Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  I frowned and pointed at myself. “Me? Really?”

  He crossed his fingers over his very flat belly as if settling in. He didn’t answer my question but posed another one of his own. “If that guy doesn’t do it for you, what are you looking for?”

  He’d said he wasn’t trying to pick me up, so he wasn’t really interested in me. Perhaps for conversation, but that was it. My awakened libido would just have to go dormant once again. Perhaps this knowledge had me relaxing, for I could talk with a man, but I couldn’t talk with a man. A man who might actually be interested in me. I just had to think of Gray as Paul’s trainer and forget he made my panties damp and my heart thrum and my cheeks flush. And think twice about cowboys in the future.

  “You’re speaking of appearance only?” I asked.

  He considered. “Sure. We can start with that. You can’t use your husband or boyfriend’s description though.”

  I wasn’t out of the game that much to know he was fishing.

  “I’m divorced,” I told him, making it clear, perhaps more to myself than Gray that Jack was long, long gone. I had every right to sit here with a hot guy and talk.

  Gray knew he was caught and grinned sheepishly, little crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. How could he look so forbidding and dangerous but be so… damn cute at the same time? “Good to know.”

  I just looked at him, arched a brow.

  “Oh, you’re waiting for me.” He pointed at himself, putting the fingers of his left hand on his chest, so I could see he wore no ring. “Single, never married.”

  I nodded, reassured I wasn’t poaching on some woman’s territory. Not that I was doing any kind of poaching. I was having a conversation. That was all. I doubted he was going to grab me and press me up against the restaurant's wall for wild monkey sex.

  “Well?” He stretched his legs out in front of him as if he had all the time in the world. His doing this allowed me to notice how his jeans stretched taut over very muscular thighs. It was possible I could see an outline of his… oh crap.

  Realizing I was ogling there, I looked up, his dark eyes held mine then roved over my face. Self-consciously, I smoothed down imaginary wrinkles in my yellow dress once again. I felt my cheeks heat. I hadn't checked out a guy's package in… well, forever.

  “What am I looking for in a guy?” I repeated, trying to get my mind back on the conversation and out of the gutter. A personal trainer who dressed like a cowboy. You. I could totally be into you. Gray pushed every one of my hot buttons, but no way was I telling him that, for it would be mortifying to have it be officially one sided when he laughed at me and walked away.

  “Yes.”

  I gave a little shrug of indifference, my long hair shifting. I’d put clips in to hold it back from my face, but since my hair had never done anything I’d wanted of it my entire life, the soft waves were falling loose. “That’s easy. I’m not looking.”

  It was the truth. I had no interest in finding a man. After Jack left town with his paralegal four years earlier, I’d been in single-mom mode. He’d not only divorced me but pretty much ditched his then-fourteen-year-old son as well. Dealing with Chris and his anger toward his father, high school, moving back in with my parents, college applications, life, work, I hadn’t lifted my head up to get some air let alone look around. Now, with Chris away for his first year of college, I had more time on my hands than I knew what to do with. I was, for the first time since I was nineteen, on my own. I was an empty nester, and that term meant old. Early bird specials and discount admission.

  “Really?” He crossed his ankles. “I think you’re the only woman in the restaurant not on the prowl.”

  “And Christy,” I added. My friend had prowled enough and found her man. “What about you?”

  “I look,” he admitted. “I saw you, didn’t I?”

  “You rescued me,” I countered. There was a big difference. Paul asked him to save me. He hadn’t sought me out on his own. Still, I could feel my cheeks flush, and I glanced away, uncomfortable with his words.

  “I’m not looking either, but I’m not not looking as well.”

  I paused, thought about that. “Surprisingly, I follow you.”

  “Don’t you want your drink? It’s still pretty hot out.”

  I glanced at the glass, the condensation beading and sliding down the sides. The air was still quite warm, even though it was well after eight. It was the throes of Indian summer, for the sharp bite of fall was usually in the air right about now.

  “I don’t drink from glasses given to me by strangers.”

