Naked Choke

by Vanessa Vale

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

  He’d said when, not if.

  “I just want to see you again.” While I was still processing that, he dropped his hand and continued. “Think of it as a coincidence, both of us being at Rifkin Park at the same time.”

  “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 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, the only light illuminating us was 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.

  “I…I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Gray, but I’m meeting my group to row at five thirty.”

  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 walk you.”

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

  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, 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 tingling all the way down to my car.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GRAY

  I'd fucked up. That’s all I could think about. After my five-mile run, I began my usual thirty-minute stint with the 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.

  There were a few early-morning guys getting their time in, but it was Saturday, so most of us were there 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—but a guy’s workout time was sacrosanct and everyone knew not to fuck with me during mine. With my usual early-morning opener at the front desk handling the day-to-day running of the place, I didn’t have any distractions. The gym had been open a few years and I had my regulars, my solid core of employees, which suited me just fine. I liked things calm. Consistent. The only fights I wanted to be involved in these days were in the ring, and usually it wasn’t me doing the fighting. I was done with that life now. I was just the trainer behind the ropes. Yeah, right. There was no fucking way I could ever be just a trainer behind the ropes.

  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.

  I gave a little chin nod to a guy heading to the locker room, not breaking my rhythm with the rope, then gave myself over to my thoughts. Both activities were brainless, so my mind wandered easily to how much of an idiot I'd been the night before. My dinner meeting with my fighter, Reed, and the PR guys had gone long, so when I finally pulled myself free, I floored it across town to the engagement party. The way Paul looked at his fiancée, Christy, had been worth the hustle, but watching a woman charm the bartender had made my night.

  I’d been standing with two guys questioning me about the next big fight when I saw her. It was as if I’d been round-kicked to the head and I couldn’t look away. She had brown hair, wavy and long, pulled back from her face in some magical way women tamed it. But hers didn’t look all that tame. Controlled, perhaps. Barely. As if a strong wind, or a man’s hands running over the silky strands would set it all free. Her eyes were dark, but sparkling with mischief. Her full lips were coated with something clear and shiny. The bartender had laughed at something she said. It wasn’t flirting. She didn’t touch him, didn’t lean in to work her feminine wiles. Didn’t even bat her eyelashes. She just had a way about her I wanted focused on me, not the damn guy behind the bar. So when he handed her a glass of water disguised as a gin and tonic, I was intrigued and I was never intrigued these days.

  Her dress was yellow. It had no sleeves so her tanned, toned arms were exposed. But that was all she exposed because the neckline was high, like a T-shirt. There wasn’t a hint of cleavage, although the trim style showed off her curves and narrow waist. And fuck, she had just the right amount of curves in all the right places. I was a man, what the hell did I know about dresses, but it reminded me of something Audrey Hepburn would have worn in one of those old movies. It looked vintage, with a full skirt that hid her hips and her legs down to her knees. Strappy sandals with a reasonable heel made her look…feminine. Not like the over-the-top, in-your-face, fuck-me-now women in the bar area who were eyeing me as if I were a piece of meat, or the MMA champ they knew me to be. They wanted me to take them to the restroom, lock the door and fuck their brains out. No names, no connection. Just a quick lay with the champ.

  I was done with that shit.

  So this woman, this woman, she was soft and lush. Mysterious. Intriguing.

  I’d been pulled into another conversation about fighting and had to look away. I was able to get my sights on her again when I finally made my way over to Paul. She’d gotten cornered, talking to some asshole who’d been standing too close with his hand on her arm. From across the room I had no idea what they spoke of, but it was obvious she wasn’t interested, especially when she’d moved out of his grasp. I watched him closely; he definitely wasn’t her date. If he was, he sure as hell wasn’t getting lucky. Her gaze kept darting outside and she took frequent deep breaths as if she was ready to flee. Something he said made her frown, a little crease forming in her smooth brow and I’d been pissed. She shouldn’t be doing anything but smiling, but not with this douche.

  If what he was saying offended her, I had no clue why she didn’t just toss her drink in his face and walk off. Paul must have noticed as well, because he told me the guy was his cousin—his handsy cousin—and asked me to step in and rescue her. He couldn’t tear himself away from the group we were with but I didn’t mind, not in the least. He told me the woman was a friend of Christy’s and was too nice to give an asshole—he said every family has an asshole cousin—much of a brush-off. Paul had no idea I’d been watching her, but it fucking made my night that he knew her and asked for my help. It was the perfect excuse to get her to turn that brilliant smile on me without coming across as another guy that tried to pick her up. The way she looked, the way she just glowed, the men would be hounding her.

