Fight For Her (More Than A Cowboy 1)

“I told her, but she didn’t seem all that impressed. She wanted to see inside the gym and seemed impressed for what I accomplished, definitely, but not overly interested that I was famous for it.”

“Her friend knew who you were,” he replied.

I grinned then. “Yeah, and she thought I was gay because of it.”

Thor laughed then and the guys jumping rope turned their heads to look at us.

“Are you going to tell her about the shit with your dad?” he asked, the smile dropping as he rubbed the towel over his face again. He shifted his gaze to the two guys just starting a round of sparring in the ring, knowing it was easier to talk this way.

I dropped my head, looked at the concrete floor between my bare feet. “Fuck if I know, but I’m sure she learned a fair amount with a computer search by now.” The shit with my dad was out there on the Internet, but not the full story. Enough though to drive her away. “I held h

er hand. That’s it.”

This had Thor glancing at me. “No shit?” he repeated.

“No shit,” I replied on a sigh. “I want to do this right. I…I like her. It’s not a matter of me telling her about my past because a quick search on her phone will tell her enough, but if she makes it to my bed—no, when she makes it to my bed, there will be nothing between us.”

“I thought you had a no-sleepover rule.”

Sex was sex and that was it. There was no cuddling after, no sleeping over. That’s why I never had a woman to my apartment. No strings. Another reason taking Emory there yesterday had been a big deal. But when I'd come out of the shower and she was there, pretty as a picture waiting for me, it felt right. It felt…more.

“That’s what I want from her.” I ran a hand over my head, my short hairs rasping against my palm. The front desk attendant waved to get my attention, held the phone up in the air and pointed at it. I stood, looked down at my friend. “Which means I’m fucked.”

I went into my office that had a wall of glass that faced out onto the mats, and dropped into my desk chair to take the call. I hadn’t even gotten a taste of Emory and I knew whatever could be between us was doomed. I shouldn’t have texted her, kept things going, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to let her go.

“Green,” I barked.

“Hello, Sonny.”

That voice. That nickname. Not Grayson or Gray. Sonny. Fuck. My hand gripped the phone so hard it probably cracked the plastic. A call from dear old dad only meant one thing. I was still totally fucked.

“Heard you got a girlfriend.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

EMORY

I nudged the car door shut with my hip as I lugged two grocery bags and my purse from my parking spot, which, fortunately, I found on my block. It was all very tight parallel parking. It was almost eight and the air was muggy, still and thick like soup. All I could think about was a shower, a simple dinner, then a book. It had been a long day in the ER punctuated by a stabbing, a family in a car accident and a guy with one too many personalities. I had two more days to go this week so I was glad, when the ambulance went by with the siren blaring, it was someone else’s turn to patch them up.

The little boy from the other day and an older man were sitting on my steps. He appeared to be in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and wore a full suit that hid the slight paunch of his stomach. In the heat, he somehow looked crisp and cool while I felt rumpled and wilted in my scrubs. My hair was long down my back in a sloppy tail, I had no makeup and I was sweating. The scent of strong antibacterial soap clung to me. Not the best way to greet guests.

When they saw me approach, they stood. “Take one of the bags from the lady, Marco,” the man directed.

“Hi, Miss Emory!” Marco trilled, grabbing a cloth grocery bag from me with his little hands and wriggled it up and onto his shoulder so it didn’t drag on the ground. In shorts and another T-shirt, this one white, I could see only one Band-Aid on his knee and none on his elbow. We walked side by side up to the steps.

“This is my grandfather,” he said with a wave of his hand as way of introduction.

The man offered an easy smile. “Please, let me take your other bag. You must have had a long day and do not need to carry such heavy things.” His voice was deep and had a slight accent.

I let the man take it from me as he was so intent. He didn’t seem like one to argue with.

“Thank you. Just set them on the steps.” They complied and turned back to me.

“We came by earlier and your neighbor—” he pointed to Simon’s front door, “—said what time you would return, so we waited for you. I hope that is all right.”

Since Simon shared my schedule with this man, they must have talked enough for him to feel comfortable. He wouldn’t have told just anybody my routine. Although, I was pretty predictable.

“I am Angelo Casale, Marco’s grandfather. I wanted to thank you for helping him the other day.”