Page 11 of Crazy Good
“What exactly is a Nashhole?” I forget normal people don’t know what a Nashhole is.
“Sorry, yeah. That’s my ex-fiancé’s name. Not really. It’s John Nash, but Nashhole fits him a little better,” I confess. His eyebrows scrunch together, and I regret saying his full name. “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. We’re both starting over tonight. I’ll pretend you didn’t say crude things at the bar…among other things, and you’ll forget I’ve lost the ability to love anything except numbers and my routine.” Another rumble of laughter buzzes around me, consuming the entire car. His voice…his laugh is like a stick of dynamite to my willpower.
We pull into valet parking and he finally grabs his over-worked cell, but he doesn’t look at it. He slips it into his pocket instead. I shouldn’t give a shit, but I want to see his face when he sees the text. I’m sure it’s one of his manycallgirls. The specific, non-enviable term isfrog hog. Women that only have sex with SEALs.
“I can agree with that. Wait here,” he says getting out of the car. I see him take a huge breath as he slams the door and approaches the teenager eye fucking the Chevelle. The boy has his hand out waiting for the keys. I don’t even think he’s seen the Maverick wall yet. A quick exchange that leaves the teen completely somber finishes, and Maverick opens my door and offers his huge hand.
I’m impressed with his manners. Not that I was expecting him to club me over the head and drag me into his cave, but it’s almost like he has a refined touch that I never expected to find in a man…a SEAL, like him. He doesn’t let go of my hand as we walk in, or when we take a seat at a small candlelit table. I narrow my eyes and peek at him sideways as we settle in. I see his jaw work as he surveys the restaurant around us. His eyes dart around, but when his gaze lands on mine, he smiles.
“The room has been mentally cleared?” I joke. I’ve seen all the movies about SEALs. Living in Virginia Beach, I’m surrounded by the allure of it. I’ve picked up some of the terminology…and I might have Google searched just because I was curious. It garners a small smile. No more SEAL terms. Check.
“Tell me about yourself. Tell me something no one else knows,” he says. Wow. Cutting to the damn chase, was he? I shouldn’t balk, I wanted this—his interest in me…with clothes on, but I’m not prepared.
His lips are pursed completely. It’s like he has major issues even asking me personal details. It’s not his regular M.O., I realize. “There isn’t much that everyone doesn’t know about me. It’s sort of obvious…you know, you probably already know the worst,” I pause. “I’ll tell you some important things though.”
He glances over my shoulder. “Perfect. Let’s hear it.”
“I come from a small town in Georgia. Which is where I met Morganna in college. I like dolphins and the beach, which is why I moved to Virginia Beach. I prefer animals to people, because you can always trust them without question. I go to the animal shelter at least once a month and can’t take home a puppy because the uncalculated risks are way too high,” I ramble, taking a sip of my wine that just arrived. “Running is my favorite form of exercise, and I hate gyms and gym rats with a passion. Everything outdoors is my jam. I’m probably the only person that has a classic rock station and a 90’s one hit wonders station on my Pandora. Gretchen is probably banging Benji reverse cowgirl on my bed as we speak,” I admit, take a deep breath, and continue, “I believe in romance and one true loves despite everything I’ve been through.”
Maverick wears a huge goofy grin when I finally look his direction. I had to avert my gaze to be able to admit these things.
Time passes as we chat about everything I just rambled on about. He seems interested in every aspect of my life, like a detective trying to gain as many details about it as he can. When it gets to the awkward level, I switch the focus off myself…or try.
“Now, you tell me about you,” I demand, looking him straight in the eye.
He rubs his hands together, and the image is so youthful that it actually takes me back a little. “Not yet. Speed round. I ask a question and you give me a one word answer,” he growls. With his playful eyes and dimples wreaking havoc on my entire body, there is no way I’ll say no.
“Go,” I say, smiling.
“First thought that came to mind when you saw me at the bar.” I can’t control my mouth. It pops open in surprise and I start to stutter, but he silences me with a swift shake of his head.
“One word, Windsor,” he says, leaning toward me. His delicious smelling cologne trickles into my senses.
“Trouble.”
He pauses, but his poker face is tight, unreadable. “Second thought after that one.”
I want to say “bad news” in one word.
“Stop thinking so much. One word. It’s easy,” he says.
“Predator,” I whisper. I know he hears me because that wild smile licks up and I automatically retreat into myself a little. He looks exactly like a predator should look. It should warn me off or send me running with my tail between my legs, but it doesn’t.
“Third thing.” He’s fishing. The almighty Maverick Hart is fishing for something. I grin a little.
“Hot,” I admit, trying to keep the blush from my face. I already know what I’m going to say if he asks for a fourth. “But that doesn’t negate predator. That came before.”
“Way more than one word,” he says. “Number three is always number one. You lied.” I fold my arms across my chest.
“How do you know that?”
“I have my ways. You’ll just have to trust me.” It’s something in the way he says it, but I do.
“You’re wrong. I mean yes, I did lie. Number three wasn’t the first thing I thought when I saw you,” I tell him. I take a deep breath and get ready to shock the hell out of him. He folds his hands on the table in front of him and waits expectantly. Our food came during one of the lulls, so I shove some vegetables around my plate.
“Go ahead. First word you thought when you saw me.”
I meet his hazel eyes full on and say, “Wet.”