  As I made my way closer, I could see she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room. There were ladies in their twenties I passed who put their best assets to full advantage, trying to score. It wasn’t just the men troll
ing. It was an equal-opportunity meat market. Cleavage, exposed thigh, stiletto heels, pouty red lips were being put on full display. Youth was also on their side, but youth lacked experience. Life. This mystery woman was definitely in her thirties, probably closer to forty. She wore her age well, as if she knew who she was, what she wanted from life and told everyone else to fuck off. Except for Mr. Asshole. He’d made her frown. As I made my way across the room, the guy’s hand moved to her waist and I saw red. I wanted to storm over there and rip the man’s arm off for touching her. She stepped back and I knew she wasn’t interested. That’s right, baby. He’s not for you. She wasn’t a quick lay. She was so much more.

  This wasn’t the ring and I couldn’t just beat the shit out of him. I had to be civilized so I didn’t get arrested, but more importantly, scare the crap out of the woman. I took a few deep breaths and chilled the hell out and got the girl. At least for a little while.

  I glanced up at the digital clock placed high above the wall mats. Fifteen minutes to go. Sweat dripped down my back and my legs were starting to tire. But I pushed on and thought about the conversation with Emory to get me through to the end of my workout.

  She’d actually considered that I would drug her with the water. Someone like Emory shouldn’t have those thoughts, shouldn’t have to watch out for predators. Men who were willing to treat her poorly, or worse. Had some guy—perhaps her ex—been a dick and hurt her? Was that why she was wary?

  When she’d looked at me, she’d been cautious. Yeah, I had cauliflower ear from fighting. My nose had been broken multiple times. I had scars on top of scars. Tattoos. I looked dangerous, and to some people, was dangerous, but not with Emory. It just proved that my life was fucked up enough that a good girl like her would be afraid to be with the likes of me.

  She was divorced. The guy must have done something to fuck with her. She was skittish and nervous as a sixteen-year-old girl on a first date. She'd blushed so endearingly and that proved it. So I’d given her space, kept my tone gentle, tried to keep her at ease, because hell, I was pretty fucking scary looking. She’d said she wasn’t scared of me. Just nervous. Well, the feeling had been mutual. I’d been nervous as fuck around her because I didn’t want to mess up. But I had. I’d stuck my foot in my mouth over and over. I’d told her I wasn’t picking her up and I saw her smile slip.

  I’d made her think I wasn’t interested, that she wasn’t enough, when in fact she was too much. Too perfect. I didn’t want to be like the other dicks in the bar, because while I probably had the same thoughts as the oyster guy, I was gentleman enough to know she didn’t do pickups. She would have run away screaming if I’d shared how much I wondered what she wore beneath her prim dress. Something sexy and lacy, perhaps. And that made me debate what color her nipples were, if her skin was as silky soft as it looked.

  Emory wasn’t some woman at the bar looking for a good time. She’d admitted outright she wasn’t looking. Period. The kicker was, she had no idea who I was. No idea I was famous in the industry. She didn’t know about my career, didn’t know my wins, my championship belts, my notoriety. Didn’t know I’d been stopped at least five times within as many minutes when I showed up at the bar. There was no sign of recognition at all when I told her my name. She wasn’t a groupie, and that made her one of the only women who’d said to my face she wanted nothing from me. I had been the one to pursue her. To give her the option to see me again, and she’d been the first in a long, long time I’d done so.

  Unfortunately, my notoriety and fame had its price. Men wanted to be my friend, to be buddies with the champion MMA fighter. Women wanted in my bed, to be with the Grayson Green. Everyone wanted a piece of me. For themselves. For their own notoriety. Only a select few were on my true friends list, those I trusted. Who knew the real fucked-up person behind the façade.

  I could get laid anytime I wanted, I could’ve walked through that bar and gotten some action without even trying hard. Gone back to their place for a quick fuck. Hell, I could have pulled them into the janitor’s closet. That had been fine when I was younger, when I didn’t care about knowing their names. I’d just wanted the meaningless release. Now, I wanted…something more. The chance for something real. Not fake tits. Not fake-and-bake skin. Not empty brains. Not groupies.

  As the buzzer went off, I realized I wanted Emory and I’d have to try damn hard to get her. Hanging the jump rope on a wall peg, I grabbed my towel, wiped the sweat from my head and neck as I caught my breath. She wasn’t someone I could just have. It wasn’t going to happen that way. She was going to take work. Careful handling. The need to know more about her had gotten me to ask her to watch the rugby game tomorrow. Even knowing her for less than fifteen minutes, I knew she wouldn’t go out with a guy that picked her up in a bar, even if I was a friend of Paul’s.

