Strong and Steady

“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.”

“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.