  Oh my God. Had I said that out loud? I pinched my lips together, afraid something else horribly bad would pop out. I was a complete and total dumb-ass. I’d just baldly accused Gray, who’d only been nice to me, of drugging my drink with a date rape drug.

  Christy was right. I had zero skills in interacting with guys—I talked oysters with Bob/Bill, so maybe I was the dud not him—but too much experience with my job had made me jaded. I’d seen too much of the real world pass through the ER to make me wary, even in a small city like Brant Valley. It was a university town. Lots of twenty-somethings doing stupid things. Domestic violence. Car accidents. Drugs. Bad stuff happened everywhere. Besides, some people weren't nice. In fact, lots were downright cruel. I saw lives destroyed on a daily basis.

  It had been almost twenty years since I’d dated. Hell, Jack and I had barely dated. We went from doing the whole college meet and hook-up thing to being surprise parents all in one year.

  Regardless of my personal failings, I didn’t need to insult Gray, to think he’d do something awful just because it happened. I was such an idiot!

  “Oh shit,” I whispered. I shifted in my chair to face away from him. Tears burned the back of my eyes as the extent of my words sank in. He’d probably roll his eyes at how weird I was, consider me a psycho chick and leave. He could find a woman who offered a large amount of cleavage and a mile of exposed thigh who could have a normal conversation and wouldn’t think twice about accepting a drink from him.

  “Hey. Hey, now,” Gray murmured, his tone almost soothing. “A beautiful woman like you is smart to have that rule.” I felt his fingers on my back, a gentle touch, and I startled.

  I covered my face with my hand, willing him to go away. “I’m a little embarrassed over here,” I muttered. “I think my foot's still stuck in my mouth.”

  A group of men, talking loud enough to indicate they’d had plenty to drink, came around the corner. I turned my head away even more, hoping none of them would notice me.

  I heard Gray’s chair scrape on the concrete floor. “Hey, guys, find somewhere else to hang,” he said as he stood in front of me, his voice calm yet powerful. The men’s voices ceased immediately, and I had to turn and see what was going on. Gray stood and faced the group, hands on hips, shielding me from them. I couldn’t see his face, but the men didn’t argue, only stared at him for a moment and retreated with a, “Sure, dude. It's cool.”

  I was able to take a brief moment and glance at Gray's butt, his broad shoulders, his entire back half I hadn’t been able to observe before. It was just as fine as his front.

  Gray turned, glanced down at me, then pulled the chair back into place, although this time when he sat, he was several inches closer.

  “Emory.” His voice made my name sound silky smooth.

  I met his eyes. His head was cocked slightly to the side as if he were trying to read me. His dark eyes looked concerned yet didn’t lack in intensity.

  “I’m sorry,” I admitted quickly, licking my lips which had suddenly become dry. “I'm such an idiot. I told you I don’t know how to do this.” My words were thick with emotion and extreme mortification.

  “You were doing just fine.” He picked up the glass of water, took a big sip to prove he had no devious plans, then offered it to me. “Take the glass, Emory. It’s safe. I’m safe. I would never hurt you. I promise. But don't just take my word for it, ask Paul. Text him.”<
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  “He gave me the thumbs-up sign, so I have to assume you’re not a dangerous criminal,” I replied.

  “Dangerous, maybe, but not to you. Never with you. Text him later then, after the party. I want you to, so you aren’t afraid of me.”

  Somehow, I knew he wasn’t as dangerous as he looked—tattoos, close cropped hair, scars. I was just naturally and ridiculously wary. If I were ever going to come out of my shell as Christy consistently prodded me about, I needed to start now. Gray wasn’t looking for something. Someone. He’d said as much. I’d seen him being friendly with Paul. He was just being friendly with me. I reached out and took the glass, our fingers brushing. The spark I felt at the slight touch had my eyes darting up to see if he felt it, too. For a brief moment, we both held the glass, the world around me focused solely on the smallest of connection.

  “I’m not scared of you,” I told him, just before taking a sip of the cold water.

  He cocked his brow and looked at me skeptically.

  “Really, I’m not. Not scared, but you make me… nervous.” My fingers fidgeted, and I held my hand up to show him. “See?”

