Chapter Nine
Windsor
I’m lying on the formal dining room table, legs spread wide open—naked except for a shirt. I shut my eyes as tightly as they’ll go and wait for it. This is a bad idea. I’ve said as much at least twelve times.
“Scoot your ass closer to the edge of the table.” Only one other person has said this to me: my gynecologist.
I do as I’m told. “I’m counting to twenty and you better be done,” I say through gritted teeth. This is painful—torturous on so many levels.
The hot wax meets my bikini zone and I jump from the unexpected heat.
“Ow, Gretchen. God, be a little more careful would you?” I can’t believe she talked me into this. “I feel like wax shouldn’t be where I feel it right now.”
She puffs out a sigh. I make the mistake of tilting my head up to glimpse her camping headlamp shining on my nether regions like a beacon from heaven. She’s biting her lip in extreme concentration. All I can do is groan and hope she ends this with my sex organs in tact.
“You need a fucking landing strip, Win. Don’t deny it. Your first kiss happened after you jumped out of a plane. It’s so poetic I’m a little jealous honestly,” Gretchen explains. “He needs to fuck you the first time with a landing strip.” I roll my eyes even though they’re closed.
“Jesus, you’re so crass. Just hurry up, will you?” I lift my butt and put it back down. I pull my t-shirt down to gain some modicum of modesty. Gretchen smacks my hands away.
I hear the front door to our condo open and close. Morganna’s working voice echoes down the hallway. “Stay still. I’m going to rip this last one off. It’s on the side so it’s going to hurt,” Gretchen warns. I throw my arms over my face, completely embarrassed, and brace for the pain.
“This is the beginning of a horrible porno,” Morganna drawls from the doorway. I groan.
“It was her idea!” I bark out, my eyes still closed.
Gretchen rips the last of the wax off. The screaming pain rips down my leg and then all the way up to my head.
“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” I grab my throbbing crotch and pull my shirt down to cover it before I sit up on the table. Morganna, dressed like a nun, is stifling a giggle. Morg isn’t the giggling type, so that says a lot about this situation. Gretchen is just staring at me with huge eyes, like she’s waiting for me to swing a baseball bat in her direction.
“Assholes! Everyone is assholes,” I say, dashing for my bedroom. One look at my landing strip and I know that I need to turn on the hazard lights to ward off airplanes from landing in this airport. I am so pissed off at Gretchen and myself for agreeing to her absurd plan.
I pull the sexy lingerie out of my over night bag and stuff a silky pajama top in its place. My plans are completely ruined. My crotch is throbbing with an unwelcome sensation. I’m not sure I can even dance, or walk in high heels without looking like I have a stick up my ass.
“God dammit, Gretchen!” I yell. She told me she knows how to do this. The only reason I let her do it was because I’m so worried about everything being perfect tonight. Sex with Maverick has been on my mind constantly since, well, since the first day I laid eyes on him. Now, it’s different. I can tell he has feelings for me, I also know he’s fighting them off. It’s the only reason I can come up with for a straight man to hold out on sex for so long. He wants me. I’ve ruined the damned night. I’ve ruined everything.
As I shimmy into the red, sequined mini dress, I vow not to let a burning crotch ruin his night. I will power through this like a Navy SEAL. I will not complain or whine. I won’t even beat the shit out of Gretchen for it. Right now, at least. I also realize I cannot wear underwear. It adds to my devil appeal. Right? Completing my look is a pair of devil horns and red lipstick.
Gretchen is nowhere in sight when I exit my room and find the sexiest man alive sitting on my couch. He looks out of place in a setting so plain, mundane. It’s like even my subconscious knows he should be doing something more manly, more dangerous, something more like…me. He’s dressed from head to toe in white. Both dimples are out as his gaze travels over my body. He stalks over to me in only a few strides. I wince a little when he picks me up and places a dry kiss on my lips. He sets me back down, letting my body slide down his. No panties. I have to remind myself, before I unwillingly give the world a peep show.
“I went for a pure look. To balance you out,” he rasps in my ear. Goosebumps break out all over my body. I feel another kiss on my neck. He backs away, holding my hand, to better appraise me. I laugh.
“You are far from pure, T.H.”
