The Crazy Good SEAL Series: Books 1-3

by Rachel Robinson

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Steven yells, pressing his back to the side of her stall. I glance at him over my shoulder.

  “Expectations are an unpredictable creature, Steven—a beast you can’t control even if you practice expectation management. I expect one thing and get the opposite on a daily basis. It’s part of being an adult. It’s life. That said, I think that I deliver on things that I’ll say I’ll do. I said I’d give our relationship a shot, but I also told you I didn’t have much to give. It’s a balancing act. This horse,” I smack Magic on her flank, “wouldn’t hurt a fly. I don’t expect her to, anyways. Your foot goes here,” I say, holding out a stirrup.

  His look, one that says he thinks I’m insane, and also one of pure fear, calms me. I walk across the barn to another stall and start prepping the other horse. He’s a giant, black beast that snorts and paws the ground when I enter. I grin.

  “Hey, Pillage. Ready to go for a ride?” I ask, smoothing my fingers through his silky hair. I’ve missed this barn, and these horses, and this lifestyle so much that it causes me actual pain from avoiding it for so long. I work through the straps more quickly this time, my hands remembering the steps before my mind does.

  “Just call me Old Six Shooter Steve and lets get this over with,” Steven says, riding high atop Magic. When he gets a look at Pillage, his face morphs into disgust. “If I’m to die atop a beast, why didn’t you let me have that one? That’s a respectable way to go. He looks like death. That’s not fair.”

  I scoff, mount my death horse, and lead Pillage toward Magic to help Steven grasp his reins better. “There is no holy way you could handle this one,” I tell him. On cue, Pillage rears up, just for show mind you, and clops out of the barn ahead of them. The cool, liquid air hits me like a punch. It’s still dark, with the sun creeping over the horizon very slowly. Everything happens slowly here—part of its charm and its curse. Steven catches up and does his best to stop his horse next to mine.

  “I disagree, you know,” Steven whispers. “Expectations can be controlled. You should know. Everything is controllable.” I remember him saying something similar when we were in high school and I asked for advice about law school. That was back when I didn’t have confidence or any life experiences to guide me.

  I shrug. “You’re probably right. Right now, I merely expect that I’ll win,” I say, glancing into his brown eyes. His chin tilts down, his eyes narrowed, and he kicks Magic. They take off into the sunrise with a well-needed head start.

  “Go, boy! Yah, yah!” I yell, heeling my own horse into an explosion of speed. I feel the smile creep up and I’m laughing, carefree and excited in no time. The smell of fresh cut grass and clay linger as I catch up to and pass Steven in a few seconds’ time. Horseback riding is another instance of having the control, yet not at the same time. It’s why it’s one of my greatest joys. A joy I’ve forsaken. Leaning forward, I stroke Pillage on his neck, and use the reins to slow his speed to a more comfortable pace.

  Steven is trying to catch up, one hand on his head trying to keep his hat on and the other—I hope—still on his on reins. Magic trots, Steven winces, Magic speeds up, Steven looks like he may faint. Slowing Pillage a bit more, I bring him to a walk as we approach a dewy hill.

  Miraculously, Steven stops his horse about forty feet behind me. I turn Pillage around to face them. “What are you doing?” I call out, one hand cupped around my mouth. I watch as Steven, the man most afraid of horses loosens his grip, takes one foot out of a stirrup, puts it on the saddle, and then repeats the maneuver on the other side. When he’s in a squatting position on top of Magic’s back, thoroughly pissing off the horse, he stands up in one fluid motion.

  “Hah! Just like surfing! This, I can do.” I hold my breath, praying Magic doesn’t take a step. Or move. The rising sun gleams on his smile, like a sick warning.

  “Stay, Magic. Stay!” I command, hoping the horse obeys my commands even though I’m not her rider. My insane friend is grinning like a lunatic waiting for my tirade. I’m a rule follower, not a breaker. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to the nature of the opposite. Like a moth to flame. I’ve always hated that saying because a moth ends up burning in flames.

