His hand on the stick shift shakes as he watches me speak—his eyes glued to my lips, his face rapt. His full lips part, and I wait for his response. I place my hand on top of his to still the quaking.
“What I’m saying is I’m not sure if it’s truly only sex that I want from you. Is that an option you’d be willing to explore?” I ask. It’s my turn for my voice to crack, giving away my emotions.
“Yes,” he says into the still air. “Of course. Yes. Yes. A million times yes.” It’s as if he’s holding something back. I see it in his deep eyes, but it’s not malicious, so I let it go. He takes his other hand and rakes it through his brown locks. “You’ve just made my fucking night.”
I smile a weak smile. Swallow life whole. This particular bite is so large that it almost chokes me. “Well, I’m still hungry. Dinner?” I ask, smiling at him, happy to veer the conversation back into safe territory.
He leans over and takes my face in both of his hands. “More like you’ve made my night. My week. My month. Maybe even my year. To think my sex only plan was to convince you of the very thing you decided without having sex with me. I feel like I should be offended.”
I shake my head and then bring my lips to his, silencing him. I scoot as close to him as I can, twining my fingers into the back of his hair. I close my eyes and let go. I let it all go—everything I’ve held back for fear of falling. His large, warm hand slides onto my bare thigh and creeps up toward the hem of my dress. He deepens the kiss at the same time. A tactic to distract me, I’m sure. Lips press, skin touches, and I want everything that I’ve held myself from. The collar of his shirt slips into my grasp and I bring myself onto his lap, straddling his legs.
Breathing heavy, he leans his forehead on mine, his gaze locked on my exposed lacy panties pressed against the bulge in his pants. “While I’d love nothing more than to fuck you right here, in my truck like a teenager, I think there are more comfortable places…” his words trail off when I place wet kisses under his ear, on the most sensitive place on his neck. I trail my tongue down, pulling his collar out of the way, seeking any skin—any muscle. Working my way, slowly, back up to his ear, I breathe into it lightly. Light nude lipstick stains his neck and I love it. It marks him as mine.
“You were saying,” I moan, utterly giddy on power. His hands splayed on my ass pull me directly over his throbbing shaft. If our clothes didn’t exist in this moment, he’d be deep inside me, filling me. I shudder as a flood of wetness trickles to my sex.
“I forgot. Your lips brainwash a smart man, M. I want them.” I give them, smashing them into his with an unintended force. His hips press up against me, my panties rubbing me raw, but feeling electric at the same time. I dart my tongue into his mouth as he thrusts into me, urging him to continue. “Lets play a game,” Steven says against my lips. I pull my head back to better see his gorgeous face.
“What game?” I whisper, narrowing my eyes.
I already know where his head is at. Literally. “Just the tip,” he replies, biting his lip, narrowing his eyes right back at me. My hands trail over his hard chest and down to his abs. I feel the heat radiating off his body through his shirt. Mental images of him shirtless come to mind and I pretend. It’s another game I’m good at. I pretend we’re both naked, doing exactly what we want to.
I move my hips in a small circle, separating my lips to nestle him as inside me as much as the fabric will allow. “You’re already in me,” I say, leaning my head back as he takes his turn kissing my neck, his hands still firm on my hips, grinding me against his thick erection.
My back accidently leans on his truck horn and the burst of noise jolts us a little. “I don’t think we’ll make it to dinner if we venture into my version of the game: just the tip. Panties off, cock wet,” he pants. I crawl off him, but stay close.
My dress is still uncomfortably around my waist and my panties are completely drenched. Steven’s gaze is locked on my face. I glance down at his groin as it tents his pants. I hook my fingers into my tiny scrap of underwear and slide them off my legs, careful not to catch them on the spikes of my heels. I drape them over the truck’s stick shift and wiggle my dress back down to cover myself.
“My panties are off and your dick is wet.” I motion to the small wet spot on his pants where I was just sitting. His eyes dart down and then quickly flick back up to mine.
“I win,” I tease, still breathing heavy.