“I like when you call me that,” he says, following me back to my bedroom. I know he’s watching my ass, so I make sure to stick it out a little further.
“Well let me get my bag so I can spend the night at your house, yelling T.H. all night long,” I say, peeking over my shoulder. He’s not looking at me, though. He’s looking at my room and my things like they are artifacts in a freaking museum. “Like my room?” I ask. He nods, runs a finger over my dresser, and then faces me.
“I like it a lot. They say a room says a lot about a person. But I’m inclined to say a dress says more about a person.”
I slip on one of my red heels. “What does this dress say about me?” I put my other foot in the shoe, and Gretchen’s hack job throbs a little. A tiny cry escapes. His eyes immediately narrow. I won’t let a little tender skin ruin my night. I smile through the pain.
He pulls me tight to his chest. “It says you want to torture me all night long,” Maverick growls. His eyes flick to my bed. “It says you don’t even want to go to the party.” He backs me up to the edge, his hands skimming the bottom of my dress. Oh God. It can’t happen right now. I need the night to recover a little. I can’t do this now. I want to, but I can’t. Gretchen made sure of that. I push back on his broad chest. He lets me. I slip past him and grab my leather overnighter off a chair.
“Actually, I do want to go to the party,” I say. He takes the bag from my hands, but looks insanely confused. It’s better than him knowing I have a second-degree burn where I want his dick. “Later though.” God, it even sounds like a lie. He catches on right away and his confusion turns into something else.
He asks me at least five times if I’m okay during the ride to the bar. I reassure him I’m just excited to see his house and for the party. He peers at me while he drives, something he never does. I realize I won’t ever be able to get anything past Maverick. He’s not calling me out on my lies, but he knows I’m dishing them out. I wonder what he thinks is going on. I know with women what we think is always way worse than what actually happens. It’s just our way. I feel guilty. My cell chimes with a text from Gretchen as we pull into the valet parking.
Ur mom called the house after you left. U need to give her ur cell #, Winnie. PS) so sorry. I hope M can still engage landing gear.
I’m surprised my mom called. She never calls anymore. I didn’t think she knew how to work a phone anymore. I thought number five did it for her. Hell, maybe he did tonight, too. I type back to her as I exit the car, feeling where every hair follicle once was.
No landing gear tonight. I can barely walk. What did Kathy want? You owe me anyway.
She was upset. U need to call her 2morrow.
Great. That sounds like a freaking nightmare. She probably drank too much and wanted to talk about how my life was turning into her poor, miserable existence. It wouldn’t be the first time. I debate texting Gretchen back, but realize Maverick is studying me. He glances at my phone. No more confusion in his eyes. He looks angry. The hairs on my neck rise at the sight of him.
“Ready to go in?” I smile and put my cell in my clutch. I’ll talk to Gretchen later. My mother…maybe never. My focus should be on the man I’m with right now. The man who looks absolutely edible. The man who I am going to have to confess Gretchen’s mortal sin to.
“Are you done with your phone?” he asks, with more irritation than I’ve ever heard from him. Maybe even a hint of sarcasm too. I just nod because we’re already in the club, and it’s loud and full of sparkles and wigs and all the crazy-ass slutty costumes that are typical on Halloween. Air conditioning blows to keep all the swaying bodies cool and a slight chill blows up my dress. It gives a little relief. I tuck my hand into Maverick’s elbow and let him lead us to the back where we have a table in the VIP section. The nun and the pope are already there. The pope has the nun pinned to the back of the booth, his hand groping her boob. I scoff.
“You are going to hell. The both of you!” I yell. Morganna looks at me, startled, but her eyes float right back to Stone and go all gooey. It’s one of the few times she doesn’t have her phone in her ear.
“Speaking of going to hell. I need to talk to you.” Maverick pulls me to the other side of the curtain to an empty booth shielded from both the dance floor and from Morganna and Stone.
He forces me against the wall just by proximity. The smell of his soap envelops me. I inhale greedily.
He runs a warm hand down the side of my body and stops on my hip. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Or are you going to make me guess?” I think for a second that making him guess will be a fun game, but think better of it.
