“He saved the woman. He was on his A game. Everyone was pretty pleased with his performance,” she whispers.
Shaking my head, I scold, “You shouldn’t be talking about details. Number one rule. Sure, it’s just me you’re talking to, but you never know who’s listening.”
She glances over both shoulders and widens her eyes. She points across the room. “You mean that couple on the far end of the restaurant? The only other people in here?” Snark. Flapping jaws about secret details is a freshman mistake made by a new girlfriend who doesn’t know better. I intend to correct her behavior A.S.A.P. The last enemy the guys need is an unwitting idiot back at home.
“You don’t have to tell me he’s a badass. I already know. Don’t ever talk about details, okay? Cody wouldn’t like it.” She fluffs her hair and averts her eyes. “I’m serious,” I admonish.
“Fine. Fine. I was only telling you because he misses you and you should call him. They come home…soon.” She was going to tell me a date and thought better of it. Damn it. That is info I would really like to have, but I won’t contradict myself. I’ll call Windsor later. She’ll tell me in code.
“I miss him. This is for the best, though.” Our food arrives as my friend studies me skeptically. I stuff a forkful of salad in my mouth. Finally. I can occupy myself in a different way.
Lainey rattles the ice in her glass while chattering on about insignificant details in her life. “Are you going to the Fundraiser Ball next month?” A topic I’m comfortable with.
“Yes. I’m a key supporter. I won’t speak at this one, but I’ll definitely attend. Are you going with Cody?”
She nods. “I am. Maybe we can shop for dresses together. It will require a trip up to D.C. or an intense online shopping session. Which are you down for?” She’s just as busy as I am, so I know the online shopping will be best for both of us. I agree to meet at her house next week with my laptop so we can scour our favorite fashion websites for the perfect choice. A welcome distraction. Then my stomach sinks. A date. I’ll need a date. I can’t count on the Steven friend date. Shit.
I clear my throat. “Do you think all the guys are going?” Hint. Hint.
She shrugs. “I have no idea. He won’t be single long, if that’s what you’re asking. How many girlfriends does he have waiting in the wings? A baker’s dozen?”
Chloe. My face burns at the memory of her in the trench, her perfection obvious to the naked eye. And she’s smart. Facing him alone will be hard enough. A date with Chloe? I grimace. I didn’t calculate the risks of frequently seeing him when I made the decision to end things. I’m tied to his community for forever hold your peace. Lainey doesn’t bring up Steven again as we finish our lunch and make another plan to lunch again soon.
Her face glows when I tell her to say hi to Cody for me. The homecoming giddiness hits like a wallop and doesn’t leave until around three weeks after they return. There’s nothing quite like the high of the anticipation mixed with nerves. It’s the best and the worst at the same time. No matter what you’re doing, it’s always somewhere in the back of your mind. Like a paper cut that never heals.
_______________
After speaking with Lainey, I knew I needed to do the right, grown up thing. Apologize to him. First, though, I called my daddy. I told him everything, even things I probably shouldn’t have. Pouring your emotions into a pan and handing them to your dad is an odd feeling. He’s being enlightened in a way he never suspected. His opinion, one that won’t be swayed by being in the epicenter of SEALdom, is what I need.
After telling me I reminded him of my heinous mother, I felt about as low as dirt. He said it in such a way that wasn’t too offensive, but there it is—the woman who runs away from good things because she’s lost in her own head and only worried about number one. Seems to me you need to put it all on black and hang on to a good thing for as long as you can. Tomorrow isn’t promised for any of us, darlin’.
Growing up I always had a firm backbone. It’s how I handled life’s cruel ways. I told myself it was how I would never become my mother.
Somewhere along the way I lost touch with those goals and slipped into a self-destructive pattern. I’m her. The one who abandons people they love out of fear, or from selfishness. For me, it’s both. I’m sick with regret, not just because of Steven, but because my life’s goals of trying to form a perfect person. That perfect person was never me. It’s still not me. Hardened and bitter, I donned a shell of protective armor. Few were strong enough to penetrate it. Steven did with ease from the get go. I saw through his cocky teenaged swagger, knowing the man he’d eventually become. Little did I know how complicated our lives would end up.
