by Vanessa Vale
He sat then, leaning forward so his forearms rested on his thighs. All of his attention was once again squarely on me. “Maybe I don’t want to be off the hook.”
Oh. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but realize he wanted to sit with me and I felt something shift inside. “Oh.”
He looked down. “I brought you another drink.”
He held a highball glass, filled with an icy concoction with two lime wedges floating on top. “Thanks, but I was drinking—”
“Water,” he cut in, finishing my sentence. His dark eyes once again watched me closely, calmly. It was as if he could shut out all the other patrons of the restaurant, the noise of dishes being stacked, even the subtle music, and give me every ounce of his attention.
“Yes,” I admitted, my eyes widening. How did he— “You’ve been watching me.”
Paul gave this guy his seal of approval, but everyone who heard their neighbor was an axe murderer swore they had no idea. I didn’t see an axe, although there was no question by his solid, hard, amazing body he could hurt someone without one. I felt wary and nervous, now in a completely different way. I didn’t want him to be a creep.
He leaned back in his chair and held up his hands in front of him. “Oh, hey, I don’t want to see that pretty smile go away. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to pick you up.”
My spine stiffened and I felt my cheeks heat. “Of course not.” Why would he waste his time picking me up when there was the bevy of easy women inside? Surely, he just needed to crook a finger and they’d come to him panting. He was…really, really attractive. Intense. Bob/Bill was pretty handsome and he was a creep. This guy was more. He had presence. Confidence. He dripped testosterone from his pores and the way I was practically panting over him, pheromones as well. He wasn’t working it here—he didn’t have to. He just…was.
He grinned, and that changed his entire demeanor. Relaxed by my sarcasm, he leaned back in his chair, elbows on the armrests. I, on the other hand, sat ramrod straight and ready to bolt.
“Shit, that was really bad, wasn’t it?” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he winced. “Insulting. I have to admit, you make me a little nervous.”
“Me?” Both my eyebrows went up then. “I make you nervous? You’re so far out of my league,” I admitted with a frown. Now he’d leave.
He looked down at his feet, then back at me. “Yeah, I know.” His voice was quiet, almost resigned.
“Wait.” I shook my head. “You think I’m…no way. Have you seen some of the women here tonight? They’re so…young.”
His dark eyes raked over me, from my wayward hair to the tips of my polished toes and back. “And you're old?” He didn't give me time to respond. “I’m right where I want to be.”
Oh. I couldn’t help the little internal sigh at his words.
He leaned forward once again, rasped a hand over his chiseled jaw. “Let me start over. Okay?”
I cocked my head and noticed his chagrined expression. So I nodded, curious.
“I’m Gray, Paul’s trainer.”
Of course he was a trainer. He looked it. Fit. But fit like he lived that way, not just by pumping iron. His forearms were corded with muscle, his hands rugged, fingers long. With the scar and tattoos, he looked downright dangerous, more like a fighter than a simple trainer. Perhaps he’d competed in the past. Boxer? What did I know about that stuff? I just knew what I could see. With the combination of brooding danger and a wicked smile, he was lethal to my senses and made my heart skip a beat.
“I’m Emory. Christy’s friend.”
“Emory,” he repeated, as if trying out my name. “There we go. I didn’t screw that up.”
I rolled my eyes and smiled—I couldn’t help it. Every time he set me on edge, he put me at ease. “I guess I should thank you for rescuing me.”
He nodded. “Paul asked if I’d step in with his cousin. Both of us could tell you weren’t enjoying yourself.”
I looked down at my fingers. I offered a noncommittal sound because there wasn’t much to say about Bob/Bill. “I should have ditched him before I needed rescuing.”
“But you’re too nice, aren’t you, Emory?” he commented, as he watched me smooth my dress over my thighs. “He didn’t do anything, did he? Say anything to hurt you?”
Wow, he was intense, his complete focus on me, worried about me. It was exhilarating. With his dark eyes on mine, I couldn’t look away. I had no doubt if I told him the guy had put his hand on my waist Gray would have gone back inside and broke his fingers.
