Set In Stone

by Rachel Robinson

  A cacophony of very male laughter surrounds me. “Rude? We’re being rude? Coming from the prick with three girlfriends and a best friend that you’re in love with. Tell me something, man. Do you think of Morg when you fuck your girlfriends? Or is that too rude? Or is it rude because you want to be the one screwing her? Define rude, man. I need to hear this,” Maverick says, through gasping breaths of hysterics. I fold my arms across my chest to the best of my ability. My biceps like to cock block the arms folded position. Assholes. Maverick throttles and the boat breaks on wake, causing me to lose my balance. More laughter.

  “I have girlfriends to pass the time,” I say looking directly at Cody. He glances away, not wanting any part of this argument. I’d win it without even trying. “I think about fucking when I’m fucking. What am I supposed to think about? It’s rude to talk about her that way because her husband is dead and he’d be the one fucking her right now if he wasn’t. That’s why it’s rude, Maverick.” I probably just crossed the line, but I’m seeing red. I’m so angry at what Maverick is making me feel that I’ll edge my toes closer to that invisible line. I take a seat so he can’t throw me again.

  He shrugs, tilting his head to the side. “You’re supposed to think about how in love you are when you’re fucking the right woman,” Maverick says. “And sometimes about tits, pussy, and ass. But always how much more amazing they are because of who they belong to. It’s not rude, Steve. It’s rude to make her fuck guitar man. Alpha up, you pussy. You’ve known her longer than anyone. If anyone knows what you need to do to seal that deal, it’s you.”

  “She doesn’t want me or anyone else that resembles him.”

  Mav shakes his head. “She is avoiding you because of that reason. She wants it. Oh, she wants it. And that’s the angle you need play. You have the ability to fulfill everything that woman wants and needs. Let her know that. Because the dude she’s dating is a decoy to bolster her self esteem.” He’s right. Maverick just had the balls to say what I’ve never said out loud.

  “Have you told her that?” I ask, morbidly curious.

  “No, but Windsor has. She’ll bite, Steve. She’ll bite. You just have to cast it close enough to make it seem like an easy catch.”

  “I’m already her best friend. How can I make it any easier?” He’s insane. But I’m even more curious. What exactly did Morganna tell Windsor? Why didn’t Maverick tell me sooner?

  “Drop the friend part and it’s in the bag.”

  I always want to be her friend first. She’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted to be friends with. “And my other…friends?” I ask, referring to my girlfriends. It sounds bad when I talk about it, but they are well versed on what’s to expect. Except when they’re not…and then infrequent Cass scenarios pop up. I interrupt before he can respond. “I broke up with Cass. It’s just Chloe, and Sasha when she’s in town. Do I go all Catholic Pope and break up with them too?”

  “Get rid of Chloe? You’re fucking insane, Steve,” Cody chimes in. I shake my head. Chloe is hot. She’s the fake variety of hot. Rocking body, bottle blonde hair, and makeup so thick that it’s always smudged on my pillows and only comes out with bleach. Cass always hated that. Don’t get me wrong, Chloe is an intelligent woman, but I have no interest in that part of her body.

  “You want her Cody? She does this thing with her tongue,” I say sticking out my tongue and rolling it slowly. “She’s wife material and definitely a frog hog.” Or a woman who chases after SEALs as sport. “I can put in a good word,” I joke. Panic sets in at the thought of having no one, but I can’t let them know. “She dated Dex before me. She’ll stick around while we’re away for deployments and trips and shit.”

  Cody crushes his beer can and grabs another. “I don’t need your help finding women. I don’t want to be your Eskimo brother,” he retorts. Liar. “If you’re serious about creating something worth a damn with Morganna, you do need to break up with your female friends. All of them. No back-up plans,” Cody says.

  I switch on the stereo system and turn the country music up to a volume that makes conversation impossible. My women aren’t that much work to begin with, but it would free up even more time if I didn’t have to remember to call, or see them, or have sex with them. Shit. Celibacy doesn’t sound appealing no matter what’s going on. I glance at Cody. It probably appeals to him.