_______________
“You’re not really wearing that dress to prom, are you? It’s missing a back and half of the front,” Steven Warner, football God, and my best friend barks from the edge of my bed. “They should call it a biki-gown. Half bikini, half gown.” So creative.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror in my room, I admire my reflection. I look much older; like the woman who resides in my head. Daddy has always called me an old soul. I rub my hands down the sides of the bumpy red sequins and meet his eyes in the mirror. I smirk. He’s tossing a football in the air with one hand, his face is a mask of consternation.
I turn on him. “Why Steven Warner, is that a hint of jealousy? Or was that the equivalent to, ‘Morganna you look stunning and any boy will be lucky to dance with you at Senior Prom?’ because I’m not sure.” I narrow my eyes and take a step toward him. His football wobbles in one hand, but he steadies it with his other.
Shaking his head, he says, “Your daddy won’t let you out of the house in that.” His eyes wander over my curves, which are usually hidden underneath proper southern girl clothing.
“He’s already seen me try it on. He approves. I’m eighteen now. He has little to say about my clothing choices. I make good life decisions,” I fire back. I take another step toward him, my bare feet in contrast with the glitz of the dress.
Steven clears his throat, lowers himself back on my bed, and starts tossing the ball up toward the canopy, his laser focus now on the brown pigskin and not me. He’s distracting himself and I love it. It means I’m finally gaining my womanly wiles. I affect him. I snatch his ball on the way down, before he can catch it, pulling it against my chest. He remains lying, with his gaze pointed at the ceiling. He’s calculating his words.
Clearing his throat, he looks at me from the side, warily. “Noah Crosby is a pansy, sissy boy. I don’t know why you said yes to him anyways.” He makes a grab for the ball, but I hug it tighter against my breasts, intentionally using the ball to push them up. Steven’s gaze darts down right where I want it.
“Noah Crosby asked me,” I counter.
Steven sits up, eyes still glued to my chest. “You would have said yes to anyone who asked you first, then?” I toss the ball at his face and he barely catches it in time.
He had a million girls ask him. Not that I would have asked, but it would have been nice to hear those words come from his mouth; some small recognition that maybe I could be more than just a friend in his world… at least for one night. The boundaries in our friendship are solid. It’s one thing that I can count on, even if I wish we were more—especially now that we’re older and his charm and looks are becoming harder and harder to ignore.
Biting his bottom lip, his brown eyes flick up to meet mine. “I don’t believe it. Not for one second.” His voice is deep and commanding. I shiver. The fire in my belly starts. Dropping his beloved football, he folds his arms behind his head as he waits for me to respond.
I shrug. “I think it’s a perfectly beautiful gown that Noah will love.” I look down at myself and then back to Steven.
“Oh, I’m sure Noah will love that dress.” He reaches a big hand out and wraps it around my waist, where the red fabric turns sheer. The heat radiating from his hand turns my shivers into something else entirely. His hand encapsulates my
entire waist, spanning from my belly button to my back. It’s obvious why he’s the best quarterback in our district. “I’ll end up pummeling his face if he does anything improper or forward. You know that, right?” He’s speaking, but his gaze is focused on the hand that grasps me. I wrap my hand around his, to keep it there.
“What if I want him to be improper and forward?” I ask with a smile on my face. It’s a joke.
Steven takes it as anything but, one eyebrow rising with anger. “Why would you say that to me?” He drops his hand and he pulls a corner of his bottom lip into his mouth.
Womanly wiles: zero. So much for my new captivating game. “I’m sorry,” I admit, putting both hands on either side of his rosy cheeks. “I was joking.”
Keeping his hands on his knees, he says, “You could have fooled me. Since when do you joke anyways?”