  So I had to leave it up to her and hope that I intrigued her enough to want to stop by. I’d left it light. Easy. I’d see if she showed up, and if not, I’d have to figure out how to win her over a different way. I could connect with her through Paul’s fiancée, Christy.

  Would a woman like Emory be interested in a guy like me? Sure, I was successful in my career, was financially secure, but she didn’t know any of that. Who gave a shit about that crap when it came down to a connection? The ghosts of my past lingered, taunted me, reared their ugly heads when I least expected it. Like now, when beautiful Emory appeared out of nowhere. Would she give me a shot? She’d be stupid to do so. She just knew the guy who’d said stupid things and almost made her cry. Shit. I was in trouble here. I tossed the towel in the hamper and stripped off my sweaty T-shirt on the way to the showers. This was one fight I had no intention of losing.

  EMORY

  “Spill, girlfriend.” Faith Abrams swiveled around in her office chair and wheeled over to where I sat filling out papers.

  I spent three hours on Saturday mornings volunteering at an inner city health clinic that catered to women and children. Visits ranged from pregnancy to ear infections and everything in between. In July, I’d been looking for something to fill my time with Chris having left for Plebe Summer at the Naval Academy, and this had certainly done it. The place was in desperate need of help, overrun with patients wanting the free or low-cost services, and being a nurse practitioner, I could write prescriptions like a doctor while not requiring one to be on staff at all times. It helped keep costs down and the budget was thin.

  “The party was fun. Christy was beautiful. The dress I told you about looked great.” I glanced up at her briefly before back at the prescription I was writing. I ripped it off the pad.

  “Any cute guys?”

  I hid my flushed cheeks by turning back to my charts. I’d spent the night thinking about Gray, reliving my ridiculous behavior over and over. I’d tossed and turned, even swore at myself in my empty bedroom, angry I wasn’t flashier and sexier. Hell, I would have settled for not being a bumbling fool. I’d assumed Gray to be a jerk or worse, actually dangerous, but spending only a few minutes with him had me thinking otherwise. I’d even gotten confirmation about his character when I’d said my goodbyes to Paul and Christy.

  Paul had given me quick reassurance that the man was a really good guy, which only made me feel even worse. Gray was the first guy in eons…no ever, to make me lust. Yes, it was pure lust because as I thought of him in my dark bedroom, I envisioned unbuttoning his shirt, no, ripping those buttons right off, to feel his soft skin and the hard muscles beneath. I longed to know what those long fingers could do, whether the stubble on his jaw would be rough against my inner thighs. He’d reduced me to a puddle of hormones.

  When the alarm went off at five, I’d been ready to burn off the frustration out on the water. After rowing for two hours, I went home to shower, then on to the clinic. Now, at noon and just before closing, I was wiped.

  I glanced up and rolled my eyes at Faith, leaned my forearms on the desk. “There was an auditor from Social Security.”

  Her pink scrub-clad shoulders s
lumped and she pouted. “That’s no fun.”

  “You’re telling me,” I grumbled, remembering how Bob/Bill had belittled my job. “He thought a nurse practitioner was a candy striper.”

  “Girlfriend, you worked hard for that title. I bet that auditor doesn’t have a master’s degree.” She humphed in indignation.

  As for Gray, I wasn’t saying a word. I was embarrassed enough just thinking about it and couldn’t fathom mentioning how stupid I’d been to anyone else. If I told her how I’d acted, she’d probably smack me. I just wanted to go back to bed and toss the covers over my head.

  “Hey, Em.” Another nurse, Samantha, filled the open doorway, clipboard in hand.

  I looked up. Smiled. “What’s up?” She was in her early thirties, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, blue scrubs.

  “The kid in room three. Okay for his vaccine?”

  I nodded. “Sure. Bring a lollipop in with you.”

  The woman pulled one from the jar on the counter, switched papers around. “Carrie in room two. Next appointment?”

  I thought of the woman who was three-months pregnant. “One month. Give her a pack of pre-natals. She hasn’t taken any before.”

  “One more.” The woman sighed. “Then we can all head home. Alice Watkins. Wants a refill on her pain meds.”

  I thought about the woman, her case. Broken rib, short-term pain meds. “No. She can’t have any more. Second time she’s gotten it refilled. If she’s still having pain, she needs to be seen again.”

  “Got it. Thanks.” The woman left to wrap up those loose-end patients.

  “That’s it? Just an auditor?” Faith asked, returning to our conversation. “I need to live through your dating life.”