Chapter Eight
Maverick
I pull off the sand colored headphones that act as ear protection. “Nice fucking shot, dude,” Stone says. Two shots in the heart. One in the head. The perfect combo. Stone’s a better shot, but I’d rather stick my dick in flames than admit it.
We’re at the range shooting paper terrorists and zombies. My favorite target practice is steel targets, but today the guys had other ideas. I love shooting at the range. It’s one of the few times when my head clears completely. I can think only about my forefinger hovering over the trigger and the solid, cool weight in my hand. The best shots are always when you don’t over think it. You just let your body do what it’s done a million times before. Pure instinct.
I ignore Stone and Steve’s loud ass conversation about which bad guy the holey cut-out looks more like. I sit on a bench and start taking my gun apart to clean it. The focus and concentration are gone so my mind switches back on. I think of Windsor. An instinct of a different kind leads me to walk to the one fucking corner in this whole building that gets cell phone service.
I can’t wait to see you tonight. I send off the text message half hoping she’s busy and won’t respond right away. If Steve realizes I’m texting a chick right now he’ll bust my balls for days.
“Fine. We’ll just agree it looks like Hilary Clinton and be done with this shit,” Steve chortles as they walk over to me. “What is Maverick the Pussinator’s opinion?”
I laugh. “Yep. For sure,” I reply. I know the second Stone’s gaze lands on the phone I’m trying to hide in my palm. He smirks. Then he looks at Steve. Fuck.
“Who you talkin’ to, Mavvy?” Stone starts rattling off every girl name in the history of girl names…with a Boston accent. I start walking toward the high bay, knowing full well he will follow me all the way there, and possibly for the rest of the day. We enter the huge open, empty room just as Steve figures it out.
“Are you still talking to that chick? The same one from forever ago?” To him a month is a long ass time. Until recently it was a long time for me too. Now every day doesn’t seem long enough. “Please tell me I’m wrong, dude. You can’t seriously be banging the same chick. If you are there isn’t any hope for the rest of us.”
I slump down on the worn leather couch, and Stone and Steve head to the bar. Yes, we have a bar at work. Multiple ones, actually. I just need to fucking say it and stop being such a pussy. Then the questions will stop and no one will think twice about my weird ass schedule. Stone thrusts a Solo cup into my hand, his back to Steve, and nods. He fucking knows and he’s trying to make me admit it—either to myself or to the high bay full of plaques and photos of our fallen brothers. There’s only three of us, but it feels like all eyes are on me.
I take a sip of my drink. “I’m inviting Windsor to my house,” I admit. I don’t need to say anymore. They both know exactly what that means, or what it doesn’t mean. Stone specifically is probably choking on his fucking tongue right now.
Steve snorts then says, “You haven’t bagged her yet?” Stone clears his throat. Tongue choke. Just what I thought.
“It’d be best if you don’t talk about her and bagging in the same sentence, Steve,” I say, feeling a bit defensive.
“He told you to back off her, man. That should have told you everything you needed to know. Our buddy Mav here actually gives a shit. For the first time in his life,” Stone says. “I fucking knew it. I knew it!” He fishes his cell phone out of pocket and pounds out a text. I shake my head.
“Morganna owes me a blow job all-the-way tonight. I fucking told her you weren’t going to bag and bash on Windsor, but she didn’t believe me.” With good reason. I have huge dickhead status when it comes to Morg. She’s seen or heard about them all. I do mean all.
“Don’t bet blow jobs on my fucking life,” I tell him, but I’m laughing. It feels kind of nice to beat Morganna. She never loses. Anything. Steve has already lost interest, wandering away and shaking his head as he goes.
As far as Steve is concerned I’m just like Stone, one of the few other guys who only fucks one woman. Except I’m worse—I’m not fucking anyone. I feel nauseous when I think about fucking one woman for the rest of my life. But isn’t that what this is? I can’t even look at another woman the way I used to. I compare them to Windsor, and there is just no comparison. I haven’t even gone past second base with the woman and I know she’s going to rock my God damned world like a hurricane when I finally get inside her. The anticipation is almost too much. That says something because I thrive on the feeling of not knowing what comes next, yet knowing I’ll be able to conquer it completely.
“What’s the S.O.P for this? I’m in the dark,” I ask Stone as he flings himself onto the couch. I’m more nervous about letting a woman into my world than going down range with bullets whizzing past my head. I can do bullets. I can do bad guys hiding in closets with AKs. I can’t do this. “I don’t even know what this means. I feel crazy, man,” I whisper. I can tell Stone anything. And admitting this is fucking hard.