Shaking his head, he starts the truck and begins to pull away from my house. “We’ll see who wins when I walk into French with a wet hard on.” French is a swanky restaurant that I’ve only been to a few times on business meetings. I wonder who he spoke with to get reservations on such a short notice. “I promise not to fuck this up, Morganna,” he says, inserting his serious tone into the usual comedic relief.
Steven’s hair looks mussed and his cheeks still have remnants of my lipstick. He looks like I feel. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
He looks at me while driving. “I keep my promises. Always.” With his attention back on the road, I glance out my foggy window.
I believe him. He’ll keep this promise to me. He won’t treat us like a fling, or one of his many girlfriend relationships. It will be more. I suck in a deep breath, my libido waning. I hope I can get used to that fact.
I like the idea of feeling vulnerable, while being perfectly safe and in control. I know I’m safe, but I’m afraid I have no control over anything where Steven is concerned.
“Are you going home for Christmas?” I ask, because I know Steven is my new safe; he’s always been safe. I wonder what happens when our relationship turns him into a variable. I won’t be able to bear losing the safety…or my control.
He chuckles under his breath. “Don’t I always? Want to ride home together?”
“Yes. To both of the innuendos you so eloquently weaved.”
Steven nods his head and honks the noisy horn of his truck with a tight fist. “Christmas in the country with my girl! Fuck yeah!”
Steven
Past
What’s that saying? You attract more flies with honey? I call bullshit. You catch more flies with precise, methodical traps. Death traps. Honey is for pussies and idiots.
“No, I don’t think that’s the best way to go about it,” Cody says to the room, and as the officer-in-charge we have to listen to him. The decisions he makes affect everyone. Not just the guys, but the people we’re trying to kill and, of course, the innocents. We’re back in the desert, on another deployment, chipping away at the enemy by picking them off one by one.
Maverick and Stone banter quietly back and forth as we plan an important mission. I walk over to listen in, figuring I’ll either be entertained or informed. It’s about the mission. Stone trying to convince Mav that his viewpoint and tactic is better, and Mav arguing that his is right. It’s a typical type A sword fest. In other words, just another day at the office.
I’d insert my opinion, but I’m not on this mission. My job requires that I stay back on the radios making sure everything runs smoothly and timely. Or, so I was told that’s my job. Who really wants to stay back? That’s not why men become Navy SEALs. I didn’t torture my mind and body during months of training to sit behind a safe desk and speak in code. I’d rather be next to my brothers, working as a team toward the common goal of killing those nasty motherfuckers. And of course making this dust bowl a little safer than it was before. A never-ending task, if you ask me. For every figurehead we kill, five more pop up. They are better funded and more meticulously armed than the last big baddies. The cycle won’t stop.
Their conversation has switched to something more personal. Windsor. Maverick’s crutch and weakness all wrapped up into one petite, hot package. I’m not as close to Maverick as Stone is, and even I know how consumed he is with one, solitary woman. He’s a full on head case at large.
“Calm the fuck down,” Stone growls under his breath. “We’re going to tag these assholes and we’ll be home in
no time flat.” His eyes shift toward mine and they ooze fear. I’m not exactly sure of what, but when I look at Maverick, I see his frantic look and I know exactly what’s going on. When personal lives and problems seep into work, it’s a recipe for disaster. It happens in normal office jobs. In normal jobs others’ lives aren’t in jeopardy. No mistakes are afforded in our profession.
I slap Mav on the shoulder. “Got pussy on the brain, bro?” I always try to keep the mood light—even if it means crude jokes that offend more often than they entertain. “I can go in his place. Mav can work the radios.” Stone shakes his head the second my sentence is out. Like I suspected he would. Not only are Maverick and Stone best friends since birth, they always go together. It’s a package deal not even the officers fuck with. Any SEAL could slip into either of their positions just as easily, but they stay together. Because they are so precise and accurate, no one says anything otherwise.
“No way, dude,” Mav says, before Stone can verbally shoot me down. “I got this. He’s overreacting. I’m fine, really. Just a little pissed off at the moment.” The feral smile he’s known so well for creeps in and it looks scary—unstable.
“It’s not your decision anyways,” Stone adds.
