She continues staring at me, waiting for me to talk her out of it. Maybe talk her into it? I am her friend. Is that what I’m supposed to do right now? My stomach starts roiling. Her husband died years ago and she’s refused to date anyone since. I’m not even sure she looks at the male species the same way. She’s programmed as a married woman with one flaw: she hasn’t been married to anyone for quite some time. What is best for her? Shit. I am. Morg must sense my indecision because she continues.
“Tell me that I haven’t waited long enough. Tell me that Stone wouldn’t want this. Tell me I should wrap myself up in my career and stay single forever, because I’ve already told myself all of these things plus a million more. If two people agree, then they must be correct. Am I right? ” Her gray eyes, ringed with black makeup, start to water. I know she won’t let tears slip past. They’d mess up her makeup and show the world how she’s really feeling. Closing her eyes, she reins in the emotion, a master at hiding. It’s her art form. But she can’t hide from me—she never could.
What would a real man do? I lie. “Go on the damn date. It will be good for you. Nothing you said is true and, by God, you know it. It’s high time you move on. I don’t say that lightly either. You’ve waited so long that I guess I’m surprised that it’s happening now…after all this time. I overreacted. I just worry about you.” Because of how beautiful you look right now. I want you all to myself.
Black waves fall around her shoulders in a new, subtler way. Morganna’s teased southern belle hair died when Stone did. Her lips are slicked with clear gloss that makes me think of a perfectly glazed donut—something I want to eat while it’s still hot. These lips have been off limits for so long that I haven’t appreciated them in full, until right now, when I think about some random dude having them. I can’t help but stare—she’s beautiful. I wouldn’t even call her conventionally beautiful because Morganna Sterns is a fierce beauty. I think maybe she’ll fuck you, then kill you for not performing well. She’s borderline scary. It’s the ultimate turn-on for someone like me.
Morg clears her throat. “Thank you, Steven. Unfortunately I need to hear things like this. Double unfortunate is that I don’t have anyone else to talk about this stuff. Most people don’t get me.” She unconsciously rubs the bare spot on her ring finger. When my gaze darts down she stops, adjusts her top, and slides her hands down her skin-tight skirt. Sex. All I can think of is sex. I close my eyes and draw in a noisy breath. I need to call Chloe tonight, my go-to for sexual longevity. Number one.
Morganna hides, and I mask with humor. It’s our M.O. “Don’t ask me for sex advice, though. I can’t go that far. Unless you’re into caning, cuffs, and orgies. Those are the only topics I’m comfortable discussing. Perhaps anal beads and back door play, but nothing more than that,” I explain, gesturing crudely with my hands. Her eyes slit, her lips purse. Damn, she won’t bite the bait. Not that I thought she would. She never does.
“Ha-Ha. I’ll be home early. Ten. Maybe even earlier. Do you have plans with a girlfriend tonight?” Morganna asks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think her tone was a bit jealous. She makes digs about my girlfriends, but she’s never really that interested. Not like she is today.
Folding my arms across my chest, I give her an easy grin. “Calling it an early date night already? You must know this guy is going to be as fun as a puddle of mud. Anyone with any kind of skill could keep you out until at least eleven.”
She scoffs. Reaching a tiny hand out she adjusts the sleeve of my t-shirt that folded up my bicep. It’s a problem. What can I say? I have too much muscle and not enough shirt. Her fingers linger on my arm as she slides them under the seam. “I’m not just any woman. It takes a lot to keep me entertained.” Her gray cat eyes flick up to meet mine. What the fuck was that? My dick is confused.
I shift uncomfortably. “There’s such a thing as too much. Never bite off more than you can chew.” Her hand falls away as she takes a step away from me. I go on. “I’m sure you won’t have a problem with that tonight, though. You told me what time you’ll be home. Do you want me to be here then?” I read between the lines better than anyone I know.
Morganna runs a hand through her hair and brings the strands around to rest on one shoulder. I’m almost sure she’s going to say yes. That’s the only reason she mentioned a time. As the most punctual person I know, time means a lot to her.
“No. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you when I get home from my date with Alex.” I hate him even more now that he has a name. Alex. It sounds like an STD. I caught a nasty case of Alex. See?
