THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,20

him, ignoring the comment about the highlight of his week. Hardly. I bet he’s seen multiple panties this week. His answering smile is, as always, breathtaking. I’m glad nothing covers his eyes tonight. I want to see all of him.

He opens the door for me and I slink down into the buttery leather. Watching him walk in front of the car, I fight the urge to tear off my dress and have my way with him, right here, in my parking lot like a dirty hooker. So I focus on my surroundings instead. His car is pristine on the inside—insanely clean and meticulously kept. I assume when you have a car this nice, it’s what you do. Or pay someone to do it for you is likely the case with Maverick.

I pull down the visor to use the mirror, and I sense his eyes on me, watching my every move. I brush at a loose eyelash and turn to him. “Where are we going? I guess I should have asked earlier, before I dressed up.”

“We’re going to Swordfish. You look perfect,” he says. Not perfect. Overdressed. His dark green striped shirt is buttoned almost all the way up, concealing his tattoos. The sleeves aren’t rolled up either, so nothing shows there either. I’m momentarily disappointed. I may not be able to sample this perfect piece of trouble, but I really wanted to ogle him.

He keeps his eyes on the road, completely aware of everything going on while he drives. I’ve never seen anyone so focused while doing twenty-five on a residential road. “I want to apologize for the day in your office. I want to start over. Starting tonight,” he says.

His cell lights up, but he doesn’t make a reach for it. I can’t help but see Jessica’s green text bubble flashing in the center cup holder. Who doesn’t have an iPhone? Ugly jealousy rears and I tell myself only a horrible person would read the text, so I don’t. Though If I read more texts, I would have known about Nashhole’s affair. It was right under my freaking nose. I think he got off on parading it around without me discovering it.

“I’m okay with that,” I say, leaning toward him. “I’m going to completely ignore all of Morganna’s warnings and have a nice date with you. Because she has me thinking you’re a crazy prick. I really just want to walk into her office and stick my tongue out and tell her I’m still alive, and you weren’t a complete Neanderthal—which you do kind of look like. So, please don’t disappoint me. Let me win this round with her,” I ramble. “One condition though.”

“Anything,” he says.

“Forget what I said on the beach today about the Nashhole, okay? I feel like by telling you, it gives him power over me…still,” I admit, trying to keep my voice strong, even though the mere thought of my former life makes me feel weak. “I’m embarrassed I told a complete stranger my woes.” He laughs and the sound makes me jump a little.

“What exactly is a Nashhole?” I forget normal people don’t know what a Nashhole is.

“Sorry, yeah. That’s my ex-fiancé’s name. Not really. It’s John Nash, but Nashhole fits him a little better,” I confess. His eyebrows scrunch together, and I regret saying his full name. “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. We’re both starting over tonight. I’ll pretend you didn’t say crude things at the bar…among other things, and you’ll forget I’ve lost the ability to love anything except numbers and my routine.” Another rumble of laughter buzzes around me, consuming the entire car. His voice…his laugh is like a stick of dynamite to my willpower.

We pull into valet parking and he finally grabs his over-worked cell, but he doesn’t look at it. He slips it into his pocket instead. I shouldn’t give a shit, but I want to see his face when he sees the text. I’m sure it’s one of his many call girls. The specific, non-enviable term is frog hog. Women that only have sex with SEALs.

“I can agree with that. Wait here,” he says getting out of the car. I see him take a huge breath as he slams the door and approaches the teenager eye fucking the Chevelle. The boy has his hand out waiting for the keys. I don’t even think he’s seen the Maverick wall yet. A quick exchange that leaves the teen completely somber finishes, and Maverick opens my door