I drop to my knees in front of him—a feat in this snug dress. Steven’s eyes widen. “Please forgive me, sweet Steven Warner. I do not want Noah’s flute skilled fingers anywhere around or inside my body. I will never joke about such an atrocity again.” I lay my hands on top of his. He looks down at me, arches a brow, and shakes his head.
“Don’t try out your man eating skills on me either. I know your game. You can’t bait a shark with a guppy, sweetheart.” Now his smile is full blown, his chest shaking with laughter.
I throw my hand on my chest in mock outrage. “How am I supposed to get any practice if my best guy friend won’t at least play along?” I tilt my head in question, but I can’t stifle the laughter bubbling up. We’re both out of breath and I have tears streaming down my face when my daddy comes in to tell us dinner will be in ten minutes.
“For the record, I’ll never say no if you do the knee groveling thing, Morgaliscious. Something about you on your knees and your lips spitting out such foreign words like forgive me and inside my body.”
“I don’t believe it. Not for one second,” I toss over my shoulder on the way out. Steven’s eyes are glued to my ass. Point for the home team.
_______________
I’ll swallow every ounce of pride in my body and apologize when he gets home from deployment, face to face. I told him that we shouldn’t be friends, and the level of groveling to get back that status will be immense. If he even agrees to it in the first place. Perhaps he’s realized when to cut his losses.
It’s easy to say now that I don’t have his hulking frame lumbering in front of me. I’m not witnessing the smile that brings me to my knees or his sculpted body that makes me want sex with just a glance. Mental images of him dominating me from every angle, his body melding with mine in perfection, rush my thoughts any time I think of him. With him gone, I’m detached. Because of that, it also made it easier than it should have been to write off the relationship as a mistake.
My cell phone pings, alerting me to a text. Dinner tonight? It’s Alex. I sigh. “Why can’t men just go away?” He’s done his fair share of messaging me over the weeks and months that Steven’s been gone. It’s like he knows the internal struggle I’m having and he’s dangling himself as the alternative lure in my own twisted game. It’s tempting to try with Alex. The thought has crossed my mind more than once that a romp in the sack with him might be all I need. That I’m so messed up in the head and lust drunk from Steven because I haven’t experienced an orgasm from sex since he left.
Alex has been nothing but patient and kind. He’s busy and I’m busy and I’ve made our friends status quite clear on several occasions, and he’s accepted it whole heartedly, only asking for my time.
I text back. Sure. I’m not going out tonight, though. Take out at my place?
A woman does have to eat. Contemplating gargantuan mistakes tends to make me hungry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Steve
THE FLIGHT FROM Germany, where we decompress before entering the United States after deployment, is always the most nerve-wracking experience. It’s wild with anticipation and excitement. This time the top emotion taking over my body is anxiety. Our job is finished, it’s time to go home and relax. I should be carefree and making plans with Morganna. Instead I’m left wondering if and when I’ll ever see her again. I could storm her front door the second I get home, but what good would that do?
She’s made her choice. It’s not me. I’ve heard from Cody, who’s heard from Lainey that she’s seeing the sexually transmitted disease Alex again. She might as well nickname me Nancy the Bitch Slapped Glutton. I’m not sure in what capacity, but I know she’s not happy with him. Her eyes, when I’m the one fucking her, don’t lie.
Morganna needs something specific that only comes from me. I know this. Who the hell knows how long it will take her to figure it out for herself. I’ll make her miss me. Starting with our friendship, but my cock will come in a close second. Minutes before touching down in Virginia Beach, these are the thoughts running through my mind. The raging hard-on in my pants has the completely wrong idea and I know I’ll need to do something about it as soon as possible. There is no way I can call Chloe. I e-mailed her while I was gone to say hello, and she typed back fire and acid in the form of a professional letter. I understand, though. Even I can’t get away with burning bridges from time to time.
Sasha would be an easy lay, but with only one woman on my mind I’m not sure Sasha would suffice. When our plane gets low enough, I text her as a backup plan.