“I’ll tell you later. I just want to have fun now,” I say leaning up to kiss him on his lips. He shakes his head. I wedge my tongue in between his lips in protest. There’s no fight. He opens up and lets me in with a loud groan. He shifts me a little and I shut my eyes a little tighter when I feel the pain return.
“You fucked someone else,” he whispers in between kisses. I pull away, stunned at what he’s said.
I shake my head and say, “No!” at the same time. For him to be able to pinpoint exactly where I’m hurt is amazing. The fact he’s acting like he wouldn’t care if I did have sex with someone else is even more disconcerting. He disconnects our lips and waits for an explanation. I sigh. “There was someone in between my legs today,” I say, thankful for the dark. He can’t see how furiously I’m blushing.
He takes a few steps away from me and looks at me like I’ve burned him. “I knew it.” He pulls the ends of his hair, something I now know he does when he’s frustrated. I could let this go on all night. But I won’t.
“Stop it,” I say. I’m angry he thinks I would do anything with anyone else, my chest rises and falls rapidly. Does he not see himself? It’s like a death wish for any man who comes after him.
He stares at me blankly. Hurt crosses his face.
“Gretchen, Maverick. Gretchen was the one between my legs.” His eyebrows pull inward, and his mouth forms a grimace. Confusion etches every surface of his face. I laugh. “Come here,” I crook a finger a few times. He hesitates, but walks over to me very slowly. I peer left and right to make sure we’re absolutely out of eyeshot of anyone and grab his hand. “Trust me,” I say.
I guide his palm to the hem of my dress. His eyes are fixated on his hand, like he can’t believe what’s happening. Eyes wide, he lets me be in control.
“Don’t move,” I tell him. He swiftly nods.
I flip his hand over so his fingers are up and I bring two fingers to my sex. His eyes flutter closed as I use his fingers to trace the lips, avoiding the center, and also the sore side. A guttural noise escapes his throat as his forearm muscles bunch, wanting to take control. I know he won’t and the power he gives me makes me so freaking hot.
“She waxed me,” I breathe, so incredibly turned on I might just burst into flames. “She also hurt me.” I pull his fingers closer and circle them around the sensitive area that joins my sex with my leg.
His eyes open and meet mine, then dip down to watch his hand and my hand joined, under my dress. The sight alone is almost enough to send me over the edge. His hand twitches and I know his control is waning. You can’t ask that much from a man who has his fingers near a wet hole.
“It’s just you, Maverick. This,” I move his hands around the smooth area, getting closer to the center, “it’s yours and yours alone. I’m just sort of out of commission for the night,” I admit ruefully. I know for a fact my face is a shade of red. I bite my lip. The music is blaring in the background, but I can still hear his breathing.
“I thought that was you, Mav,” a woman slurs from behind him. I try to jerk his hand away, but he keeps it firmly planted right where it was a second ago. His huge frame masks the fact that I’m even standing in front of him, luckily. He turns his head to the side. “I’ve been trying to call you,” the female voice bites out.
“Yeah. I’m a little busy right now,” he says. He is quite busy, though my curiosity is insanely piqued. I glance around his shoulder and find a tiny blonde in a cop costume. Irritation courses through me. I see the way she’s looking at him…and me. Her face falls a little when she sees he isn’t going anywhere.
“Later then?” she asks. I have to balk at that. Maverick is standing here, obviously with me and she asks “later”? Seriously. Women have no self-respect. Then I remember his hand is on my sex in a public facility. I’m not much better than she is. At least she knows exactly what she wants. Him.
I look up to his face. I desperately want to know how he’s going to respond to her, if at all. He sighs. Pulling his hand away, and tickling every sensitive area as he does, he wraps his arm around my waist. Cop chick is still standing there, waiting for him to respond to her. Waiting for the time of day.
“Not later, no. This is my girlfriend,” he says, nodding his head to me.
Her eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. She doesn’t believe him. Or she doesn’t know what the term “girlfriend” means. I’d place a wager on either. She takes a step closer and stares directly at me. It’s more than a stare; this bitch is scrutinizing me from head to toe. I pull at my hem, suddenly extremely self-conscious. I have to remind myself that he just called me his girlfriend and she is the other woman.
“Have a good night, Nic,” he says loudly. And she is dismissed. I wince at his tone. He was polite at first, I give him that.