  Steven throws both hands out to the sides, like a circus ringleader. I’m left slack jawed, waiting for my mind to form coherent sentences. Right now all that comes is a string of cuss words and prayers. “What do you say, Morg? I’ve got a few empty spaces to fill. Can I pencil you in?” He sings in a wind-warped voice. It’s then that I realize the pop star he’s channeling and shake my head. He’s the only person I know who still likes to watch music videos. “No?” he counters. I’d basically say anything to get him to sit down. Magic looks more confused and irritated by the second.

  “Yes. Yes. Good lord. Write my name. You can write my name!” Steven pulls his fist down by his side, but loses his balance a touch and wobbles. Playing his game is always the best way to get him to comply.

  “Sit down! Stay, Magic!” I repeat again. Carefully, Steven sits down. Magic doesn’t want to obey him, now. Pillage walks up to them as close as I can edge in now that it’s safe to approach.

  “You’re an idiot. You know that, right?” I ask, my heart hammering against my chest. Not letting me say another word, Steven leans over and kisses me on the mouth. His warm, dry lips feel amazing against my cold skin and it temporarily erases my disdain for him and his lunacy. Opposites attract, right? It truly is one of the oddest sentiments.

  “Just trying to alter your expectations,” he says against my lips. I feel my personal cell phone buzz in my vest pocket, but I don’t pull it out. I’m sure it’s Alex texting me again. That he misses me—a completely unexpected complication to my already complicated life.

  “You know the rest of that song is about a crazy ex-girlfriend, right?” I ask.

  He bites his lip in one corner. “I have some of those,” he replies, eyes full of mirth.

  _______________

  “Oh, honey. I’m so glad that you came home for the holidays. It’s so nice to see you sitting at this table again. You have no idea,” Steven’s mother says, heaping another stack of bacon on my plate.

  I grab a slice and take a small bite. “It’s good to be home. I’ve missed it.”

  “Don’t stay gone so long next time,” she says, sitting down across the table, her eyes dancing between Steven and me. The smile she’s giving is maniacal and I can’t help but think Steven may have shared the dating news with her without my knowledge.

  His dad straightens the newspaper in front of his face. “Any tough cases lately?” he asks. It’s to be polite. He’s never one for idle chitchat. Steven puts his hand on my leg. I played the part of angry woman for the entire drive to his house. The stunt on the horse was incredibly stupid for someone so unskilled with horses. He could have broken his back, or worse, if Magic didn’t obey me. I shudder thinking about it. I yelled at him about responsibility for a good twenty minutes. He dutifully nodded, kissed my face, and agreed like a man trying to get out of the doghouse.

  “I’m taking a break at the moment, but I do have a few divorce cases going right now. Run of the mill stuff, mostly,” I reply. Mr. Warner is a retired cop. I know I could have his undivided attention if I told him some of the sordid details of my cases, but think it better to keep conversation to a minimum.

  “Have you considered a different branch of law? Isn’t divorce so horribly depressing?” she asks, her gaze landing on her own dear husband. I get this question a lot. My answer tends to push a few a red buttons depending on the delivery of my answer.

  “Not particularly depressing. My clients are getting a fresh start in life. Most of them are miserable. Life is too short not to be happy, Mrs. Warner. Don’t you agree?” That is my most eloquent response.

  His mom presses her lips into a firm line as her smile wilts. I see the second she starts feeling sorry for me and I don’t want her pity. Divorces are worse than death sometimes. You know the person you once loved so
completely is out in the big, wide world loving someone new. Giving your old promises to someone else, handing over the slice of their heart that you thought belonged to only you. It’s masochism at its finest if you dwell on it. At least I know Stone only loved me. Even during his dying breath, I’m sure of it. I’ll always have that. Sympathy triggers other emotions that are just too finite to waste.

  I sense Steven’s gaze burning a hole into the side of my face. I turn to look at him. “I’m okay. I’m moving on,” I say. Then I give Mrs. Warner something to really ponder. Steven’s hair is mussed from being under a cap all morning, so I brush it out of his eye and lean over and kiss him. It doesn’t matter that we’re in the company of his parents, as I knew it wouldn’t. He kisses me back, tilting my head with one of his strong hands, fingers wrapped around my head. I open my eyes when I feel Steven’s smile against my mouth. I let him embrace the cocky moment because I know how much it means to be able to give his mother something to talk about, dream about, wrap her brain around. I’m not naïve. Mrs. Warner wants what every mother wants for her son. His lifestyle isn’t conducive to such normalcy, but if he could have a relationship…with me, maybe there is hope for a promising future. One that doesn’t bury him six feet under.

