Strong and Steady

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 thinking 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.

He was good at what he did. Exceptional, actually. He was one of the best in the industry, if not ever, based on the articles.

My mind shifted to how good he was at tackling. I so needed to be tackled like he'd done with me in the gym but, perhaps, in a bed instead. At the least in a less public setting. I’d been in a sex drought for years and hadn’t cared all too much. I’d had my vibrator to keep me company and been reasonably satisfied. I barely remembered when sex had been decent with Jack. Last night, I’d tossed and turned, wondering what Gray’s lips felt like, whether he’d be gentle or demanding, if he’d press me up against the wall while he was kissing me and—

My cell rang, and I jumped a foot. Gray.

“You want to kiss me?” he asked, his voice a deep grumble. I practically melted into a pool of goo at the sound, and I loved the fact that he hadn’t even said hello.

“Um, crap.” I shut my eyes, took a quick breath and said the truth. “Yes.”

The line was quiet for a minute, but I could hear music in the background. Based on the crazy beat, I had to assume he was in the gym. Or out at a dance club, but I couldn’t picture that with him. “Shit, Emory. That one word is the hottest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

I crinkled my brow. “Really? All I said was yes.”

“It means that we’re more than just people who coincidentally meet in a park.”

“You make it sound like we’re practically lovers.” I walked over to my junk drawer, pulled it open and started weeding out expired coupons, wedging my cell between my ear and my shoulder.

“I know.”

I dropped the phone into the pile of junk. In my haste to grab it, I bumped my hip on the drawer and shut it, phone inside. “Shit!” With fumbling fingers, I yanked it back open and pulled out the phone. “Gray? Sorry, I dropped the phone.”

“Look, I’ve got to go.”

“Oh.” I heard the pout in my voice.

“Emory,” he groaned. “I’m at the gym with a bunch of guys still on the mats, and when I hang up, I’m going to have to sit here in my office for a few minutes and pretend to do paperwork before I can head back out there to coach.”

“Oh,” I repeated. Then I realized what he meant, and I flushed hotly, savoring this little rush of power I had over him. “Oh! Then I guess I shouldn’t tell you what I’m wearing.” I was cruel, and I knew it.

“No,” he hissed. “Goodbye, Emory.”

He hung up, and I laughed as I did a little happy dance on the steps up to bed.

GRAY

* * *

Emory was a distraction. Plain and simple. I hadn’t been able to leave my office for twenty minutes after our phone call the night before because I had a hard-on that could pound nails, just from having her tell me she wanted to kiss me. Just a kiss! I usually fucked them and forgot their names by now, and I was losing my mind just from the idea of kissing Emory.

My firs

t training session of the day was at six-thirty, and a restless night of sleep from thoughts of a very introverted nurse had me in the ring as a fighting partner.

“Dude, what crawled up your ass and died?” Reed asked when I’d pushed him through not only a five-mile run on the treadmill but an all-out sparring session. We sat on the edge of the mat to cool down. I pounded water and wiped my sweaty head with a towel. The guy was almost half my age, and he was toast, arms resting on bent knees, his breath coming in harsh pants. His dark hair was dripping wet, the skin on his tattooed arms was slick with sweat. He wanted to be an MMA champion. He would get there if kept working his ass off like he was—and I got paid to see that happen.