for someone like me.
Morg clears her throat. “Thank you, Steven. Unfortunately I need to hear things like this. Double unfortunate is that I don’t have anyone else to talk about this stuff. Most people don’t get me.” She unconsciously rubs the bare spot on her ring finger. When my gaze darts down she stops, adjusts her top, and slides her hands down her skin-tight skirt. Sex. All I can think of is sex. I close my eyes and draw in a noisy breath. I need to call Chloe tonight, my go-to for sexual longevity. Number one.
Morganna hides, and I mask with humor. It’s our M.O. “Don’t ask me for sex advice, though. I can’t go that far. Unless you’re into caning, cuffs, and orgies. Those are the only topics I’m comfortable discussing. Perhaps anal beads and back door play, but nothing more than that,” I explain, gesturing crudely with my hands. Her eyes slit, her lips purse. Damn, she won’t bite the bait. Not that I thought she would. She never does.
“Ha-Ha. I’ll be home early. Ten. Maybe even earlier. Do you have plans with a girlfriend tonight?” Morganna asks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think her tone was a bit jealous. She makes digs about my girlfriends, but she’s never really that interested. Not like she is today.
Folding my arms across my chest, I give her an easy grin. “Calling it an early date night already? You must know this guy is going to be as fun as a puddle of mud. Anyone with any kind of skill could keep you out until at least eleven.”
She scoffs. Reaching a tiny hand out she adjusts the sleeve of my t-shirt that folded up my bicep. It’s a problem. What can I say? I have too much muscle and not enough shirt. Her fingers linger on my arm as she slides them under the seam. “I’m not just any woman. It takes a lot to keep me entertained.” Her gray cat eyes flick up to meet mine. What the fuck was that? My dick is confused.
I shift uncomfortably. “There’s such a thing as too much. Never bite off more than you can chew.” Her hand falls away as she takes a step away from me. I go on. “I’m sure you won’t have a problem with that tonight, though. You told me what time you’ll be home. Do you want me to be here then?” I read between the lines better than anyone I know.
Morganna runs a hand through her hair and brings the strands around to rest on one shoulder. I’m almost sure she’s going to say yes. That’s the only reason she mentioned a time. As the most punctual person I know, time means a lot to her.
“No. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you when I get home from my date with Alex.” I hate him even more now that he has a name. Alex. It sounds like an STD. I caught a nasty case of Alex. See?
Raising my brow I say, “No? Better make sure the security cameras are rolling.” I had plans tonight anyways. The boxing gym called to see if I could fight a new guy to determine his skill level. Those phone calls are always my favorite. Now I’ll have to play stalker later tonight, because what type of person would I be if I just left her to a date without checking once?
She walks over to the huge windows that overlook the water, and perches her hands on her curvy hips. I watch her take a few deep breaths before she speaks. “It’s just a date. I’ll be fine.”
I agree by grunting, but then she starts droning on and on about Alex. How he’s a musician who gives guitar lessons to children in his spare time—convincing herself of his worthiness. She tells me they talk on the phone and he seems kind and interesting, and just so effortlessly perfect. She waxes poetic about how he’s so different.
I know what she really means. He’s not Stone. Try as I might I’ll never not be Stone. It’s twisted, but it’s true. Down to my very core we’re the same, Stone and I. All of my brothers are. I would have thrown myself on a grenade for any one of my teammates without hesitation. Maybe an incense-burning hippie like STD Alex is exactly what Morganna needs.
Or maybe he’s fucking not.
_______________
I watch sweat slide off the side of his face the second my glove connects with his hollowed out cheek. Point. We’ve been in the ring for about thirty minutes and we both have a good sweat going. I drove by the café Morganna was at on my way here. Just to be on the safe side, you know? It was crowded—a good sign. Coffee only. No sign of coitus.
The dude I’m sparring with has a mean left uppercut, but he’s slower than I am. Too slow. My opponent landed a few hard body shots that will probably leave bruises. That’s it though. I got a decent workout dodging circles around him. Coach slams his hand on the old, rusty bell. Huffing out a breath, half-spit, half-air, I start collecting as much oxygen as I can.