  “Oh, my,” his mother says, eyes wide and gaze flickering between us. “This is news. This is fabulous news!” She stands from her chair and bounces her shoulders up and down in time with her thick, rocking hips. Now it’s my turn to widen my eyes.

  Mr. Warner starts a low bout of laughter first and then we all join in. It doesn’t deter her. She continues her victory dance, eyes closed, mapping out a perfect future with every new breath.

  “When did this happen?” she asks. It’s more of a squeal than a question.

  Shaking his head through hysterics, Steven says, “It’s new, Mom. And it might die today after bearing witness to your slick moves. You and Dad going to the honky-tonk again? Shake it, you wild woman.” Steven does a little shoulder dance that reminds me of frat boys in a club. His dad clears his throat, all business again, and disappears into the kitchen with his plate and newspaper.

  Taking the rest of our plates, she follows her husband into the kitchen talking about making phone calls and chattering away about how we’re anything except new. I’m sure those phone calls will end with every person in this county knowing that Steven Warner and Morganna Sterns are bumping uglies. Except, you know, we’re not. Not that I haven’t imagined it a million different ways.

  Steven smiles to get my attention. “I didn’t come back and visit your chambers last night, milady, because I was downstairs drinking expensive bourbon and asking your daddy for permission to date his only child.” And by dating he means having sex with. Good thing my daddy is unaware of new age dating rituals. Or, I hope he is. Not that I was stalling before, but now there isn’t anything in the way. I’m nervous. Not that making love to Steven will be so different from making love to Stone, but that it might be too similar. That was the draw with Alex. There never would be any comparison. Pretending he is a normal guy and that I’m just any other woman wouldn’t be too far off from the truth. Steven’s brawny chest rises and falls a few times in the span of my thoughts, only causing me a sense of familiarity—a sense of non-normalcy.

  “Well then, I’m sure he said yes and that opens the door to previously off-limit illicit acts?” The night when he walked in on me comes to mind. His control. The timbre of his voice as he ordered me to continue has me envisioning the reverse scenario—if I ordered him to pleasure himself in front of me. I have some idea what being with Steven will be like and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dying in anticipation. It’s been a while, yes, but I also haven’t craved someone to this degree until him. I would have had a one nightstand here or there if the opportunity presented itself, and the man, obviously too divine to ignore. It didn’t happen. My tastes are brutally singular.

  Steven scoots back in his chair, making a loud scraping noise. “Only what can happen in a twin bed? It’s only fair it begins there, because that’s where it should have started when we were fifteen,” he explains, referring to the tiny bed in his room upstairs. I think Mrs. Warner never bought him a larger bed because that would encourage his sexual activities. She had to have known.

  “Fifteen?” I gasp. I had no idea he was having sex at that age.

  Replacing his baseball cap, because he’s no longer sitting at the table, he heads for the kitchen. ”Oh, you should have seen what I was capable of back then. I’m practically an old man now. You’ll have to go easy on me.” He winks.

  I’m racking my brain to try to think of the girlfriends he had when he was fifteen and end up appalled. “Fifteen?” I whisper again under my breath, unable to wrap my head around that number. “Wait!” I call after him, grabbing the back of his shirt when he’s close. He slowly closes the swinging door leading to the kitchen and faces me. “Why? Why didn’t you say anything before now? There were countless opportunities. You gave no indication that you had romantic feelings toward me…ever.” Sure, there were loaded stares and unspoken words, but I thought those were common things in male/female friendships.

  “Or you just didn’t see them. Sure, I wasn’t as straightforward as I should have been…I was young. I just wanted you around me always. No sense fucking things up by mixing in sex,” he explains, resting one hand on my hip lightly. I guess that makes sense, but not in a practical teenage sort of way. I would have jumped at a chance to take things further with Steven back then. I was an innocent, young southern girl. Steven used that, knowing I’d never make the first move like all of the other beauty queens in his teenaged life.

