Fight For Her (More Than A Cowboy 1)

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. “Seems fair. 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 work 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?”

I rolled my eyes at the idea of running. As if. “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.” It was a calmer little finger of water off the Inner Harbor. It was sheltered and the surface, especially at dawn, was like glass. Perfect for rowing.

“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? Could this guy be an introvert like me?

Something settled inside me. He knew. He liked the quiet.

“You…you do 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 at whatever he wanted to accomplish.

“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?”