THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,142

of addiction of varying degrees. It’s also one of the few places where people are drunk on the streets at eight a.m…from the night before. I put all of the glittery cocktail dresses he bought to good use at Cirque du Soleil shows and eating at upscale, delicious restaurants. It’s our last night here, and it’s Sunday. I figured Sunday would be a less crazy day here, but I was wrong. I think Saturdays and Wednesdays hold the same appeal.

“Oh, come on. You have to go to Vegas at least once in your life. Plus, what better way to convince you of your magic pill capabilities,” Maverick says, taking my hand and leading me through the insanely loud casino lobby.

I’m still wary about his drinking. How could I not be, with Kathy as my mother? Surprisingly enough Maverick’s told me she’s stopped drinking, too. I try not to talk to her about her issues just to avoid conflict. I guess Maverick didn’t avoid anything during his time spent visiting her and Bill. He’s like a go-between now. I’ve never had that before and it’s…nice. I still don’t think any one person can be a magic pill. Until he proves me wrong, I’ll trust him to do what he thinks he needs to do.

Machines ding and lights suffocate the eyes at every turn, no matter the time of day. We’ve played at the slot machines a few times just because I asked him to. I couldn’t go to Vegas and not pull one of those filthy handles at least once. No alcohol or any other addictive substances, other than my body—multiple times a day—have even piqued his interest. Not even at the restaurants where a glass of fine wine is almost mandatory. If it’s bothering him being in this atmosphere, I would never be able to tell. Maybe that’s the point to all of this. It also makes me wonder how much acting he’s doing. Heaven knows he’s at expert level in that department.

A blackjack table catches his eye. “If you’re good at probabilities and have a great memory, you can beat the dealer. I’ve done it before. It just takes a lot of patience and more nerve than most people have. It’s ballsy to try,” he says, winking at me.

Oh, I bet it’s ballsy. Everything Maverick does is ballsy and unbelievable and honestly…unexpected. Now I’m almost certain SEALs function on a different frequency that no one else can tune into. It’s like a cult. Kind of. It’s definitely out of the realm where most people understand. I like that I don’t fully get him. It keeps me on my toes—like this morning when I woke up naked, wrapped in soft cotton sheets, to the sound of a guitar. He sang me a song that rivaled my first song. This time he did it in a pair of boxers, with his impossibly irresistible bed hair tousled. He looked me straight in the eye the entire time. It’s how he conveys what he’s feeling when normal words, in his opinion, don’t make the cut. I melted like I was standing on the face of the sun.

He points out the different games as we amble through the brightly lit aisles, while I flounce in my five-inch heels and a gold sequined dress that is probably more appropriate for Vanna White. It sparkles a million different colors. It really is beautiful…for a Vegas dress, that is. And Maverick loves it. So much in fact, that he removed it the second I put it on tonight and delicately placed it on a chair before screwing me against the huge plate glass window of our penthouse suite. My knees get a little weak thinking about it.

I glance over at him as we exit outside, the buzz of the people around us significantly quieter than the sirens and bells of the casino. He is so dashing in a tailored suit, his muscular form evident even in clothing. Every single woman in a fifty-yard radius stares. They don’t try to hide it either. Some look to be about sixteen and others look like they could be my Grandma’s age. His appeal knows no bounds. No one is attracted more than I am. Not just to his looks, but to what’s inside that perfectly structured body. His broken heart mending a little bit everyday, his will to move on in the face of loss…that’s the most attractive thing about him. He’s a survivor. We’re two souls cut from the