She lets out a high-pitched giggle. “You’re serious?” she asks. “Maverick has a girlfriend? So what hotel do you take an official girlfriend to?” She air quotes on the word “girlfriend”.
My cheeks are red. I know it. I feel hot from my head to my toes, and I know it’s obvious to anyone who sees me. I’m jealous this stranger knows things about Maverick. How many pieces of him are scattered around Virginia Beach? The US? The world? I feel sick.
Maverick laughs. It’s caustic and bitter. “Jealous?” he asks.
My stomach flips again. This is the cocky Maverick I met at a bar. The one who oozes sex and knows it. This is how he treated me before he knew me. She folds her arms under her huge fake boobs. I notice she doesn’t say she’s not jealous.
“She’s my girlfriend. She stays at my house,” he says, finally putting her out of her misery. He pulls me tighter to his side. He has no idea that I am so put off by this reminder of “bad” Maverick, that I might just tell him I don’t want to see his freaking house. But I do. Of course I do. I’m just so baffled by all the feelings I have in this moment. Being with Maverick is like sharing him with everyone. There’s no flying low on any radar. He owns everything surrounding him.
Blonde cop rolls her eyes. “Right,” she mutters, turns on her pointy boot heel, and stalks off. I watch her perfect figure vanish behind the curtain and wonder how many other women behind that curtain there are. I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale a pent up breath.
“How many,” I ask. It’s simple. I shut my eyes because I don’t want him to see how much I truly want to know this answer. He must know. He must have a black book somewhere with all of his conquests. If there isn’t a name, there must be a number. He did remember this girl’s name, so does that make her a good one? I groan when I realize where my thoughts have taken me.
Stone pops his head around their curtain. “Drinks are here. Want one, Windsor?” he asks, a perfect gentlemen. A freaking façade. Both of them are scrupulous actors. I see how easily Maverick turns it on and off.
“Yes please,” I say sweetly, breaking from Mavericks grasp. Even though my crotch feels like it’s on fire, I don’t break my stride or let on to the pain. I sit next the nun and pour a huge cup of vodka with a tiny splash of Sprite. Morganna looks at me oddly.
“Trying for black out drunk tonight?” she asks.
Maverick peers around the curtain, looking at me curiously. I force a smile. He narrows his eyes. I put the cup to my lips and suck down half of it. “Like back in undergrad?”
She laughs, already a little tipsy. The memories I have with Morganna in college are my favorite. It’s before she became the shark. I understand that a lot of her personality probably has to do with dealing with Stone.
A slutty robot winds her way to Morganna’s husband and starts talking to him, all flirty and Bambi-eyed. He doesn’t look interested, but she is. Morganna doesn’t even bat an eye. I’m jealous for her. It’s such an atypical marriage. It’s a whole different way of life. A life I’m not sure my skin is thick enough to handle.
I cough and meet Maverick’s eyes. Concern creeps onto his face and I’m not sure if he’s worried about my wax burn or my shift in demeanor. I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s concern nonetheless. “Let’s go dance, Morg,” I say, pulling her up to her feet, mostly so I have leverage when I stand up.
“You’re up for dancing?” I’m sure right now she has a vision of me spread eagle on my dining room table, hot wax on my bits. So I just nod and then shake my head when she starts to laugh. Emboldened by my anger and the vodka, I pull her into the mass of swaying, costumed bodies. I feel ridiculous being at this type of soiree. I am done… Correction, I was done with this lifestyle. I tired of it years ago when I was planning a wedding and perusing Parenting magazine. Look at me now.
“How many people has he slept with, Morg. I need to know what league I’m in here. It’s been obvious that I’m in over my head from the start, but I’m feeling like a freaking Little Leaguer right now. I’m in this bar,” I dance a little, just to fit in, and wave around the room like it’s the most disgusting thing in the world.
She purses her lips and shakes her head. “My lips are sealed. He’s bad news. I told you to should stay away,” she says joining in my one-person dance fest.
“Bad how?” I’m desperate for any reason to run. Like I know I should.
“He does seem different with you,” she leans in and blurts into my ear, ignoring my question. The music is blaring. “If you only knew how much that costs me to admit, I think you’d feel hopeful about the status of your…arrangement with him,” Morganna says, slurring every other word.