  His look changed to one of surprise. “Nervous? Of me? Is it my boy-next-door good looks?” He knew he was intimidating and was mocking himself.

  “Nervous enough to accuse you of Rufi-ing my drink.”

  His broad smile had me smiling, too. How did he put me at ease when I should instead feel ridiculously embarrassed? “Can I have a chance to start over like you did?”

  He nodded and crossed his blunt fingers over his chest. “Seems fair. We both get a redo.”

  I took a deep breath, looked him straight in the eye and smiled. “Thank you, Gray, for the water.” I took a cold and refreshing sip. Stalled. He watched as I swallowed.

  He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

  “How did you know I wasn’t drinking? Liquor, I mean.”

  “The first time I saw you—I got here late because of a meeting—you were talking with the bartender. Pretty as a picture and making the guy smile. He nodded at something you said and made you a gin and tonic look-alike.”

  That had been ten minutes or more before he came over and rescued me. Gray had been watching me longer than I’d thought. How had I missed seeing him earlier? He was impossible to miss; I responded to him in a way I'd never experienced before. It was almost visceral. Because of this... attraction, I didn’t know how to feel about that. Flattered?

  “I had a glass of wine when I arrived, and I have to drive home,” I explained. “I’m somewhat of a lightweight, so I didn’t need any more. If I hold a glass of water, that really looks like just water, people ask me if I’m an alcoholic or they look at my stomach and wonder if I’m pregnant.”

  His jaw clenched. “I stopped drinking when I was in training and never took it back up, but I don’t have people questioning me like that. Shitty double standard.”

  I shrugged because there was nothing to add. It was a shitty double standard, but I was pleased to see he wasn’t happy about it. “Besides, if I drink too much at night, it’s hard to work out first thing in the morning.”

  “You run?”

  I rolled my eyes at the idea of running. As if. “Only if being chased.”

  His eyes narrowed at the dark humor, clearly not amused. “The idea of you being followed is not funny.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” I said, chagrined. Wow, he was protective, too. “No. I practice yoga.”

  Interest lit his face. “Yoga? Really?”

  I was waiting for him to say something about how flexible I was, but he didn’t.

  “Yin? Vinyasa? Hot yoga?” he asked.

  My mouth fell open, a little stunned he knew the various types. “You do yoga?”

  He laughed. “I can’t even touch my toes, but we have classes at my gym. You’re a morning person then.”

  “I like to see the sun rise.” The way the sky turned from black to gray to pink and then blue, how the top of the mountains caught the first rays. The way the city was still asleep.

  “I can understand that. I run at six almost every morning. I like the quiet.” Was that why he drove those guys off—because they were too loud? Could this guy be an introvert like me?

  Something settled inside me. He knew. He liked the quiet.

  “You… you do understand then,” I replied, my voice soft. I was pleased, thrilled even and a little spurt of pleasure coursed through me.

  The corner of his mouth turned up, but he didn’t say anything, only kept looking at me. Now, when his eyes held mine, I wasn’t nervous, I was… intrigued.

  “I play flag football on Sundays through a rec league, just for fun. It’s not overly competitive, especially since there are a bunch of us older guys out there.”

  Older guys? He couldn’t be much older than me. Maybe forty or so. I doubted he had trouble keeping up with anyone younger, especially if he was a trainer. He looked more than fit to hold his own at whatever he wanted to accomplish. I just didn’t expect a cowboy to play flag football. But that was pretty judgmental, especially when I hated it when people made snap decisions about me. Like Bob/Bill and me being a candy striper.

  “The game is at eleven,” he continued. “I’d like it if you came.”

  My mouth fell open, and I didn’t know what to say. He was asking me out? He held up a hand. “Don’t panic—it’s not a date.”

  My heart fluttered at the invitation nonetheless. I arched a brow. “Really? Is this how you ask all the girls out?”

  “Girls? Like the ones inside?”

  I could only nod.

  He leaned forward, eyed me closely. “I want you… to come to my game. Not as a date because I imagine if I asked you out right now, you might bolt. As I said, I don’t want you scared of me.”