He flicks on the big screen television to create noise. “There is no standard operating procedure for this. This isn’t something you can control, like every other facet of your meticulous fucking world. That’s the point. That’s why you feel like this. You’re taking a risk in something that you’ve never dabbled in before. It’s something you didn’t even do with her.” He says the last part with mock disgust. We don’t talk about her. I don’t even like to think about her. She’s known as the biggest mistake of my life in a tiny, bitchy, blonde monster package. I’ll pay for that blunder for the rest of my life. Literally.
I sigh. “Maybe I’m too fucked up to get into this with her. I should just back off now.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“No. I don’t even think I could if I wanted to,” I say. Lacing my hands around the back of my head, I look up to the ceiling. “I hired Tawny to go clean my house. I haven’t even asked Windsor to come over yet. She might freak the fuck out and say no. She knows about my hotel thing. It’s probably too big of a step.” Stone is shaking his head before I finish.
“You really haven’t bagged her?” he asks. I wince at the word, but figure if I hear him talk about bagging his wife, I shouldn’t correct the word now. In my mind I’ve fucked her every way imaginable. Even a few ways I’m not sure are possible while having a spine.
“No,” I admit. “And not because she hasn’t wanted it. She has begged me a million different ways. I can’t say no anymore, dude. It’s killing me. Just the aftermath…and everything that will change when it’s a done deal. Fuck!” Stone points the remote at the TV and changes the channel. I can’t explain how just being with her, not touching or kissing or even talking, is enough. It’s enough for me. Fucking that up isn’t an option. She’s open and honest and all at once it fucking hits me: that’s probably one reason, if not the main reason I can’t push her away…why I don’t want to push her away. She doesn’t hide a thing from me.
Even if she tried, I’d see it as clear as the blue of her eyes. I’ve only had that with one other person. And he has a vagina dick, so I can’t put them in the same column. She wants to have sex with me, but that’s not all she wants from me…like all the other women. They say they want more…I never believed them, though.
“You can do this, Maverick. You got this. You deserve this. I’m not gonna go all homo on you, but if it’s easy…then it’s right. That’s how I knew with Morg. Granted she’s as predictable as a snake, but I don’t think around her…it just is. I’m not up in your business but I see enough to know that whatever you have with Windsor is good,” he says. The word again—good. She is so fucking good. Stone’s right.
I feel like a pussy, but I need to hear him say these things. Call it a weakness from growing up in a family that never accepted or appreciated anything about me or my life, but there it is. I get what I need elsewhere. From my brother.
“Tawny’s probably all up in your shit at the house. I can’t believe you let her in there.” Stone laughs. It’s over. The moment passes but everything remains. Everything.
Steve jukes his way toward us wearing boxing gloves and an American flag speedo. “Who’s fucking Tawny?” he asks while upper cutting the air.
“No!” both Stone and I say at the same time.
I stand up and hold my hands so Steve can punch them. “Johnny got the clap from Tawny last year, remember? No one fucks Tawny anymore,” I say. Steve slams a gloved fist into my palm. “She’s cleaning my house,” I explain.
“She cleaned my pipes when I was going through BUD/s,” Steve says with a smile. “Tawny was a Phantom.” That fact, I did forget. During training there is a phone number you call in the middle of the night and a girl comes to you wherever you’re at and blows you. You can’t look at them because their identity is supposed to be a secret. Tawny has a tongue piercing and long fingernails. Steve, like any good SEAL, sleuthed her out after she sucked him off. She worked at the coffee stand in Coronado where we were going through training. Secret Phantom no more. She followed one of the guys over to Virginia Beach, and somehow that woman is still a staple in our community.
I’m shopping with Morg Gretch n Jess. Need a ‘dress’ for tonight ;) Windsor’s text comes through. The damn winky face is enough to make me anxious to see her in whatever “dress” she gets.
My big thumbs tap out a text before I even think. I need to see you before tonight. Meet me for lunch.
Where? I love that there’s no pause or hesitation.
Cappy’s. In 30? That will give me enough time to go home, make sure my shit is still there and change.
Can’t wait to see you ;) ;)
I’m smiling like a ten year old when I realize Steve and Stone are staring at me. “What?” I ask, knowing full well they won’t say anything.
Stone coughs and says, “Pussy whipped,” at the same time.
“No dude you have to tap the pussy before you can be whipped,” Steve says, calmly, like he’s quoting scientific data.
“And on that note, I need to make sure she’s cleaning the proper pipes,” I say, bringing the conversation back to Tawny as I grab my duffel bag off the ground. It’s Frogman Friday. It’s always a light day at the office. Soon my days will be anything but light. I’m deploying in a month. My new unspoken challenge, that has flipped and reversed since Windsor walked into my world, is to make her mine before I leave.
*****
“Morganna,” I say under my breath, like a curse word. I see her standing in front of Cappy’s. Her huge handbag on her shoulder like a suitcase, and her Bluetooth studded in crystals—or are they real diamonds?—in her right ear.