It was his decision, though. He’s chief. Cody and him decide who gets certain positions, and for some reason Stone is hell bent that I stay back on this one. If he has a reason, he won’t tell me.
Stone shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, he’s got this, Stevey. No need to worry.” He flashes a fake smile at me. “You’re needed back here. Your mojo keeps everyone happy.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why am I the one that needs to be back here?”
Maverick is pissed and bristles off to stand next to Cody at the sand table, watching intently as the details of the mission are explained for a final time. Not that he doesn’t know exactly what needs to happen; I think he’s trying to convince himself of something. I glance back at Stone, still silent, waiting for an answer.
“Is your American flag speedo clean?” Stone asks. We always celebrate after a successful mission. A speedo and beer are the only requirements to attend. He’s avoiding my question. It’s unlike him. He’s just as up front as his wife, Morganna.
I shake my head, unwilling to accept his detour in conversation. “Dude. Why?” His smile fades into a lopsided smirk.
“Contingency, Steve. Contingency.” He doesn’t give me a chance to ask for an explanation. He smacks me square on my tight ass and ends up standing shoulder to shoulder with Maverick. I’m on the outside looking in, but Maverick visibly relaxes when Stone is near him—a reflex that neither is aware of. Now that I take a closer look, maybe Stone does know the calming effect he has on Mav. Maybe he knows that he needs him in some weird, brotherly way. It’s something I’ve never noticed before this moment. I shrug, shake my head, and make my best flagrant, Steven Warner exit by slamming the plywood door. I cross a sand drenched path to the other tent office and take my seat at a desk in the corner. I think about calling Chloe or Sasha. Maybe even a quick e-mail to my parents, but I don’t do any of those things. I stew in my pitiful, displaced anger instead. I’d regret this choice for the rest of my life.
Stone gets everything he wants. Sure, he may have hidden reasons for requesting the current staffing situation, but I’m fucking pissed. First, he stole the chief position we both vied for, then he makes odd choices about where I’m at if he’s on target. Before all of that, he stole my most valued possession. A person isn’t something you can own, but she’s owned my heart since her southern voice pierced my ears and my heart at the tender age of twelve.
Morganna was a transfer student from a few counties over. She decided that her debut at a new school, my school, would be in the form of a talent competition. All of the popular girls completed in it and I guess if you just went ahead and threw yourself in with the sharks from day one, you’d get noticed. Morganna was a girl to notice, too. The bitchy popular girls weren’t the only ones who took notice, either. Every swinging dick in the school noticed that girl. Her black hair fell in waves and the curves that marked her as a woman were already starting to show. The lips on that girl. The lips. The first impure thoughts any boy in that school had were centered around her full, perfectly kissable mouth. I’m sure that’s quite a feat for a twelve year old to accomplish, though I can’t speak for all boys.
After she lost the talent competition, I decided to introduce myself in my usual unlikable fashion. She meandered, shoulders back, head up—mind you—out of the cafeteria. I followed her out into the heat, watching the way her hips bounced her backpack back and forth.
I tapped her shoulder. “You really shouldn’t quit your day job, little girl.” Mean, but I kept the smile on my face. Her shoulders slouched forward, but the fierce glint in her eyes forced my feet a step back. This kitten had claws. Sharp ones.
She perched her small hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t speak at all, but who is a little girl to tell you something so truthful?” she sneered. I laughed. The scowl on her face only deepened.
“I like your style. What’s your name? I assume it’s not voice-of-an-angel or four-time-Grammy-winner?” She spun on her heel and ignored me completely. The snub wasn’t something I was accustomed to. Girls liked jerks. Or so I thought.
“I’m Steve,” I called out after her. “I was just joking, you know. You want to be friends?” She stopped walking so I caught up to her quickly. Standing in front of her, I threw my arms out in an “I’m sorry” gesture. “Truce. I’m a good friend. I promise.”
She sighed. “You have a real odd way of making friends, Steven. As for my name, I don’t think you’ve earned the privilege of knowing it. But because you’re the first person to talk to me, and I suppose that means you have balls, I’ll tell you the first letter is M. Goodbye.”
