“I never want you to do a walk of shame, Emory.” He sounded a little mad mentioning that.
He took my hand, held it beside the gear shift. His fingers were warm, his touch gentle as his thumb rubbed over my palm in slow circles. I felt the zing behind this simple gesture all the way to my toes. I darted a look up at his eyes
and saw the same reaction I felt, the same flare of heat at the simple touch.
“I don’t want a one-night stand with you. You’re not going to ask me inside either. I’m the one that’s going to seduce you, Emory, which means you’ll be in my bed. Soon.” His eyes dropped to my lips. “I want to kiss you. Jesus, I want to taste you, but I want you to be ready first.”
I frowned, surprisingly turned on by his words. He was rejecting me? Wait, he said he was going to seduce me. That I was going to be in his bed.
“Gray, I don’t under—”
He gave my hand a little squeeze to silence me. “When you’re ready, you won’t be nervous or unsure, like you are right now. You’ll know. You’ll want it just as much as I do. I’ll be waiting.”
Holy shit.
9
GRAY
* * *
“No, do it again. You need to get the bend of your elbow beneath their chin in order to get the choke.” I yelled at the guy I’d been training all afternoon, running my hand over my neck in frustration. He wasn’t getting it. We were on the mat, and he was practicing his Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. He wanted to break into the MMA pro circuit, but as a stand-up fighter, his groundwork needed serious help, and he wasn’t picking it up fast enough for his first fight. But that was why he'd hired me, to literally beat him into shape. We’d been at it two hours now and everyone needed a break.
He tried it two more times, sitting behind his partner, wrapping his arm around his neck the right way for the choke. With the slight change in position, his partner tapped out, which meant he would have passed out if he hadn't used his hand to tell the guy to release. Besides knocking someone out cold, a tap out was the only other way to win a competition that didn't involve a judge's call. No fighter wanted to go all the rounds and let the judges decide. We wanted our opponent to submit. “Good. Now do it ten more times each, then get some water.”
The Muay Thai class was just finishing in one of the classrooms as Thor came over, rubbing his face with a gym towel draped around his neck. He had tape over his knuckles and hands from hitting the heavy bag and was working his way through his water bottle.
It was six, and the gym was hopping, the after-work crowd getting in their workouts. Classes ran back to back for three hours. Next up, beginner Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. The instructor was on the mat in his formal white gi, showing a new student how to tie his belt. I wore a T-shirt with the gym logo, Muay Thai shorts, and my feet were bare. No shoes were allowed on the mats, and I’d had to get in the ring and work hand to hand for a while.
“How did your free afternoon with Laura go?” I asked, grabbing my cell from behind the front desk. I’d sent Emory a text earlier instead of calling, knowing she worked all day, and I didn’t want to interrupt her.
Taking out my aggressions in the ring instead of deep breathing in the yoga class.
It wasn’t anything interesting, but I wanted to send her something. I wanted to have her smile, even if I couldn’t see it. Yeah, I might have acted like a thirteen-year-old girl with a first crush, but I wanted her to know I was thinking about her. I couldn't stop remembering the way she blushed, the scent of her, the sight of her muscles, all lean and strong from yoga. And having her underneath me on the mat, hell, the feel of her lush body was imprinted on my brain. I couldn't forget if I tried.
For some reason, letting her know I was stuck on her was important. She was important. I had no idea why—I’d only held her hand, for Christ’s sake, but maybe that was reason in itself. Besides the MMA championships, she was one of the only things in my life I had to work for.
No, that wasn’t right. I’d had to fight my way out of my father’s house, fists up, deflecting his physical blows until I was around sixteen and grew bigger than him, then built up my defenses against his verbal assaults until graduation when I shipped out for Basic Training. But that had been surviving, and that was different. If my middle school gym teacher, Mr. Johns, hadn’t picked up on what was happening and shifted my anger from lunchroom brawls to the ring, I’d probably be in lockup right now.
Being a Marine had been easy. Running a business was easy. Working hard for something, putting blood and sweat into it, made it important. Made it special, and Emory was special. She wasn’t throwing herself at me. The opposite, in fact. If I hadn’t invited her to the flag football game, I wouldn’t even be a fucking blip on her radar.
Sure, she was a challenge, and I never backed down from challenge. But this wasn’t a fight, conquer and win situation. And that was the kicker. I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I actually texted a girl. Fuck, a woman. Emory was all woman.
She wanted me. I’d seen it in her eyes when she’d been beneath me in the ring. I’d seen it again when I walked her to her door after our not-date yesterday. I knew the signs, and I’d desperately wanted to act on them. But I’d only have conquered her body, and that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to get to know her, and I wanted her to give herself to me, even a little bit at a time. Then completely. I didn’t want to take.
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.