“Hey Maverick. She told me she was meeting you for lunch and I just had to see this for myself,” she tells me, waving her hand toward me. “On a date in the daylight hours. And with the intentions of a second date tonight. With the same girl. It’s unbelievable, really.”
I smile so fucking big and shake my head. “No welching on your bet, Morg,” I say. I even think about calling Stone to let him know Morg didn’t take his word for truth. She had to see it for herself. So typical. I decide against it because I need her on my good side. She has the ability to destroy all my chances with Windsor.
“Morganna Sterns does not welch on bets.” She slits her eyes. A fucking tiger about to attack its prey is what pops into my mind. I recognize the look.
“I told you before. I like her,” I admit, trying to keep my voice down in case Windsor is outside. I think it’s beyond liking, but I don’t know what comes after that. “You have to trust me this time. I know I’ve given you every reason to think I’m a horrible person, but Windsor just might make me a little less horrible. Come on? Give me a break?”
She taps her ear to either hang up a call, which wouldn’t surprise me, or call someone. “I don’t give anyone breaks. You need to tell her,” she says, her voice twanging on the last syllable. When the country accent slips it makes her seem more human.
“Tell her what exactly?”
“About her,” she says through her teeth.
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to tell. She’s gone. She doesn’t matter anymore. She never mattered,” I say, just as heated. “I’m not going to fuck this up, Morg. If I do, let it be my own fault. Don’t intervene. I want whatever this is becoming with Windsor,” I pause, swallow loudly and continue, “I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything else.” Normalcy. A real relationship with a woman. Stability. Warmth. Someone to come home to. Someone to fight for.
I see Windsor walking toward us, weaving her way through cars in the parking lot. She’s dressed like she just came from the office—high heels, white button up shirt, and all. I sigh, thinking of how I’ll be undressing her in my head throughout lunch. Button. Pop. Button. Pop. Boobs. Button. Pop. Button. Pop. Hard stomach. Belly button. She waves when she sees me, but it falters a little when she sees I’m talking to Morganna. Windsor is Morg’s friend and even she is wary of her. I laugh.
“Fuck it up on your own, then. I’ve already warned her, so I’m washing my hands of this,” Morganna says.
“And Stone will be washing out your mouth later,” I say.
She laughs a little as she turns to snatch up Windsor in a hug. The women exchange a few words and smiles, and then Windsor’s bounding into my arms smiling, making everything okay.
I pull her to my side as she wraps both of her arms around my waist. “Light day for you too?” I ask.
“I usually have Hannah clear my schedule on Fridays,” she replies as I lead her to a table way in the back where there is no possible way we’ll see anyone else that might interrupt us.
I hold the chair out for her and take my seat facing the door. Always facing the door. I’m uncomfortable if I’m not able to see the entry point. The male waiter, who looked at Windsor a touch too long, took our order and we’re finally alone.
“I do have to go back to the office after this. I have to finish up some work. I have a training conference next week in Richmond.” She’s giving me her schedule. I take that as a good sign.
I grab her hand. “I missed you,” I say.
“You just saw me last night, Maverick. I feel like if I don’t give you a chance to miss me, you’re going to get sick of me,” Windsor tells me, rubbing my hand. It feels so good. I smile. But not the big smile. It’s a sort of sad smile. Because she thinks I’ll get sick of her.
I look over my shoulder for a few seconds, intentionally averting my eyes from her completely. When I turn back, I say, “I missed you! I didn’t look at you for two seconds and I missed you. Of course not seeing you all night would make me miss you.” She shakes her head and her wavy brown hair swings around her shoulders. She laughs a little and her smiles reaches her eyes. She squeezes my hand.
“I missed you more. I miss seeing you and talking to you. Everything. For someone who doesn’t do relationships, you’re pretty good at them. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to someone so much in my life,” she admits. It makes me squirm a little, because I know she’s comparing me to her Nashhole, and also because she mentioned the word relationship. It’s what this is. I just never thought about defining it before now. Several dates and hours of calls and texts is definitely a relationship.
“A relationship, huh?” Maybe she won’t balk at coming to my damn house then. Asking her would be a step in the relationship direction. Wouldn’t it? Fuck. I am so out of my element. Her blue eyes flick down to our joined hands. She opens her mouth to speak, and then closes it again.
“Well, yeah. That’s what this is, right?” she whispers holding up our hands. “I mean you refuse to have sex with me, so I can’t be sure because healthy relationships usually involve sex…” she trails off, cutting short one of her rambles. I know her rambles contain nothing except truths, so I actually encourage them.
I lean over and kiss her cheek. “This is most definitely a relationship, Windsor. Just because I’m taking it slow doesn’t mean I don’t want to have sex with you. It just means I want everything else Windsor Forbes before it,” I whisper in her ear.
