THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,16

son of a bitch the next chance I get. He knows it, so he makes the most of his jab.

“Do you want to fuck me, Mavvy? My vagina is so tight, it’s like a magic twat or a vice grip wormhole,” he says in a high, fake girl voice. “I walk dogs on Saturday mornings at 10 on the beach in front of the Hilton.” He rubs both of his hands over his large pectorals and cups them, circling his damn nipples. His voice sounds like a fucking transvestite with throat cancer. “Maybe you can come make me into a sugar cookie?” Stone purrs.

That’s it. I lunge forward and lay a fist into his stomach and retreat quickly. He curls into himself, his shoulder hitting the back of the shower room wall, laughing through gasping breaths.

“You’re a fucktard, Stone. If you wanted to homie glide, all you had to do was ask,” I say. I don’t really want his dick gliding between my butt cheeks, but I’d do almost anything else for him. He’s my bro. He’s got my back always. Down range and home and pretty much anywhere else. He’s known me my whole life. Not only do we share the same legal first name, Thomas, but I dealt with his vagina dick way before we decided to be professional badasses. It’s why I would do anything for him. We went through BUD/s and SEAL qualification training together; bitching and moaning about night sweats and the inability to sleep, and how Hell Week was for pussies. Which it wasn’t; it was torture, but we’d never say that to each other. We are the same—him and I, strong for each other and strong for our teammates. You fuck with him and you are automatically fucking with me. It’s like that with all my brothers. They are the closest things to family I’ve ever really had.

My real family only gave me a trust fund and a nice pat on the ass out the door because I wasn’t like them. I would never be like them. Of course I appreciate the money; it affords me to do whatever the fuck I want. I can follow my dreams. I can kick ass for a living.

The money doesn’t make Henry and Barbara Hart my family, though. It makes them large donating entities to fund my fucking. Because I never bag girls at my house. Ever. Hotels are my first choice and their place comes in second. My house is too personal, says too much about me. I don’t want them to know anything about me. Except that my dick is hard and they should do something about it.

Cruel? Yes. The way my parents raised me facilitated that, but the SEAL Teams are where I found the only family I felt like keeping. That’s what matters.

I grab some of my shit and get dressed.

“Thanks for the info, asshole,” I throw over my shoulder as I bust out of the locker room. I have new plans this Saturday morning.

_______________

I lean against the Neptune statue like a real fucking creeper. The statue is a beacon. If you’re at the beach, you can tell someone your location by using Neptune. Today though? I’m hiding behind the damn thing so I can watch Windsor without her knowing. Not yet, at least. I just want to see my prey in her natural habitat—before she feels threatened by a predator. I see her in the sand by the water.

Windsor is wearing the tiniest, tight, black shorts possible. They are made of that stretchy shit. I wouldn’t even have to take them off to fuck her; I could just yank them to the side. Her smooth legs are miles long. I picture them wrapping around my face and my dick gets hard. Her body is so damn fuckable. She is in shape, but not in the gross Crossfit-crossover man way that so many women seem to think looks good. Windsor has curves. Banging fucking curves. She holds a pair of running sneakers in one hand and a leash in the other. At the end of that leash is a huge German Shepherd. I recognize the dog and smile. This is going to be too easy. She pets his head and lets it lick her in the face. I grimace. She stoops down to pay the dog more attention and I figure it’s show time.

The dog sees me coming, but she doesn’t. “Steh,” pronounced shtay, I command using a rough voice. Windsor startles,