“Already back to your old ways, huh? Not even going to try again?” Mav says from beside me, like a damned mind reader.
I tilt my phone screen away so he can’t be so fucking nosy. “I need pussy. Fast, easy pussy. It’s been months, Maverick. Which word would you use to describe Morg? Fast or easy?”
Maverick laughs, his baritone voice echoing the large cargo plane. “Touché. I just think there may be something you don’t know. She might be both fast and easy if you play your game right.”
I shake my head. “I’m done with games. I’m done. Clean slate, dude.”
“I can respect that.” His face turns grim. “I thought I was the best at self sabotage. Maybe she’s taken my crown.” I don’t want to think that. I want to know that she made a wise, well thought out decision. Maverick planting this seed of doubt is something I don’t need or want.
I stare at my phone and watch the gray bubble while Sasha types back. “She always knows what she wants. Always. Don’t give me that,” I say, hoping he’ll agree with me.
He turns that dimpled smile my way. “I promised him something, you know? Stone. He wanted me to make sure she ended up with a good guy. His explicit instructions were to not let her swim in the shark tank for too long.” His eyes turn wistful when he averts his gaze to opposite wall.
“She. Is. The. Shark. She’s the shark. All signs point to her ruling the fucking ocean. She doesn’t know what the word tank is, Mav. She gives me an ounce of control and it scares her away. I’m supposed to live like that for the rest of my life? Think about that for a second.” We’re similar, he has to agree that I’m right. I need partial control of everything in my life. It’s how I feel secure in my volatile world.
He sighs deeply. No contest there. “She’s going to the gala next month. If you don’t kick in her door before then, that is. She’ll be safe, too. Don’t worry about any of that business at her house. Everything is on the up and up.” He pats me on the knee and makes his way to where his bag is.
Out the window I see the ground, my home. I let my mind go completely black. I don’t want to think of anything. There’s never disappointment in black. Sasha texts me back a paragraph calling me every single name in the book. I go ahead and delete her from my contact list and tilt my head back, closing my eyes to focus on nothing. Black. Black. Black. Morganna’s black hair falling down her naked back.
Not the type of black I’m going for. Fuck.
We land without incident and then get bussed back to our base where most family members and girlfriends are waiting to greet us. I stare blankly ahead and shoulder m
y way through the perfumed crowd filled with babies and children, not even bothering to make eye contact with anyone. My truck is waiting for me in the parking lot. No one is here to pick up ol’ Stevey today. It’s okay, because I’m finally blank—black. Nothing can affect me.
On my drive home, my hands itch to turn down her road. On autopilot I do take the damn turn and make a quick detour past her house. Her palace by the sea looks the same as it always has.
Except for the black “For Sale” sign blossoming next to her mailbox.
_______________
Lainey and Cody stopped by my place to pick me up before a gala to benefit our community’s foundation. I’m the fucking third ass wheel. Along with my team, I’m being honored tonight. I hate the fucking spotlight. Despise isn’t even a strong enough word.
I haven’t seen Morganna since I’ve arrived home. She’s stayed busy and away from her usual haunts. I’ve stayed true to my word and kept out of contact. With my time off I’ve practiced boxing multiple times a day, and went on a boys’ weekend to race expensive cars and drink too much liquor. Not at the same time, mind you. Maverick keeps me updated about Morg by talking about her to others in my presence. It’s for my benefit, but he won’t throw it in my face. He knows I crave any information. Her house doesn’t have any offers, because the market is shit. She wants to move into something smaller—more manageable.
Yanking at my tie, I mumble about being uncomfortable as we pull up to the venue. Black penguin suits and shimmering gowns line the sidewalk. The second I step from the backseat of the car I smell champagne and gold diggers. They have an exquisite scent: lies and silicone. I smile and nod as I pass a man older than my father with a woman who has to be eighteen or nineteen. You have to appreciate the effort something like that takes from both parties. The tables, all lined with white linens, have placards with our names etched to let us know where to sit. I spot my name, but decide to stand instead.
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