“No, of course not. Really,” I added, because he didn’t seem to believe me. I gave a small, dry laugh. “I could have gone home with him though.”
Both of Gray’s brows went up at my mocking tone. “I can take you back if you want.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the bar. I could see a humorous gleam in his eye.
I pursed my lips, trying not to smile. “He was really interesting actually. I now know the months to eat oysters.”
He held up his hands in front of him. “I can’t compete with that.”
I grinned at his ridiculous words. Gray had no competition, none at all, as far as I was concerned.
“Clearly I’ve been out of the game since I walked away from that winner.” I thumbed over my shoulder.
He frowned, not picking up on my sarcasm. “Game?”
“Parties, mingling, meeting people. Meeting men.”
“You hooked the oyster guy.”
It was my turn to frown. “Oh yeah, Bob/Bill is a great catch.”
“His name is Bob Bill?” he asked, surprised.
This time I laughed outright. “No. I don’t remember what it is. It starts with a B though. He was okay. An auditor.”
“You’ve had lots of guys proposition you at bars?” He watched me closely, perhaps a little intently, for the answer. He made it seem as if this was something of a test.
I frowned and pointed at myself. “Me? Really?”
He didn’t answer, but posed another one of his own. He crossed his fingers over his very flat belly as if settling in. “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 had me relaxing, for I could talk with a man, but I couldn’t talk with a man. I just had to think of Gray as Paul’s trainer and forget that he made my panties damp and my heart thrum and my cheeks flush.
“You’re speaking of appearance only?”
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.
He 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…cute at the same time. “Thank you for clarifying.”
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.
“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 the material of his dress pants stretched taut over very muscular thighs. Realizing I was ogling, 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.
“What am I looking for in a guy?” I repeated. You. Were we really having this conversation? 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 with the humidity, the soft waves were falling loose, completely out of my control. “That’s easy. I’m not looking.”
It was the truth. I had no interest in finding a man. After Jack had left me for his paralegal four years ago, I’d been in single-mom mode. He’d not only divorced me, but pretty much ditched his son as well. Dealing with Chris and his anger toward his father, high school, moving back in with my parents, college applications, life, 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. Most people my age had young children and I was an empty nester.
“Really?” He crossed his ankles. “I think you’re the only woman in here not on the prowl.”
“And Christy,” I added. “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. 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.”
“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.
“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. Besides that, 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, I didn’t need to insult Gray. 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 that offered a large amount of cleavage and a mile of exposed thigh who could have a normal conversation and who 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.
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 the legs of 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.
I was able to take a brief moment and glance at his butt, his back, his broad shoulders, his entire back half I hadn’t been able to observe before. It was just as fine as his front.
Once we were alone again, 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. “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 plan to drug me, then offered it to me. “Take the glass, Emory. It’s safe. I’m safe. I promise. But don't just take my word for it, ask Paul. Text him.”
“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 scared 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. So 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, too.” My fingers were fidgeting 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. “Good idea. 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 my lips, my throat 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 missed the dinner 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 with dinner 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 in the morning.”
“You run?”
“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 row.”
Interest lit his face. “Crew? Really? In the harbor?”
“Middle Branch Park.”
“Four or eight person?”
“Four.” I rowed as part of a four-person boat, each person with their own oar. “Do you row?” I was impressed by his knowledge of the sport, although he’d asked the most basic of questions. Bob/Bill would have assumed I rowed a canoe like Pocahontas.
“Not coordinated enough. I’d overturn the shell.” He referred to the special boat we used by its correct name. “You’re a morning person then.”
“I like to see the sun rise when I’m on the water.” The way the sky turned from black to gray to pink and then blue, watching the birds and the city wake up was remarkable.
“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?
Something settled inside me. He liked the quiet.
“You…you 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 rugby on Sundays with a club, 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 the younger guys, especially if he was a trainer. He looked more than fit to hold his own.
“The game is at eleven,” he continued. “I’d like it if you came.”
He was asking me out? My mouth fell open and I didn’t know what to say. 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.
“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.