I waved, but she already disappeared in the crowd. “I’ll see you at lunch, M!” Her cat eyes glinted over her shoulder as she looked back in my direction.
She did eat lunch with me that day and pretty much every day after that, and she continued to tell me her name in single letters, one at a time over the course of a week or so. The day we were up to M-O-R-G-A was a good day, as I called her Morga-insert-funny-adjective-here all day. Morga-liscious was the winner, I think. Over the years, I respected our friendship so much that I never took it any further. She dated nice, respectable boys that I wanted to kill, and I man-whored my way around the school while she warned me about virulent diseases and stage five clingers. Granted, I feared her daddy’s shotgun, but I feared losing her friendship even more. She never pushed it either. Maybe she had different reasons, or perhaps they were the same as mine. I never got a chance to find out.
After college, Morganna came out to visit me in San Diego before she started work as an attorney. She stayed at my place, but that changed the second she met Stone. He swooped right in and stole my heart from right underneath me. I could have told him how I really felt. I should have at least told her how I felt, but I didn’t, thinking she would finally break the silence and say something about our pseudo-fucked-up relationship.
Keeping quiet while I watched them date, fall in love, and then marry turned me cold and bitter toward anything that resembled romance or relationships. I vowed to never give a woman enough power to destroy me again. She was mine in a way so deep that it was beyond title, and I was completely wrong. Now that she’s married to Stone our friendship isn’t the same. Because what married woman wants to have sleepovers at her male friend’s house? What husband allows that? What really boils my blood is that I’ve watched the girl grow into a woman and I know everything that makes her tick. Everything that is Morganna, I’ve witnessed firsthand. Her career changed her, and falling in love with Stone changed her even more. The pisser is that I have no one to blame except myself, but I still can’t tamp down the rage the old memories bring.
I shake a computer mouse to wake up the computer and enter multiple security codes to u
nlock the system. Signing in to my work e-mail, I pull up the last message Morganna wrote to me. It was right after we deployed. She always hates that we leave at the same time, Stone and I. Her beloved and her best friend. All the words in her letter are generic, wishing me safe and healthy. I skip down to the signature line. She signs it: Love, M. A joke only I’ll understand.
Several guys barge into the office and take up residence behind the remaining computers just as I hear the chopper blades thwacking the air outside. One glance at my watch and I realize it’s almost time. I close out of her e-mail and begin to focus on the task at hand. Case closed. My pining doesn’t affect my work. Nothing affects my work. A loud ass whoop echoes in excitement, as someone else lets a string of curse words fly.
It’s game time.
Unfortunately this particular game changes everything. Stone dies saving his best friend’s life.
Morganna
I figured my plus one could be Cody. Lainey is always asking me to set her up with one of the guys. She’s my neighbor and frankly, she reminds me of myself. She’s ensconced herself in her career for so long that she forgot to check the husband box. When I called her to ask if Cody was a good choice for the dinner party, she informed me she took it upon herself to invite Cody and Steven on her own. Phillipe already has plans and there is no way I can call Alex after the disastrous dinner date when I told him I couldn’t be more than friends. He was kind, understanding…one nudge away from condescending. It was humiliating in the worst possible way. Nice guys have that way about them. I shake my head. “Probably why I’ve always steered clear,” I mutter to myself as I click up Lainey’s driveway, my heels making the comforting sound that signals my arrival.
I notice Steven’s truck is already parked and I can’t help the sinking feeling in my stomach. It’s not because he’s here, no. It’s because Lainey thinks he’s unattached and available for dating. Heck, she probably wouldn’t have minded being girlfriend number four. Little does she know he’s as unattached as he’s ever been, and I’m beating around the bush trying to decide how best to approach a relationship with a man who has been my friend for longer than anyone else. He helped me analyze my very first kiss when I couldn’t decide if it was good enough. It wasn’t. He’s the same boy who risked life and limb to sneak into my window for a week straight to sleep next to me in my bed. Not for his own gratification, but because my Memaw died and I hated being alone at night. My brain has never shut down at night the way it’s supposed to. So Steven would lie next to me and tell me funny stories, and I’d end up falling asleep with wet eyes and a smile on my face.
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