This was my last hope of getting anything out of her. It’s already too hard to deny my feelings for him. A quick glance to our VIP section shows several scantily clad women all vying for Maverick’s and Stone’s attentions. Maverick’s talking to them, and he even smiles every once in a while, but his gaze hasn’t strayed from me. I wish I could change what I see. I wish I could change what I feel for him. I shake my head sadly and try to disappear into the crowd.
Two young guys dressed as prisoners circle us, with huge, goofy grins on their faces. Morganna laughs and shakes her head. I think I hear her tsking as well. These guys are really young. Dancing with their shoulders and thrusting their hips. Babies, really. They haven’t lost themselves that final time quite yet—it’s obvious.
And Stone is here, buzzing up to us like freaking Patrick Swayze in Ghost. The baby men widen their eyes when they take in Stone. He’s huge, all muscles and tattoos and confidence jacked up so high that it probably needs its own zip code. He rests a hand on each of our shoulders.
“You boys like my girls, huh?” Stone growls. “They are pretty smokin’.”
Morganna hits him in the arm playfully. “Don’t scare them, honey,” she yells.
“Do you know what I like to do with prisoners?” Stone asks the boys, who are now just standing there, glued to the floor, dumbfounded looks perched on their faces. One guy shakes his head. The other turns around and runs away. He actually runs. I’m impressed with his feat in such close quarters.
I crane my neck and find Maverick sitting in the VIP area surrounded by even more woman than when I looked a few moments before. His elbows rest on his knees and his hands are folded together. I notice the blond cop, Nic is among his fan group. He’s totally into his conversation, not even looking my way anymore. My heart hurts worse than my waxed crotch. The other prisoner retreats, trying to escape Stone’s wrath.
I yank on the sleeve of Morganna’s costume. “I need to get out of here. Can you take me home?” I ask.
She looks up at Stone. “How much have you had to drink? Windsor wants to make a quick exit,” she explains. He shakes his head like she smacked him.
“I don’t want an ass beating tonight. Plus, Mavvy’s the only sober one here. He’ll kill me if I bring her anywhere,” he admits. He grabs Morganna’s waist and pulls her to him and starts grinding on her. I swear they’re more like twenty-one year olds than married adults.
Maverick is still busy with his admirers so I make my own freaking escape.
“He’ll find you,” I hear Stone rumble over everything else.
The vodka has numbed my pain, but it also makes me teeter in these sky-high heels. Somewhere inside me, I know I’m probably overreacting, that he’s just talking and that’s not a crime. The overwhelming sense that this thing with Maverick is only going to end badly forces my feet one in front of the other. His past is never going to change. My past is never going to change.
I slam into another blond cop with fake boobs. It’s the same exact costume. Tears sting my eyes as her drink splashes down the front of my dress. Finding a side exit, I push my way out and take off my shoes. Clutching them in one hand, I run down the side of the building, the pavement cold on my feet. A security guard sees me and stops me. I grab his jacket.
“I left in taxi. I went home,” I plead with him, nodding my head as I speak. “Please. The girl in the red dress got into a taxi and went home,” I say again.
“You’re sure you don’t need help?” he asks. I shake my head. I must look wild, out of control, but he nods and walks off. I duck into a back alleyway just as my phone starts buzzing. Maverick. I ignore his call and text Gretchen to come get me. I hear rather than see when Maverick blazes out of the building. A loud bang resounds and a string of profanities travel to my hiding spot. His car revs to life only a few moments later.
Gretchen the fairy and Benji the pirate pull up in her car fifteen minutes later. I rip off my devil horns.
“Take me to Jess’s house for the night, please,” I command quietly the second I slip into the back seat. I adjust my position when my vagina burns in protest. Gretchen doesn’t ask or say anything. She just drives. She knows something went horribly wrong and the fact that she nearly dismembered my lady bits tonight gives me the trump card. She won’t even ask.
I flip on the silent button on my cell, which has been blowing up non-stop with texts and calls from him.
“Thank you,” I whisper. I’m sure she thinks I’m thanking her for rescuing me. I’m actually thanking her for more than that.