THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,158

forearms are tanned, muscular perfection as they clutch the oversized steering wheel. Here in the south we like to call it good ol’ boy appeal.

Sensing my gaze and probably my thoughts, he laughs, his sugar sweet smile flashing at the road in front of him. I ask, “What? In my redneck certified uniform, sitting in my daddy’s truck? You know he’s probably as good with his shotgun as you are with your menagerie of weapons?”

Stone wanted to meet my parents so I brought him, without a single warning might I add, to the slice of backwoods I grew up in. You can’t trip up a man like Stone though. I think it’s because he’s a Navy SEAL that he blends in any environment you toss him in. It’s not fair, really. I try to mask my country. It works most of the time. No one wants an attorney who sounds like she could sing a dog dying, best friend crying, country song. Which I can do, by the way, but that’s not an advertised service. It’s complimentary.

He turns down the warbling radio which is screaming just one of those songs. “Just you. You belong here. I can sense it,” he says, not taking his eyes from the road.

“I belong where?”

“With me,” he admits, no hesitation in his voice. He never hesitates with anything. It’s part of his charm—a gift and his ultimate curse.

I cross my ankles and adjust them by the side mirror, completely blocking his view. “That’s still up for debate. I mean, you’ve hardly convinced me,” I challenge, eyebrows raised.

We’ve been exclusive for quite some time, but we like to play a proverbial game of cat and mouse. We’ve both already been caught—by each other. Stone and I have balance—my divorce attorney cynic versus his optimistic, philosophizing killer position. It wasn’t love or lust at first sight, no. I dated one of his friends first, another one of The Guys before he convinced me to give him a good college try. He’s almost as persuasive as I am. Which is a feat because I’ll be willing to stake my momma’s life on the fact that I can convince you of anything I want. Fact? Yep. Fiction. Heck yes. In fact, that’s my specialty. I call it my intuitive gift.

Stone pauses, tilting his head to one side and then the other. Something he does when he’s calculating his thoughts, tailoring his words just so. “I’m still trying to figure something out,” he finally says. He glances at me. I motion with my hand for him to elaborate.

Without breaking eye contact he says, “I’m trying to figure out how to be something you need.”

That’s when the huge, Morganna intuitive lump forms in the back of my throat. I knew I couldn’t stop us. I didn’t want to stop us. Perfection can’t last forever, though. It’s Murphy’s Law, it’s the way of the universe. It’s one of those things I just know. Come to find out, there was no stopping our future. He’d already asked my daddy for my hand in marriage the day before. Regardless of my underlying uneasy feelings our fate was already sealed. Literally and figuratively.

“You know I don’t need much of anything, Stone.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I know of one thing you need. The S word.”

I clear my throat and explain, “I’ll always need the S word. You’re right.” He nods, happy with my explanation. “I need you,” I confess. His presence does comfort me in a way I’ve never had before. Up to now, my lone wolf status rank was ten. It never occurred to me that some people require someone else to function. Stone makes me undeniably happy. That’s good enough for me.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he demands. “Don’t say that you’re not, because I know that you are. It’s okay to need someone, Morg.” He knows exactly what to say.

“I’m not afraid.” I scoot closer to him on the bench until our legs are touching. He drops his hand to my knee and sighs.

“Always remember fists and mace will fuck up your face…”

I groan, cutting him off. “But Stone will never hurt me,” I finish his idiotic rhyme, turning my eyes to the ceiling.

Stone laughs and the baritone sound drowns out the load roar of the engine. “I love you so hard,” he cackles.

“I love you hard right back,” I tell him, still smiling.

“You’re going to stay with me then?”

“I’ll stay,” I promise.

He squeezes my knee. “Forever?”

The lie. The truth. The volatility of