  “But is that what we’re doing now?” My heart rate accelerates. I feel my palms grow sweaty—things I can usually hide in court or with clients. I’m never close enough to anyone. “Are we messing things up by considering this now?”

  “The time for considering is long past. You and me were meant to be. A wise man once told me that everything happens for a reason. Of course I called bullshit, because how does that make logical, practical sense? But look at us,” he says, motioning between our bodies. “The chemistry is basically melting the atmosphere! Timing: check. Attraction: double check.” Steven runs his hand over the curve of my waist, across the side of my chest. Tingles rise. “We have been a long time coming, Morg. A long ass time. If I don’t take this chance right now I’ll never be able to live with myself. You can appreciate that sentiment. I’m sure of it. So, if you’re amenable we’ll get started as soon as I eat another buttered croissant.”

  “Because that’s not the hottest pick-up line I’ve ever heard,” I mutter. “Sounds like everything is checked off your list. It’s all on the up and up. Plus, it’s Christmas. Maybe we should make this a holiday to remember.” Stevens swings on the doorframe with a huge grin on his face.

  He looks fifteen.

  Bending down, he whispers in my ear. “Ho. Ho. Ho.”

  I can’t help but laugh, an exasperated noise, because his humor makes my muddy, cloudy world clearer. I decide to throw in a joke of my own for good measure.

  Grinning, I fire back, “Well, I do have an empty space of my own you need to fill… with something.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Steven

  “I TOLD YOU this is how it would happen, man,” I speak into my cell phone. Cody called to wish us a good holiday. Or, in other words, he called to see if I’ve bagged Morganna. Confessing I hadn’t yet was awkward, but the guys know exactly the type of hardball Morganna plays. It has to be perfect. The setup: perfect. I’ve told very few people the extent of my friendship with M. They know we are from the same hometown and that we have a history before she married Stone, but not that I’ve wanted her for most of my life.

  “You said that you’ve talked to her father. All that should be left is some candles to light,” Cody growls through the static. Cell service is sketchy where we grew up in the country. I didn’t even have a cell phone until I mov
ed away. When you wanted to talk to a friend, you stood in the kitchen on the corded home phone, or you took a ride over to their house by bicycle. Much simpler times.

  “You’re such a fucking fairy, dude. What’s the work schedule look like when I get back?” I ask, trying to salvage the rest of the conversation.

  “Hectic as shit. A couple weeks away in North Carolina for CQB. Out to Cali a week after we return and I’m not sure after that, the schedule isn’t in front of me at the moment,” he explains. Close Quarters Battle is an important block of training. It’s where we practice the procedures that got Stone killed. Clearing kill houses, going through the steps to make sure mistakes never happen. Again. I close my eyes and lean back on the couch when I remember the awful night when Maverick was off the rails. Would I have swapped places with Stone, now? Knowing what I know? To save Morganna the heartache? In a heartbeat. I suppose that’s how you know what I feel for her is real—her happiness is above all else, even when it wasn’t mine to give.

  I cough to cover emotion. “Why am I still talking to you, then? Better get busy seducing if I’m barely going to be around to sample the goods,” I say, loudly. Morganna sat next to me on the couch a few moments before. I knew my crass language would get a rise out of her. The horrified look on her face proves I was right.

  “Who was that?” Morganna asks as I slide my phone onto the nearest flat surface.

  “It was my boss. Don’t worry, he approves.” I pick up my legs and set them on her lap. I feel like I could crush her femurs with the weight of only my calves.

  She sets her hands on top of my shins. “Do you remember when you asked to borrow my electric lady shaver? You wanted smooth legs.” The memory causes a chuckle. She rubs her hands over my currently not smooth legs. I want her hands on other parts of my body.

  “It really does cut time off of a swim,” I tell her. She looks at me dubiously. “Seriously,” I say a little louder. She shakes her head knowing there isn’t any sense arguing with me.