She’d written me back, and I wasn't going to deny I liked the little rush that gave me.
Trying to finally touch your toes?
I couldn’t help the shit eating grin on my face. She hadn’t sent anything else, not that I expected it since she was working. I could only imagine the stuff she dealt with, the horrors she saw with her job in the ER. I'd taken some people to get stitched up a time or two, been there on occasion as a patient myself, but nothing worse than stupid shit. Getting the crap kicked out of you in the ring was nothing in comparison to the harsh reality of the streets. As long as she was safe in the ER when she dealt with the bad stuff, I was fine. I only wanted to show Emory my controlled side, but if someone fucked with her, she’d see the real me, the hard, dark parts that lurked beneath the surface.
Thor dropped down beside me, squirted water into his mouth, swallowed, then wiped the sweat from his face with his towel. A guy his size would sweat another half hour before he cooled down enough to grab a shower, so we sat at one of the long metal benches beneath the big calendar of monthly classes and events.
“The date went great. We got ice cream from the drive-up place by the highway and just sat there,” he told me, propping his head back against the wall. “Held hands and watched the cars go by. For an hour. Then our date continued when we went to Target for shampoo and a new toilet bowl brush. Without the kids. No toy aisle. Plus, there was air conditioning.” He took another swig of water. “I know you’re going to think we’re crazy, but it was heaven being in a store without a kid holding onto my leg or hiding in the clothing displays.”
I shook my head in male disgust. This big giant of a man, the friend I’d known for years, put toilet bowl brush and date in the same sentence.
“When we got home, the kids were out cold. The babysitter’s a miracle worker. So the date continued.” He wore the grin of a well-satisfied male.
Emory had been right. Thor did what Laura needed, and she gave him—from the shit-eating smile on his face—amazing sex. Emory had no clue about dating but could clearly see relationship dynamics for others. I never, ever wanted to be the guy who was thrilled picking out a toilet bowl brush, but I’d never tell that to Thor. I wasn’t that stupid. I leaned forward, so my elbows rested on my knees, watched the activity in the gym. Two guys jumped rope in the corner. The beginner Jiu Jitsu class was stretching out. Several guys worked the bags with punches and kicks. The two I'd been training were on the treadmill.
“How’s Emory?” Thor asked, wiping his face again.
“Good. We went to the Roadhouse and got wings.” We’d spent two hours eating and talking, and I’d enjoyed watching her get messy. She’d forgotten how nervous she was and lost her skittishness as she worked her way through a bunch of hot wings. I’d been able to see her, and I really liked what I saw, even with spicy sauce on her fingers and mouth. She might not like Rocky Mountain Oysters, thank fuck, but the wings had been a hit.
“She seems… different,” he added.
I thought about that. There was no comparison between her and the women who threw themselves at me, or I'd taken to bed in the past. I’d always just been looking for an easy lay, a reprieve from my life. I didn't date. I didn't have long term relationships. Hell, Emory had been the first woman in my apartment besides the house cleaners.
She hadn't pushed her way in either. I'd brought her. I hadn't thought about it, considered what I was doing. I'd just let her in, and it had been… easy. With Emory, I wanted more. I wanted her, fuck, I wanted her more than any woman. Ever. I wanted to learn her body, to watch her as I explored her curves, to see what made her hot, to see what made her eyes go dark with passion. To have her beneath me again, and not on the hard surface of the ring with a bunch of guys wondering about the woman who'd snagged my interest. I wanted her in a soft bed… and naked. To know what she looked like when she came all over my cock. I shifted on the bench. “She didn’t know who I was.”
He was wiping his face with the end of his towel but lowered it to look at me with wide eyes. “No shit?”
“I told her, but she didn’t seem all that impressed. She wanted to see inside the gym and seemed impressed for what I accomplished, definitely, but not overly interested that I was famous for it.”
“Her friend knew who you were,” he replied.
I grinned. “Yeah, and she thought I was gay because of it.”