  The boat slows and the guitar-twanging, warbling crooner lowers in response. “I hate to break up this sincere convo, but Morg and company. Three o’clock. We’re coming in hot.” Mav chuckles.

  I haven’t officially met Alex yet. That’s not what is making my heart pound in my fucking chest though; it’s the thought of Morganna in a bikini. I prepare myself mentally, because if I don’t I’ll regret it, and subtly peer over my shoulder. Black. Her bikini is formed of two tiny triangles and a black almost-thong. I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing this particular swimsuit. She must have bought it specifically for this date.

  “Fuck,” I whisper under my breath. I look at Maverick, who currently looks like the cat who ate the canary. “Slow down, Maverick.” He tosses a big arm in the air and waves like a buffoon. Cody stands and makes his way next to Maverick, and I’m left with no choice but to turn around and face their direction.

  Waving, not like a lunatic, I smile at Morganna. I see her shake her head, but her smirk pulls to one corner just like it always does when she sees me. Alex jauntily swings around the ropes of the sailboat and lands next to her in one fluid motion. Mav motors the boat perfectly to rest next to their anchored boat.

  I study the guy Morg finds so appealing and come to one conclusion: Average. Nothing stands out about him. Alex could be any guy walking down the street. Plain. Ordinary. With a lean build and hair that reaches his collarbone, he looks like any other struggling musician in the world.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised. Phillipe told you I was here?” Morganna asks loudly, talking over my engines. Mav kills the engine. “Hey guys,” she says, no trace of her country accent.

  I cock my head to the side. “I don’t need Phillipe to get the information I want, Morg. We just happened to be cruising around today. It’s beautiful outside.” I gesture to the sunny blue sky. “Are you going to introduce us to your little friend.” She reaches up and pulls her long black hair into a ponytail, annoyed with my choice of adjective, I’m sure.

  “Alex these are the guys…my friends, Maverick, Cody, and Steven.” She nods to each of us as she says our names. Another thing I notice about Alex: he doesn’t balk at our appearance. He’s either been warned about Morganna’s friends or he’s stupid. Generally speaking, the tattoos and sheer body mass garner at least a slight eyebrow rise from the unknowing. They don’t call us America’s elite for nothing.

  The guys grunt typical pleasantries and Alex shifts from one foot to the other. “It’s very nice to meet you. All of you,” he says, gaze connecting with mine. “Morganna has told me so much about you.” The fact that she’s been talking about me to him pisses me off.

  “Only good things, I’m sure,” I growl, my gaze darting directly to Morganna. Her eyes shift to the side. Alex wraps a scrawny arm around her waist and my annoyance morphs into rage. Maverick stands beside me and claps a hand on my shoulder. If my gaze held fire, I’d be burning a hole through his hand on her tan, glistening waist. Actually I’d burn him entirely to the ground, singe the infidel into ashes.

  “I’m a gentleman, fellas. I’d never betray Morganna’s confidence. Good or bad,” Alex the STD responds. I take in a deep breath. Cody chuckles. I hear him pop open another beer. Readying himself for the shit show, I’m sure.

  I crack my knuckles beside me. “What is it you do, Alex? Other than whatever she tells you?” My eyes squint and hone in on the tiny movement of his hand. He’s finally uncomfortable. Morganna, sensing hostility, shrugs out of his grasp. Alex clears his throat and averts his eyes.

  “Classy, Steven,” Morganna sneers. “Is there anything else you need? I’m obviously alive and w
ell. Tell Windsor I said hello.” She thinks I’m here to make sure she’s okay. She has no idea that seeing her with him is making me delusional with jealousy. Maverick smiles and starts talking to her about Windsor and the kids and, for the moment, I’m relieved I don’t have to pretend.

  Taking a deep breath, I turn around and grab a beer and gulp down several large swallows. I don’t want a clear head right now. I’d rather drink until I forget exactly what’s happening. Cody glances at me in between screwing around on his iPhone. I remember what he said about dropping the friends. Maybe I can’t be her best friend anymore. When I turn around it’s obvious she’s been staring at my back. She’s always staring at me, my body, my face. Point for the home team. I smile, not letting it reach my eyes. I notice Alex has taken to fiddling with the sails starboard while making himself scarce. Perfect.

