THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,7

haters. Nash has made me the ultimate hater. “Well you aren’t wrinkly and Botox can fix that, but it’s time. That’s the end of it. You either want help or you want to fend for yourself. Which is it?” she asks.

I look away, honestly considering doing what she wants. I want to please her and do something decent for myself at the same time.

I decide to head to the bar. “I’ll think about it. Meaning I will really consider it, but not tonight, okay? I’m not ready to dive into the deep end.” I smile. She nods. “One dose of Benji and Gretchen has forgotten all about us. I’m going to grab us drinks. Warn me if your rat pack arrives so I can duck in a corner.” I shake my finger at her as I teeter away. A red nail brushes the bottom of her chin. She’s conspiring, God dammit.

I hear them before I see them. Voices commanding. Laughter booming. A drunken baby turns to look at the commotion and splashes half her cup onto the top of my foot. A wet high heel—perfect. I don’t even bother looking. I know it’s The Guys. I glare at Morganna, and she just laughs. I know the exact moment her sights lock on Stone. Her face morphs into a puddle of slush. I walk, with my heel slipping out of my shoe all the way to the bar, and grab a cocktail napkin out of a stack. I slip my foot out of my shoe and start drying it. When I look up, I see him.

Muscles are everywhere. He’s so large he is the only thing my eyes can possibly be drawn to. I think the rest of the bar is probably looking at him too, but I wouldn’t know because I’m staring at him. Like a deer in freaking headlights.

Except he hasn’t even noticed me. His black dress shirt is cuffed up his forearms and dark tattoos peek out. His dark wash jeans fall to that exceptional place on his narrow waist. Usually, I’m not so into physical things about the opposite sex. Right now, though, all I can think about is sex. Him. Muscles. On me. I’m hot all at once. I can’t breathe.

He throws his head back and laughs at something one of the trophy women around him says. I want to thank whoever made this creature laugh because it reveals perfect teeth, and I now know his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and it looks like perfection. He is perfect. He probably knows how perfect he is and that is the number one thing that I do not want or need in a man. Not that he’d have plain ole’ me anyways. It looks as if he could have his choice out of the entire bar—perhaps even the world. Stone claps the guy on the back, looking directly at Morganna, and then retreats to his wife. Of course he is one of The Guys.

Off limits, Windsor, I remind myself because my damn traitorous body has other thoughts.

I notice his black watch, the tattoo that creeps out of the neck of his shirt, all tell tale signs. I know what he does; I also know exactly how long he can hold his breath.

Mr. Sexy meets my gaze. I suck in a sharp breath when he rakes his eyes over my body once and then again. A predatory smile creeps its way up the lower part of his face. Dimples. Two of them—one on each side. They aren’t cute either, like little boys with dirt smeared on their faces. These dimples are hot. What makes them smolder is that they don’t go with the rest of him. The juxtaposition of the dimples on something so unfathomably masculine is…mouthwatering.

Even as embarrassed as I am, I can’t look away. He leans his head to one side trying to hear the girl talking next to his ear, but his narrowed gaze doesn’t stray from mine.

Someone jerks my arm. “Put your fucking shoe on, Windsor,” Gretchen hisses from behind me. “That man, and he is a fine ass specimen, is coming over here. By the way he’s looking at you I think he might want to eat you for dinner.” One crude sentence is all it takes. I’m back on guard, minus the fluttering heart. Gretchen knows it.

“Good thing I don’t like to be munched on then.” I fix her with my icy stare. The wall is up. This guy could be Kellan