Thor laughed, and the guys jumping rope turned their heads to look at us.
“Are you going to tell her about the shit with your dad?” he asked, the smile dropping as he wiped more sweat away. He shifted his gaze to the two guys just starting a round of sparring in the ring, knowing it was easier to talk this way, without looking at each other like a bunch of girls at a sleepover.
I dropped my head, looked at the concrete floor between my bare feet. “Fuck if I know, but I’m sure she learned a fair amount with a computer search by now.” The shit with my dad was out there on the Internet but not the full story. Enough, though, to drive her away. “I held her hand. That’s it.”
This had Thor glancing at me. “No shit?” he repeated.
“No shit,” I replied on a sigh. “I want to do this right. I… I like her. It’s not a matter of me telling her about my past because a quick search on her phone will tell her enough, but if she makes it to my bed—no, when she makes it to my bed—there will be nothing between us.”
“I thought you had a no-sleepover rule.”
Sex was sex, and that was it. There was no cuddling after, no sleeping over. That’s why I never had a woman to my apartment. No strings. Another reason taking Emory there yesterday had been a big deal. But when I'd come out of the shower and she was there, pretty as a picture waiting for me, it felt right. It felt… more.
“That’s what I want from her.” I ran a hand over my head, my short hairs rasping against my palm. The front desk attendant waved to get my attention, held the phone up in the air and pointed at it. I stood, looked down at my friend. “Which means I’m fucked.”
I went into my office that had a wall of glass facing out onto the mats and dropped into my desk chair to take the call. I hadn’t even gotten a taste of Emory, and I knew whatever could be between us was doomed. I shouldn’t have texted her, kept things going, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to let her go.
“Green,” I barked.
“Hello, Sonny.”
That voice. That nickname. Not Grayson or Gray. Sonny. Fuck. My hand gripped the phone so hard, it probably cracked the plastic. A call from dear old dad only meant one thing. I was still totally fucked.
“Heard you got a girlfriend.”
Chapter 10
EMORY
I nudged the car door shut with my hip as I lugged two grocery bags and my purse from my parking spot, which, fortunately, I found on my block. It was all very tight parallel parking. It was almost eight, and the night was still hot. All I could think about was a shower, a simple dinner then a book. It had been a long day in the ER, punctuated by a stabbing, a family in a car accident and a guy with one too many personalities. I had two more days to go this week, so when the ambulance went by with the siren blaring, I was glad it was someone else’s turn to patch them up.
When I could see my house, the little boy from the other day and an older man were sitting on my steps. He appeared to be in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, a full beard, wearing jeans and a Harley T-shirt. His outfit screamed biker, but I didn’t see one at the curb. In the heat, he somehow looked cool while I felt rumpled and wilted in my scrubs. My hair was long down my back in a sloppy tail, I had no makeup, and I was sweating. The scent of strong antibacterial soap clung to me. Not the best way to greet guests.
When they saw me approach, they stood. “Take one of the bags from the lady, Jackson,” the man directed.
“Hi, Miss Emory!” Jackson trilled, grabbing a cloth grocery bag from me with his little hands, wriggling it up and onto his shoulder, so it didn’t drag on the g
round. In shorts and another T-shirt, this one white, I could see only one Band-Aid on his knee and none on his elbow. We walked side by side up to the steps.
“This is my grandfather,” he said with a wave of his hand as way of introduction.
The man offered an easy smile. “Please, let me take your other bag. You must’ve had a long day and don’t need to carry such heavy stuff.” His voice was deep and raspy, but his words thoughtful.
I let the man take it from me as he was so intent. He didn’t seem like one to argue with.
“Thank you. Just set them on the steps.” They complied and turned back to me.
“We came by earlier, and your neighbor—” he pointed to Simon’s front door, “—said what time you would return, so we waited.”
Since Simon shared my schedule with this man, they must have talked enough for him to feel comfortable. He wouldn’t have told just anybody my routine. Although, I was pretty predictable.