  Not friends, I remind myself. “You look stunning today, M. That bathing suit is singeing the state,” I rasp, in the most non-friends way possible. Her eyes widen. I’ve taken her off guard. I add, “I’ve missed you.” Her thick lips part. Her body language is still of a confident, fearless woman, but the tiny tells on her face are more than enough information for me.

  She clears her throat. “Thank you for that highly inappropriate compliment. It’s actually an old bathing suit. I pulled it out of retirement. I’m pretty sure it’s not what’s singeing the state right now.” Bam. The Morganna shark is back. I laugh, my head tilted toward the sky. I lick my lips and watch her gaze flick down to my mouth. The tension is palpable, and for once I’m glad that we’re not by ourselves. I need everyone to realize this chemistry isn’t one sided. I want the world to see it—be envious of it. Alex might realize he will never put this look in her eye. Never. I’m sure of it. I hear Maverick and Cody talking behind me, the radio on. I’m confident no one can hear me except for Morg.

  I jerk my chin toward her. “You singe more than states,” I respond, reaching down to readjust my dick. Her eyes dart down, and her shrewd gaze slowly wanders back up to mine. My implied meaning is crystal fucking clear. “But you already know that.” She clears her throat, visibly affected by my words.

  “Morganna, you ready to head out for a little sail? We don’t have much time before you need to get back,” Alex prompts, breaking her train of thought. I point the nastiest glare possible his direction, then return my gaze to her.

  Morganna lays her small hand, nails red, on the center of her chest. “ Of course. Of course. We must stay on schedule.” Her voice is breathy. I wonder if I just sparked something inside her. Something with benefits that I won’t reap. Fuck. I need to play it cool.

  I also need to let him know I am a permanent fixture in her life. “I’ll see you later, then?” I ask her, winking. She shakes her head, but that fierce look in her eyes is still there. She means yes. I don’t think I can make my not friends agenda any clearer.

  “I’ll see you later, guys,” she says, waving to us as Alex pushes his boat away from ours—like it’s some sort of disease. Doesn’t he know that he’s the sexually transmitted disease?

  “Oh, and Morg,” I yell. “I’m pure fucking class, darlin’.” After a sly wink I shout to Alex, “Two words. One finger.” Happy sailing, non-friends.

  Morganna

  “A hurricane? You can’t be serious? Did we move to Florida without my knowledge?” I’ve been in my home office all day on the phone or doling out correspondence through e-mails. I’m insanely out of the loop in the real world. The weather is the very last thing on my radar—literally. Phillipe steps into my office, my salad in his hand. “When is it supposed to hit? Does the generator still work? I need to be able to work through the wind...or whatever it is that happens during these rare occurrences. I have a million things to do before my meetings next week.”

  “As far as I know, it works. I’m not really skilled in machinery. Or better yet that type of machinery,” Phillipe says, handing me a note pad with all of my messages he’s taken while I’ve been ensconced in heaps of work. “You should call Steven back. Or phone Maverick. Or ask any of the other manly men in your life about the generator.”

  I glare at him over the edge of my laptop. “I can’t decide if you’re being cute or not.”

  Phillipe smiles, slides the notepad closer, and shrugs. “It’s one of my gifts. Skills, if you will.” Backing out of my home office, he asks, “Shall I stay over tonight, or will you have company?”

  I shake my head. I know he’s counting down until I have Alex stay the night. Or sleep with him. I haven’t taken the next step with Alex…even if I’ve wanted to something fierce. It’s just not right—yet. Maybe it won’t ever be right, but in the meantime he is a nice distraction from my other, more sinister desires. One glance at the notepad and there it is. Seven calls today. Nine calls yesterday. Steven.

  I stand, cell phone clutched in one hand, and walk to the solitary window in my office. I find it easier to work when it’s dark. The light just distracts me. Steven. The self-assured way he told me exactly how he desired me while I was on a date with another man got under my skin. So much so that I’ve avoided him altogether. By doing this I know I’m showing my hand. He knows I want him. I know he wants me. God knows how horrendous a decision that would be. For me. For him. For Stone. Tears prick my eyes, so I glance at the ceiling.