Raising my brow I say, “No? Better make sure the security cameras are rolling.” I had plans tonight anyways. The boxing gym called to see if I could fight a new guy to determine his skill level. Those phone calls are always my favorite. Now I’ll have to play stalker later tonight, because what type of person would I be if I just left her to a date without checking once?
She walks over to the huge windows that overlook the water, and perches her hands on her curvy hips. I watch her take a few deep breaths before she speaks. “It’s just a date. I’ll be fine.”
I agree by grunting, but then she starts droning on and on about Alex. How he’s a musician who gives guitar lessons to children in his spare time—convincing herself of his worthiness. She tells me they talk on the phone and he seems kind and interesting, and just so effortlessly perfect. She waxes poetic about how he’s so different.
I know what she really means. He’s not Stone. Try as I might I’ll never not be Stone. It’s twisted, but it’s true. Down to my very core we’re the same, Stone and I. All of my brothers are. I would have thrown myself on a grenade for any one of my teammates without hesitation. Maybe an incense-burning hippie like STD Alex is exactly what Morganna needs.
Or maybe he’s fucking not.
I watch sweat slide off the side of his face the second my glove connects with his hollowed out cheek. Point. We’ve been in the ring for about thirty minutes and we both have a good sweat going. I drove by the café Morganna was at on my way here. Just to be on the safe side, you know? It was crowded—a good sign. Coffee only. No sign of coitus.
The dude I’m sparring with has a mean left uppercut, but he’s slower than I am. Too slow. My opponent landed a few hard body shots that will probably leave bruises. That’s it though. I got a decent workout dodging circles around him. Coach slams his hand on the old, rusty bell. Huffing out a breath, half-spit, half-air, I start collecting as much oxygen as I can.
“Good round, man. Finished?” I ask, talking in his direction. He’s hunched over catching his own breath, arms resting on his thighs. Too proud to respond verbally, he nods and walks away. Can’t say I blame him. I’d feel the same way right now. I racked up some serious points on him.
“Yo, buddy. You have some aggression to work out tonight?” Coach Sloane quips, his Jersey accent permeating the heavy, hot air. I smirk. He’s a retired SEAL. He opened the gym as a way to take out his aggression by sport. I can respect that. His gym, No Easy Day, is my second home when I’m not away. It gives me an outlet. Somewhere I can pummel things when I’d rather be pummeling STD Alex and his free spirit. “You were knocking him hard! You need the pussy, man?” Sloane may be retired, but his mouth is still one of a salty sailor. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. Unless you sell out, but that’s a dangerous train of thought to entertain while I have boxing gloves on.
Glancing to make sure the dude isn’t in earshot, I say, “Nah, just needed a good workout. Didn’t hit the iron today. Morg kept me busy around the house. What do you have up next for me?” I look at the huge black and white clock on the wall. Morganna will be home in an hour. A cell phone chimes from the corner and I know it’s Cass. Again. The next conversation we have won’t be pretty. I’m going to give it to her straight. Can’t really call it a break up when it’s not a real relationship. Maybe I’ll call it severing. That’s a nice, gruesome word. I need to sever ties with Cass.
Sloane bounds toward me jukin
g a little, neck pulling side to side as he slides on the hit mitts. His shorts ride high on his thick, muscular legs. He reminds me of a salt and pepper Mr. Clean. “I got nothing. Hit me instead,” he growls. I laugh a little and jab once quick and hard. He stands tall. I punch the other and then rotate back and forth like his hands are a punching bag. My cell chimes again. Thwack. Dodge. Thwack. My fists hammering the mitts won’t make the fucking noise go away. Another damn text message—my phone calling out to me.
Taking a deep breath, I relent. “Let me go put that fucking thing on silent.” I swing out of the ring, sweat cascading down my body like a faucet. What if it’s Morganna. The thought strikes me for the first time and I pick up my pace.
My glowing iPhone, sitting on the bench, rings again. “Cassidy.” I answer the call. Right now is as good a time as any. “Persistence isn’t a virtue, love,” I grunt, still out of breath. My heart hammering for the sole reason of a hard workout…not because I need to call it quits with a girl I care for. I realize how fucked up that is. I shrug.
