THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,226

exactly how our off time is spent; she understands it. She knows I am an honorable man. I want Morganna more than I want any other thrill; even if I didn’t have the chase for dominance I’d be all in.

It’s eleven o’clock at night. I send her a text. What are you thinking about?

My heart speeds as I watch for her response. Now I’m thinking about you. I was thinking that dogs are far superior at snuggling than humans. Gunner is mine now. FYI.

I laugh. I watch as Cody leaves the cabana, drink in hand, and Maverick shows off some seriously awkward dance moves. Teaching the new guy? I grimace. Glancing back at my lit screen, I imagine her in the bed with my dog. She’s thinking about me. That’s all that should matter. This should be good night, but the beer has taken control of my fingers. Do you think about him?

Her reply. Of course.

I have trouble catching my breath for a moment or two. I expected that reply. More than me?

The childish tone of the message makes me cringe. I’m a grown ass man asking for reassurance about something that should be a no-brainer. I feel sick and it’s not from the abundance of alcohol flooding my system. My steel-trap stomach is no opponent for Morganna. I bounce the phone on my knee, impatient.

That’s an unfair question. She responds after a full minute. I stand up and pace a bit.

I never intended for the conversation to go this way. I never realized I cared until now. It’s why I can’t fuck her brains out without wearing handcuffs. It’s why she closes her eyes when she comes around my dick, screaming my name. It’s why she’s avoided sex with me for so long and yet I turned a blind eye to it. Draining another beer, I put my phone in my pocket before I say something I’ll regret later, and I will surely regret it.

My cell chimes, alerting me to a phone call. Sighing, I take it out of my pocket and I’m ambushed by a photo of Morganna, black hair swinging, pouting lips perfected in gloss, teeth beaming white in a smile. If I answer it will be catastrophic. I walk to an abandoned area of the pool deck and straddle a lawn chair. Laying down, I gaze at the stars swirling overhead.

I hit the fucking green button. Because the red would be like telling her no. “Hello,” I say, clearing my throat.

“Don’t text me when it’s obvious you have something on your mind you want to talk about. Texting is for Hollywood breakups and teenaged drama. Maybe even sexting, but it doesn’t seem that was the angle you were aiming for.” Morganna’s voice is sleepy, but calm. She’s not upset. Not like me.

“I don’t want to talk right now, Morg.”

“You’ve been drinking. How much?” Her voice takes on a worried note. “I knew you were partying because I spoke with Windsor earlier, but I wasn’t sure of the extent…”

I sigh. “I’ve had a few beers. I’m not sure I can compete with a ghost, M. I drink too much and the truth rears its nasty head. Do you think about him when you’re fucking me? Because you do fuck me. It’s not the other way around.” I swallow loudly. Too brash. Too forward. I’m an idiot.

I hear her soft breaths through the line and it calms me. She takes in a deep breath. It will go either way. Fury or tears. There’s no in between. “It’s not easy for me, Steven. We both knew this would be a challenge. You understood. You said you understood the very odd situation we’re in. There’s no competition. If you’ve forgotten, Stone is dead. He’s not coming back to challenge you to a duel, or to take your place. All that Stone wants is the piece of my heart that’s his. I owe him that.”

I close my eyes. When I open them, a tiny shooting star darts across the sky, as if telling me I better wish my fucking ass off if I’m going to get out of this alive. Her words slice me even though they should reassure.

The bottom of a fresh beer appears over my head. “Think fast,” a male voice says a moment before the full bottle falls. I catch it with my free hand just before it hits me in the face. I nod my thanks and twirl the cap off with my forearm—because another beer is