“I am Quake Baker, Jackson’s grandfather. I wanted to thank you for helping him the other day.”
Quake was quite the name, and I had to assume it was a nickname. A biker name?
The boy stared up at me as if I walked on water, and I smiled. “It was no trouble at all. You’re not having fun unless you’ve got a few scrapes.”
“The helmet was smart and generous,” he added. “Heard it was your son’s when he was small.”
I looked from boy to grandfather. Mr. Baker was close to six feet, his posture straight. He seemed very polite with me, yet looking in his dark gaze, I saw shrewdness, as if while we were talking, he was assessing me. I didn’t think he was this thoughtful with everyone.
“Yes. My son, Chris, is away at college and is much too big to wear it anymore. I thought Jackson might get enjoyment out of it.”
“He left his at home and did some extra chores as punishment. Motorcycle, bicycle, a brain bucket’s a must. You’re a smart lady.”
I sighed. “Smart? I’m not sure about that, but I’ve raised a boy, so I know what can happen. We’ve gone through our fair share of bumps and scrapes.”
“No doubt at your work as well,” Mr. Baker added, looking down at the light blue scrubs I wore.
“Yes, that’s true.” I wondered how much about me Simon had shared and how much he’d dug up on his own.
“Won’t keep you as you must be beat, but I’d like to buy you a meal from our restaurant as a thank you.”
“Restaurant?”
“The Double-B Diner.”
I quickly made the connection. The place had been around for as long as I could remember. Since it was on the other side of town, I’d never eaten there.
“Have a meal, coffee, on the house.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Baker, but I can’t go like this, and I’d need to clean up and—”
He held up his hand to stop me. “Call me Quake. Not tonight then, I understand. Tomorrow?”
He was certainly insistent.
“I work again tomorrow and Wednesday.”
Jackson remained quiet as we spoke, watching us both earnestly.
“Then I’ll get the food to you,” Mr. Baker… Quake, said with a nod. “I’ll have dinner packaged and brought here tomorrow night. Then no cooking after another long day. Don’t even have to go out when all you want to do is put your feet up.” He picked up one of the bags of groceries and started up the steps. “Jackson.” He pointed to the other bag, and the child grabbed it and followed. I had no choice but to follow as well.
I doubted he would take no for an answer, so I agreed to his offer with a thank you.
The crunching of glass had Quake stopping, lifting his foot. “What’s this?”
Looking up at the front of my house, I saw that my outdoor lights were broken, and the glass scattered on the steps and concrete. I had a small light by the door that was connected to a timer, turning on and off with dusk and dawn, but I also had a motion sensor light off to one side. Simon had installed it after he moved in, so it lit up the space between both of our houses.
“What on earth?” I said to no one in particular. Shit, what a mess! I wanted to swear out loud, but I was used to tempering those words around kids. “The lights are all broken.”
Quake frowned, and Jackson watched both of us, unsure.
I sighed, then remembered myself. “Here, sorry.”
I unlocked the front door, taking the grocery bags from both of them, sticking them inside.
“This happened before?” Quake asked, glancing down the street one way then the other, his look shrewd. While a car drove by, nothing seemed unusual. I didn't see any glass on Simon's stoop nor the house on the other side.
“No,” I grumbled, tossing up my hands. “Just leave it. I’ll sweep it up, so no one gets cut. I’ll get new bulbs after work tomorrow.”
Quake shook his head. “Nah. I’ll have this taken care of.” When I was about to object, he cut me off by holding up his hand. “My son, Frank, will deal with it while you’re working. He’ll be here at seven thirty tomorrow night for you to test the lights, and he’ll bring your meal. All right?”
Tilting my head, I eyed the man, trying to read him, which seemed impossible. I didn’t want to play poker with him, and I doubted many said no to him. “I have a feeling you’re going to get your way, aren’t you?”
I glanced down at Jackson for confirmation, and he just grinned, a dimple creasing his cheek. “He always gets his way,” he whispered, but Quake heard and chuckled.