I hear her sigh. Oh, fucking dog shit. She’s been crying. Why are some women so emotional? It makes everything more difficult. Another of Morganna’s strong points. I’ve seen her upset twice during the entire time I’ve known her.
Cass whines, “Stevey, I know what you’re going to say. I know you want to break up. I don’t want to. I like what we’re becoming. Give us a chance.” Intuitive, this one. It’s not like I’m a heartless asshole. I just don’t deal out my heart, so when it comes to situations such as these, nothing is broken except what I want broken. We were never becoming anything.
I sit down on the bench, eyeing my surroundings. “Cass, honey. You know I think you’re awesome,” I dodge. She already knows how this conversation will end—she knows me well enough. Plus, she’s been in panic mode since post-sex last night. I left before she woke up this morning. We both sensed this coming.
A small sniffle erupts through the line. “But I’m not a perfect, witty, specimen of a woman. I’m not smart enough. Or classy enough. I’m not enough for you.”
I shake my head. You’re not her, I think. The odds were stacked against her from the beginning. The thing is, I’m up front about my loyalties to Morganna. When a brother dies, you protect what’s theirs. Of course, the thoughts I have about Morg probably aren’t thoughts that are brotherly, or friendly, but honestly they were never pure.
“You were plenty. You were exactly what I wanted and what I needed. I was exactly what you wanted. We gave each other what the other wanted. When did that change for you? When did you want more than I can give?”
Sloane removes his mitts and starts cleaning the area, getting ready to close for the night.
“When did I want more than you wanted to give? Is that what you’re asking? Cause this surely isn’t about what you could give,” Cass retorts. Explaining doesn’t work. It only causes more questions. Possibly questions I don’t have answers to. “Tell the damn woman how you feel and finally become part of a functional relationship, Steve. For someone who claims to be so well-adjusted, you’re really screwed up.”
I pride myself on being one of the guys that don’t have any demons. My parents are still married, I was never forced into sexual slavery as a child, wasn’t kidnapped, whipped, sliced, or emotionally or mentally tortured…I’ve never used alcohol and drugs as a crutch. I grew up in the south where I played varsity sports and the whole town knew my name. There’s no skeletons in my closet. I am a well-adjusted asshole, thank you very much.
Eyes wide, I respond, “Well then, it’s been real, Cass. This is definitely goodbye. Thank you for everything. Despite your assumptions I did enjoy our time together.” Ignoring her jab at my non-relationships, I focus on what I want the outcome of this conversation to be. “I care for you. I always will. But I can’t give you anything else. I never could. I never wanted to.”
“Ouch. Way to let a girl down easy. Let me ask you one question.”
Standing, I walk toward the locker room—the lights in the warehouse turning off in large sections one block at a time. I put the phone on speaker and change clothes quickly.
“Shoot,” I say, knowing she’ll ask anyways.
Less tearful and more angrily she asks, “How long are you going to lie to yourself about the real reason you don’t let women in?” Now I’m getting pissed off, but as if on queue, my call waiting chimes. It’s Morganna.
“You’re confused, Cass. I think you mean the other way around…I’m in women all the time.” She silences and the phone line goes dead. Taking a deep breath, I tap the button to switch to Morganna’s call. My fucking head hurts.
“I thought you would be here when I got home!” she snaps out, her voice sharp with a hint of humor. No greeting——straight to business. Closing my eyes, I shake my head. Morg isn’t giving me mixed signals, per se…she’s doing the same thing she’s always done after Stone’s death. But now it feels different. Because my girlfriend is calling me out. And because maybe she was giving me mixed signals earlier.
Smiling, I tease, “Someone needs to sew you up? The axe murderer got you good?” I know exactly how screwed up it is. How I can be there for Morganna whenever she calls and yet I can’t offer a normal relationship to another very worthy woman? It may be fucked up, but nothing makes me feel this good. I don’t have to worry about feelings, or the future. We just are. We understand each other without trying.
Morganna laughs as a response, the musical sound quieting my rapid-fire thoughts. “I’m on my way now. Get sex details ready,” I order. Saying goodbye to Sloane and a few other guys, I exit the gym and find my truck. And then I drive as quickly as possible to the only place I want to be.