Exhilaration hits me in a rush. I admitted it. Out loud. That I wanted a relationship; that we are in a relationship.
The asshole waiter with his impeccable timing brings our salads at this moment. I know it will startle Windsor, because she’s shy. I could kill him for his timing. Instead of leaning away from me because we’re in mixed company, she grabs the side of my face and smashes her lips into mine. I forget everything. Where we’re at, what my own fucking name is. It’s easy.
As she pulls away from the kiss several seconds later, she pulls my bottom lip with her teeth. It snaps back into place with a pop. So fucking hot. Blue eyes bore into mine and like always, the truth is right there. It doesn’t flicker subtlety, either. It’s as blatant as a hand grenade.
She recovers quicker than me this time. “One word, Maverick,” she whispers, her lips brushing mine as she says my name.
“Mine,” I growl. Taking one more swift kiss that leaves her breathless is my intent, but I get a little more wrapped up in it than I should. My hands find my way to her waist, her legs, then wrapped in her hair that smells like damn womanly, sweet perfection.
“Tonight?” she asks. It’s her one word. It’s a loaded fucking question. One I don’t know how to answer, because I’m not sure I can delay fucking her for much longer. If I get her in my house, naked on my own bed, the sight alone will make me spill it before I get within ten feet of her. I ask the question before I lose my nerve.
“Will you come to my house tonight?” She leans back into her chair and looks me squarely in the eyes. She looks confused, like maybe she didn’t understand what I said.
“I want you to come over,” I say again. Windsor bites her lip. The hesitation makes my pulse skitter all over the place. She usually doesn’t pause to consider anything when it comes to me.
“Depends. Why are you asking?” She looks away. “Is it because you think it’s something I want? Or do you really want me to come over? I know that’s not your standard protocol.” Skittering heart now turns to pounding heart.
“I want you to come over. I want you in my space. In my house. In my world, Windsor. There is no standard protocol when it comes to you. I’m just going with what feels right,” I reply, making Stone’s words from earlier my own. She studies me, eyes narrowed, like she’s trying to psychoanalyze me. I’ve been analyzed plenty of times so I know what that looks like.
“I’d love to come over, then.” Windsor smiles and it blinds me and melts me at the same time. For the first time in a few minutes I can breathe again. I can hold my breath for about three minutes while underwater. Somehow waiting for her response was worse than drowning. Now I’m elated. I want to skip the Halloween party tonight and go straight home now.
She starts eating her lunch without taking her eyes off me. Like she’s eating me instead of lettuce. “We’ll head there after the bar tonight,” I say.
“What are you dressing up as?” she asks.
I laugh. “I don’t dress up for Halloween anymore, Win. I look scary enough already,” I tease, running my hand up her leg. “Boo,” I whisper when she squirms.
“You certainly do scare me. That’s for sure,” she says removing my hand from her upper thighs. Begrudgingly, I start eating.
“What are you dressing up as?” I ask, curious what exactly “dress” means. She grins. Oh, I’m in for it.
“You’ll have to wait and see. Should I pack an overnight bag, then?” Sex. It’s all she’s thinking about. It’s all I can think of. It’s the one thing I don’t think I want to do with her yet. The heat in her eyes forces my answer.
“Of course, if you want, but you won’t be wearing much while you’re there,” I say. Every word was worth it to watch her fuck me with her eyes. I won’t have sex with her tonight. I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready for her to leave because there’s nothing left to do. I will indeed use my hands and mouth on every square centimeter of her body. We’ve never done that before and I think it will be enough. I’ll deal with blue balls for at least a week, but it will be so worth it. My gaze lands on the buttons of her shirt. She notices.
“That, my friend, is exactly what I wanted to hear,” she says. My cock twitches. “I guess I can tell you then. I’m going to be a devil tonight,” she whispers, biting her lip and then resting a hand on my thigh. She’s out for blood. I like it. I hate it. I’m not in for it. She’s out for it. I’m in trouble.
The waiter clears his throat and asks, “Do you need anything?” I need something alright.
She doesn’t take her eyes off mine. “Check please,” she mumbles.
I glance at the guy and nod. “Yes, the check, please. Everything was great,” I say, remembering the decent manners drilled into me by my parents since birth. He scurries away, leaving us alone again.
She’s shaking her head back and forth when I look her way. I narrow my eyes and cock my head in question. “You have no idea the effect you have on people, do you?” she asks. I smile. This causes her to shake her head a touch more furiously. I laugh.
“I only care about how I affect one person,” I admit.
“Fear not. I don’t think you could affect me any more unless you came in alcoholic drink form,” Windsor says. She crosses and uncrosses her legs.
“Drink form can be arranged,” I say, smiling so wide it hurts.