  When I opened my mouth once again to speak, he put a finger over my lips. The touch was warm and gentle, and I could do nothing more than feel the tingle of it all the way to my toes… and other places.

  “Or nervous. Trust me, Emory, when I ask you out, you’ll know.”

  He said when, not if.

  “I just want to see you again.” He lowered his hand.

  “I thought you weren't trying to pick me up,” I argued.

  “This—” He waggled a finger between us. “—is different. This isn't a pick up. Those girls, those are pick-ups. You…” He let the rest of the sentence drop. While I was still processing as to why, he continued. “Don’t think of it as a date but as coincidence, both of us being at Antelope Park at the same time.”

  I eyed him, doubting his sincerity. “You really—”

  He cut me off with one simple word. “Yes.”

  Those butterflies, bees, no, hornets were back in my stomach. He wanted me to show up—otherwise, he wouldn’t have offered. He was leaving the decision to do so completely up to me, clearly aware of how nervous I was. Once again, he was setting me at ease in the hopes I’d show up. I had until Sunday morning to decide what I wanted to do. From the ridiculously brief time he knew me, he’d learned I had to make a weighted, safe choice.

  While we’d been talking, the sun had set completely. Besides little white lights strung along the railing, we were illuminated from the bar. Gray’s face was in harsh contrast, his gaze darker and more intent. He looked like a guy you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, but I felt… safe with him. I hadn’t had to pretend or fake a conversation, it just happened, even sticking my foot in my mouth. He’d set me at ease, and it turned out we had a lot in common. I also found him hot as hell.

  “No need to be nervous then,” I replied, poking fun at myself.

  “Nope.” He smiled warmly, easily.

  His gaze dipped to my mouth, and I had to wonder if he wanted to kiss me. I kind of wanted to kiss him, too. My heart raced at the idea. I hadn't had any interest in kissing a guy in a long time, and I had to admit it was a little scary. Fast and scary. Not Gray himself. He seemed patient and comfortable. I didn't dare tell him that.
No guy wanted to be thought of as comfortable.

  “I… I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Gray, but yoga’s at six.”

  I stood although the legs of my chair didn’t scrape against the concrete. He stood as well, and I had to tilt my head back to look at him.

  “I don’t want you walking to your car by yourself, so let me escort you.”

  “Thank you. I would take you up on the offer, truly, but I valeted it.”

  Working in the ER gave me a front row seat to all of the bad stuff that happened in Brant Valley.

  He laughed easily. “Of course, you did.”

  I looked up at him through my lashes and realized he wasn’t poking fun, but he was definitely amused by me.

  “Good night,” I murmured, walking past him.

  His hand on my bare arm had me pausing, my breath catching. The touch was gentle, his skin warm and rough with callouses, yet it was like a shock to the system. “I hope to see you on Sunday, Emory.”

  His voice was quiet, almost intimate.

  I gave a little nod but didn’t look up at him, my skin where he touched tingled all the way to my car.

  Chapter 3

  GRAY

  I fucked up. That’s all I could think about as I pushed hard through a five-mile run and began my usual thirty-minute stint with a jump rope. Click. Click. Click. The sound of the plastic striking the gym mat was almost lulling, and I fell into my groove, my muscles warm from the run.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  Click. Click. Click.

  There were a few early-morning guys getting their workout in, but it was Saturday, so most of us were here to get in and get out and not interested in talking. This suited me fine. My first client was at ten, but right now, I just went through the paces. Besides, the guys knew I was always there for them—it was my gym after all—but a guy’s workout time was sacrosanct, and everyone knew not to fuck with me during mine.

  The cleaning crew had come through overnight, and the strong scent of pine cleaner and bleach lingered. The speakers pumped out a techno beat. I hated lyrics blasting while I worked out, the voices distracting me, so I kept a playlist where the steady rhythm helped keep the mood amped. As owner, I ran the gym my way. Since my name in the industry preceded me, no one was going to question me or how I did things. And if they did, well, they could go somewhere else.