“Good round, man. Finished?” I ask, talking in his direction. He’s hunched over catching his own breath, arms resting on his thighs. Too proud to respond verbally, he nods and walks away. Can’t say I blame him. I’d feel the same way right now. I racked up some serious points on him.
“Yo, buddy. You have some aggression to work out tonight?” Coach Sloane quips, his Jersey accent permeating the heavy, hot air. I smirk. He’s a retired SEAL. He opened the gym as a way to take out his aggression by sport. I can respect that. His gym, No Easy Day, is my second home when I’m not away. It gives me an outlet. Somewhere I can pummel things when I’d rather be pummeling STD Alex and his free spirit. “You were knocking him hard! You need the pussy, man?” Sloane may be retired, but his mouth is still one of a salty sailor. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. Unless you sell out, but that’s a dangerous train of thought to entertain while I have boxing gloves on.
Glancing to make sure the dude isn’t in earshot, I say, “Nah, just needed a good workout. Didn’t hit the iron today. Morg kept me busy around the house. What do you have up next for me?” I look at the huge black and white clock on the wall. Morganna will be home in an hour. A cell phone chimes from the corner and I know it’s Cass. Again. The next conversation we have won’t be pretty. I’m going to give it to her straight. Can’t really call it a break up when it’s not a real relationship. Maybe I’ll call it severing. That’s a nice, gruesome word. I need to sever ties with Cass.
Sloane bounds toward me juking a little, neck pulling side to side as he slides on the hit mitts. His shorts ride high on his thick, muscular legs. He reminds me of a salt and pepper Mr. Clean. “I got nothing. Hit me instead,” he growls. I laugh a little and jab once quick and hard. He stands tall. I punch the other and then rotate back and forth like his hands are a punching bag. My cell chimes again. Thwack. Dodge. Thwack. My fists hammering the mitts won’t make the fucking noise go away. Another damn text message—my phone calling out to me.
Taking a deep breath, I relent. “Let me go put that fucking thing on silent.” I swing out of the ring, sweat cascading down my body like a faucet. What if it’s Morganna. The thought strikes me for the first time and I pick up my pace.
My glowing iPhone, sitting on the bench, rings again. “Cassidy.” I answer the call. Right now is as good a time as any. “Persistence isn’t a virtue, love,” I grunt, still out of breath. My heart hammering for the sole reason of a hard workout…not because I need to call it quits with a girl I care for. I realize how fucked up that is. I shrug.
I hear her sigh. Oh, fucking dog shit. She’s been crying. Why are some w
omen so emotional? It makes everything more difficult. Another of Morganna’s strong points. I’ve seen her upset twice during the entire time I’ve known her.
Cass whines, “Stevey, I know what you’re going to say. I know you want to break up. I don’t want to. I like what we’re becoming. Give us a chance.” Intuitive, this one. It’s not like I’m a heartless asshole. I just don’t deal out my heart, so when it comes to situations such as these, nothing is broken except what I want broken. We were never becoming anything.
I sit down on the bench, eyeing my surroundings. “Cass, honey. You know I think you’re awesome,” I dodge. She already knows how this conversation will end—she knows me well enough. Plus, she’s been in panic mode since post-sex last night. I left before she woke up this morning. We both sensed this coming.
A small sniffle erupts through the line. “But I’m not a perfect, witty, specimen of a woman. I’m not smart enough. Or classy enough. I’m not enough for you.”
I shake my head. You’re not her, I think. The odds were stacked against her from the beginning. The thing is, I’m up front about my loyalties to Morganna. When a brother dies, you protect what’s theirs. Of course, the thoughts I have about Morg probably aren’t thoughts that are brotherly, or friendly, but honestly they were never pure.
“You were plenty. You were exactly what I wanted and what I needed. I was exactly what you wanted. We gave each other what the other wanted. When did that change for you? When did you want more than I can give?”
Sloane removes his mitts and starts cleaning the area, getting ready to close for the night.
“When did I want more than you wanted to give? Is that what you’re asking? Cause this surely isn’t about what you could give,” Cass retorts. Explaining doesn’t work. It only causes more questions. Possibly questions I don’t have answers to. “Tell the damn woman how you feel and finally become part of a functional relationship, Steve. For someone who claims to be so well-adjusted, you’re really screwed up.”
The Crazy Good SEAL Series: Books 1-3 Page 37