  “I don’t have plans with Alex tonight. He’s busy. With the storm coming I’m sure he doesn’t want to camp out with me on the water anyways. I’ll call…” I stutter, unsure whose name I want to say. Steven. “Cody,” I finish. “He’s the one who has the handle on electronics and the like. Can you get him on the phone for me?”

  Phillipe sways out the door and disappears, but I hear him agreeing, muttering, judging under his breath as he goes. If he weren’t the best assistant on the planet, and my friend, I’d tear into him five ways to Sunday. Instead I holler a very un-ladylike curse and return to my notepad. I scan until I get to his messages.

  Steven: 7 a.m. “Hey, you didn’t just meet me. Call me maybe?”

  9:30 a.m. “I wanna (he asked that I spell it this way) lick you all over. But I really want to talk to you first. Call a man back, Morgaliscious. Are you too busy with your STD?”

  What the hell? An STD? He’s trying to enrage me to get a call back. I know his game. And the “lick you” song is there to grab my attention. I imagine Phillipe taking down these notes and smile. He gets enough punishment on a daily basis, I think.

  12:00 p.m. “Morg. Call me back. A hurricane is headed our way and I know you’ll want electricity for all of your electronic devices. Bam! You have to call me back now.”

  Shows how intelligent he is. I dial Cody. He doesn’t answer, as I suspect he wouldn’t as it’s late afternoon. I leave a brief message. Most of the guys work into the evening during this cycle in training. They’re getting ready for a deployment, so when they are around, they train hard; each SEAL developing and perfecting the skills that make the Navy SEALs second to none. Nowhere else on the planet can you find men with this particular skill set.

  When I remember this, my attraction and draw toward this type of man makes perfect sense. I guess what I’m trying to do with my new dating life is retrain my brain. I’ve done many things with more complexity. When Alex and Steven were together that day on the water…there was no competition. Steven knows exactly how to push my buttons. Good and bad. He’s known me longer. He makes my heart pound like only one other person ever has. Is it because he reminds me of Stone? Or is it real? I’m not quite ready to analyze the latter. Nor is my heart.

  2:15 p.m. “Dance with me?”

  Smiling, I wonder if he ever works.

  The wind whips palm branches into the glass pane of my window, causing a creepy scratching noise. I glance out just in time to see a white, late model sedan pull away from the curb and vanish from view. I squint my eyes as I try to remember why that particular car seems familiar. My daddy always told me to be aware of my surroundings. I try. I do. But I’m usually t
oo wrapped up in my own head or working to really give my full attention to any one thing...especially if it’s not a case.

  When I was in college, I was the girl who never noticed attention—from girls and boys alike. Number one, it was usually unwanted leering by frat guys with beer breath. Number two, most of my life is spent making decisions and introverted observations about the world around me and how those observations affect me. I saw a therapist after Stone died. It was so sudden, and the change so great, that I needed help overcoming such an event. She told me that number two is why I’m successful, so I don’t dwell on it so much anymore. It’s not conceit if I’m using the information gathered to make myself a better person. Right now, I’m making myself a sleuthing type of person because I know that white car was parked close to me at the grocery store, and then again behind me at a red light a few days ago. There aren’t too many sedans that old and beat up on the road these days. What to do with this information?

  Keep it to myself. If I told Steven, he’d live at my house until he was sure the white car creeper wasn’t a threat to my well-being. That’s the very last thing my twisted mind needs right now. There isn’t such a thing as being too paranoid in Virginia Beach. Spies are everywhere. I rub my arms when goose bumps prick my skin. I throw on the gray cashmere sweater and eat lunch. On the notepad next to Steven’s insane notes I write, BOLO: Old white car. Nissan? Four doors.

  Daddy didn’t raise a fool. Nor did he raise a helpless damsel. I know one thing that I can call Steven for. It won’t threaten my waning self-control either. I find his name, turn on my blue tooth, and hit “call”. He picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey. I was starting to think you were avoiding me,” he says. I hear the smile through the phone. “I’m just finishing up a work out. I had my phone in the ring in case you decided to grace me with your voice.”