Morganna
Past
“You know I’m going to be the last person you date, right?” Stone asks. Actually he doesn’t ask—he tells me. I let him think I think he has the upper hand. We’re both bull noses—not opposites in the least. Surprisingly, it works for us. Polar opposites of a magnet, we repel each other with all of our might, but then with a flip we’re sealed perfectly together. Matched.
I scoff at his question. “That’s making a very large assumption, Mr. Sterns. I don’t think you’re taking all possible date factors into account. Some girls like romance,” I explain, gaze piercing his. He never breaks eye contact first.
He flashes a bright, white grin. A grin that always affects me.
“I mean, typically wining and dining are at the top of most girl’s lists. Perhaps even a walk on the beach. Not a teeth-gritting boat ride that makes me wonder if gravity is ever your friend. I’ll give it to you, I did see the beach from your boat tonight. You are awarded one romance point for that.” He took me on a romantic speedboat ride, the jutting waves cascading over my silk, Italian blouse anytime he hit the wake just so. In other words, every other wave.
Don’t get me wrong, being able to ride in a boat year round in San Diego is preferable to the cold, rainy east coast where I’ve spent the bulk of my years. This was the sole reason I packed my bags and moved here. San Diego was supposed to be a quick stay-cation for a year or two before I started dominating the world with my prestigious law degree. Now with Stone dominating my every thought, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to leave this Morganna-specific paradise. He kind of consumed me whole, right from the get-go. He knows what he wants, that’s for sure.
Stone has me wrapped in his massive arms on his patio sofa. It’s a beautiful night, like always. “Not yours,” he deadpans, his lips brushing my ear. “Those boring things aren’t on your radar. I know exactly what’s on your list. You aren’t the average woman.” He pulls me on his lap. Like a magnet being pulled, I go. Goosebumps rise at his mere touch on my arms, my neck—a reaction I’ve never had because of another person. Ever. Not even on Prom night when I finally let my long-term boyfriend talk me into, messy, condom-breaking, awkward sex.
Thomas Stone Sterns is like a chemical formulated to interact with my libido…a lo
ve catalyst. His brawny good looks aside, I think it was the way he always took control even though he knew I was fully capable of doing the same. We’ve been dating for six months and nothing has felt so right. It’s not work to keep our connection strong.
Although I was hesitant to start a relationship with someone in his profession, I couldn’t deny the blazing attraction that trails that type of personality. He’s type A to a fault. Stone is always fixing something or making something better. Dominating a new hobby or helping me find ways to streamline my own organizational skills and time management. My compulsive tendencies are only a tip of the iceberg in comparison to Stone’s. I think it’s what makes SEALs such anomalies.
He learns more quickly than anyone, listens like no other, and takes all matters, big or small into his own hands. You will never see him point a blaming finger at anyone. Stone is the first person to lend his free time, even though it’s sparse and rare. He is a man who loves with his entire being and completes tasks with his full attention. The love Stone has for his best friend, Maverick, is a love second to no other. It’s like they’re brothers except the bond is different. It’s stronger. They are one person—one soul—a fact that automatically draws me to Maverick as someone who can be trusted and respected. Those are qualities that most people in my life aren’t granted. I’ve seen too much bad. I’m jaded. I guess in that respect I have come to an understanding with Stone. He’s seen horrific things and dealt with monstrous people, and yet he always chooses the high road. I have nothing but admiration for him. The reasons behind his decisions are always honorable and his intentions pure.
I knew from our very first date, when Stone challenged me to a game of cutthroat paintball, that our relationship would be one that I wouldn’t let go of easily, if at all. I sigh, remembering the red paintball welts that littered my entire body after that date. A few days later when they morphed into purple and blue bruises, I let him kiss every single spot he pelted. On his insistence, obviously, and also because I was wearing a bikini and the spots were glaring. Erotic connection without sex is the only way to describe it. I wanted him right there on the pool patio, lips glued to me like they were supposed to be there. Basically a stranger, our connection was fierce and undeniable.
Set In Stone Page 3
