THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,57

like no one does what I want them to,” Morganna says. I have work to get done, too.

“If you want something done,” I muse. She brushes me off.

“I know, I know…do it myself,” she says. “I can’t hold the whole world on my fucking shoulders though.” She laughs a little at her own expense. And it’s in moments like these that I see the old Morganna. The person who would laugh at how serious and mean she’s become.

She leads me down a corridor on the opposite side of the house. I haven’t been on this side. Or upstairs. There are a ton of rooms that need exploring. Naked explorations come to mind. Morganna prattles on about a case she’s working on and how Stone is giving her a hard time about working too much. The subject of my affections for Maverick has fallen off her radar all together. Broaching the subject isn’t in my best interest, so I nix my questions about the rules. Morganna pushes open a heavy door and we walk into the garage.

It looks like a full on, very organized mechanic’s shop in here. Two full garage bays are devoted to tools and random pieces of equipment that I can’t name. Maverick and Stone are standing together talking, their voices low. Their conversation stops completely when we get within earshot. It’s obvious they weren’t doing anything in here, just talking. Maverick smiles. Stone, still exuberant, just stares at me with a creepy gleam in his eye.

“I’m going back to work. Drive me please,” Morganna commands in a sweet voice. I’m not sure why I keep my distance, but I do. It’s not like Morganna and Stone don’t know what we’ve been doing here in his house. Where women don’t go. They know. I want to hug him and kiss him because he’s standing there, in the middle of heavy machinery. I feel like I’m on display. The freak at the sideshow. The one Thomas Maverick Hart let in. They say their goodbyes and with a swift clap on Mav’s back Stone is gone.

Morganna goes to leave, then pauses mid-step. “Rule number one. Don’t forget your pants,” she says. Being Morg, she leaves before I can ask what the hell that is supposed to mean. I shoot a puzzled glare at Maverick. He hikes his shoulders.

“Seriously. You come with rules?” I ask, mortified. His life is different, way different than the average person, but can I really be expected to follow rules? That could be the only possible explanation for Morganna’s statement. Michelle Obama can’t wear shorts. Windsor Forbes has to wear pants. It is ludicrous.

He laughs a rumble of low laughter as he approaches me. He grabs both sides of my face while he traces my lips with both of his thumbs. “No rules. Never any rules with us. Okay?” he says.

“How can I argue with her? I didn’t have on any pants!” I answer.

“With good reason. Stone won’t be making any more surprise visits. I made sure of that. Morganna probably made up a set of damn rules herself,” Maverick says, closing the space between us, trying to reassure me.

Shivers shoot down my spine. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of his touch. It seems silly to want something so badly that you’ve lived your entire without, yet there it is. Now I’m wondering how I’ll go without it. He seems to be thinking the same thing. He replaces his thumbs with his mouth and kisses me passionately. His hands slide down to rest on the curve at the bottom of my spine.

“Plus, if they were rules for me, number one would be that you never wear any pants,” he says against my lips. “Or anything else for that matter.”

“Fine. I’ll go to work naked,” I joke. “I do have to go check in. Especially if we’re leaving shortly,” I say. I can’t help the smile that hurts my cheeks. I’m so excited to go anywhere with him—to get to know him more. We are officially a couple who vacations. I notice the frown on his face.

“You really have to leave now?” he says. I’ve been around him long enough to realize he’s at his own “office” only when he has to be. It’s either short days, because he went in to work out and shoot, or long days where I have no idea what he did all day and night. I don’t ask, either. He gives me vague answers when I do ask. “Diving.”