“Yeah, make it easy on yourself and say yes. You took care of Jackson, so now we take care of you.”
I wasn’t sure who the we was, but I was too tired to argue.
Chapter 11
EMORY
By the time I’d showered, eaten and swept up the glass, it was nine. Throwing on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top in deference to the heat, I finally had time to check my phone. I stood at my kitchen counter and saw that I had another text from Gray. My heart rate sped up, and I felt giddy at the sight of his name. I was smiling in my quiet kitchen. It was a new feeling for me, this excitement about a guy, and I liked it. It was thrilling and definitely flattering. Gray was hot, a different league entirely than any other man I’d met, and he was interested in me. Me!
Why, I had no idea, but I was going to see what happened, even though that concept was completely unfamiliar to me. I didn’t just see what happened about anything. I was a mother and a planner and… no. No! that was the old Emory. The normal Emory. Now, I just went with it. With fumbling fingers, I eagerly pulled the message up.
Gray: Thor found hot sauce on my chin this morning. Why didn’t you tell me?
Eyes widening at his words, I covered my smile with my fingers. The idea of Gray walking around with a dab of wing sauce on his chin was ridiculous… and only wanted to make me think about licking it off. God, why did he always have to say just the right thing? I’d been unsure of what the next steps were with him, but he’d made it easy for me to respond. He wasn’t playing games, he was just going with it, too. I typed quickly, my thumbs flying over the screen, biting my lip as I went.
Me: How was Thor's date with his wife?
He responded within seconds.
Gray: You were right. Let's just say Thor's a happy man today.
I couldn't help but grin as I thought of the big guy trying to navigate the insanity of early childhood.
Gray: What's your stand on toilet brushes?
I froze, staring at his text. Toilet brushes?
Me: Is this code for something?
Gray: Relationships.
What? I leaned my hip against the counter.
Me: Not sure if I'm a good person to ask. I went on one not-date, and the guy couldn’t even use a napkin right.
Gray: I guess I have to clean up my act for you to kiss me.
My lips turned up, and I pressed the phone to my chest, took a deep breath. My thumbs raced over the screen.
Me: You mean the kiss I’ve been thinkin
g about all day?
God, that was bold. It was so not normal. My finger hovered over the Send button only briefly before I scrunched my eyes shut and pressed down. There. I did it. I paced over to the cupboard and got down a glass, filled it with ice and water from the fridge dispenser. God, I wasn’t even thirsty! I paced back across the room and nibbled on my thumbnail, staring at my phone. I hadn’t lied to Gray. I had been thinking about kissing him through my entire shift. He’d said I’d be in his bed soon, and the images that conjured had my nipples tightening, and I felt my whole body flush at the idea. I ached between my legs in a way my vibrator was not going to soothe.
It was a miracle my job was busy and distracting enough to keep my thoughts off of getting in my car, driving over to his gym and jumping his incredible body. It probably wouldn’t look good for him to have a woman in scrubs come in and tackle him to the ground.
Although, in his job, being tackled to the ground was all in a day’s work. I’d done a search for him online, and so much information had come up. His fights, every detail of his career, some bad stories with his father. Old photos, everything. It was obvious why he was wary of people knowing about him and their motives at meeting him. The media spun the information in ways to sell, including the supposed baby with the film star, but I knew the real Gray, at least a little bit, to be able to separate fact from fiction.
Men sought his autograph and both sexes stood in photos with him. A picture with the champ. Women practically tossed themselves at him, scantily clad and eager to be seen and perhaps win the affections of the Grayson Green. The Outlaw. I’d laughed at that title because it didn’t suit the real him at all. A stab of jealousy had made me bitter toward the busty women in the pictures, but nowhere in his online profile did it mention girlfriends, past or present. These women, who tried to climb his body like a monkey only had his attention long enough for a photo. He wasn’t looking at them the way he focused his dark eyes on me. He didn’t even really see them. Just smiled for the camera, and after the brief amount of time I’d known him, I could tell the smile wasn’t even genuine.
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