Gray gestured hello with a quick tilt of his chin, the corner of his mouth tipping up. He wore worn jeans and a white T-shirt that hugged his torso snugly, showing off his lean muscles. A bodybuilder he was not, but there was no doubt to his strength. The fact that his biceps bulged was completely inconsequential.
“I see you’ve met,” I told Gray, nodding to Frank.
“Yes,” he replied. “Frank and Marco were just putting the new bulbs in when I got here.” His eyes narrowed when he finished, almost as if he were angry.
I didn’t know him well enough to understand the expression, so I looked to Frank and redirected the conversation. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
It was only courtesy that had me offering. I really wanted to get Gray to myself. I’d been anticipating it ever since his text earlier. To say it made a crazy afternoon in the ER a little better was an understatement. The way my heart had skipped a beat every time I thought about him in my house had me questioning whether I should be hooked up to the heart monitors. Was I crazy to ask him into my house? Was he expecting to spend the night? God, I'd been wondering these things all day and I still had no idea.
Frank looked between Gray and me. Grinned. He playfully grabbed Marco by the neck and pulled him into his side. “The meal is for you. With my father’s thanks. With my thanks,” he said, his intent clear. “Gray, it was a pleasure meeting you.” By the look on Frank’s face, he knew who Gray was. “Say goodbye, Marco.”
“Bye, Mr. Green Machine, Miss Emory,” Marco said with a little wave. They walked away, Marco’s little
legs pumping to keep up with his uncle’s long gait. A car passed on the street and a siren wailed in the distance. The sun had dropped behind the row of houses across the street and the air was heavy. Hot. And I was alone with Gray.
Once the duo rounded the corner, I turned to face Gray, who’d been watching me. “Mr. Green Machine? I really am the only person who doesn’t know who you are, aren’t I?”
He shrugged. “One of the few.” When I frowned, Gray ducked his head so he could look me in the eye. “They don’t really know me, Emory.”
GRAY
I watched as Emory dropped her work shoes in an old milk box that sat on the porch, then unlocked her door. I followed her inside, holding the food bag. By the weight of it and what Frank had said, there was plenty.
The row house was narrow, about twenty feet across. The living room had comfortable furniture, well worn and lived in, plants, framed artwork on the walls, family pictures on side tables. It was…lived in, unlike my place, which seemed cold in comparison. I remembered her mentioning this was where she grew up, so the place had been in her family a long time. It suited her well, for it felt…comfortable. This was a home where parents loved their kids, helped with homework, watched their soccer games. It only reminded me of the differences between us.
She glanced at me with those expressive eyes and now they held a hint of nervousness. “I always take a shower right after work and get out of my scrubs.” She tugged at the bottom of her top as she scrunched up her nose. “You don’t want to know what kinds of things I saw today.”
“Yes, I do,” I countered in a quiet voice. I really did. I wanted to know what she saw, who she interacted with, the kinds of cases she had, the problems she had to deal with. I wanted to know it all.
She looked surprised. “Oh, um, okay. I’ll be down in a few minutes. The kitchen’s straight back.” She pointed, then went up the steps. “Ignore my breakfast dishes in the sink,” she called as she went upstairs.
I took a few seconds to admire her ass beneath her blue scrub pants before I headed toward the back of the house. It was getting harder and harder to keep my hands off her.
The kitchen hadn’t been updated in twenty years, the fridge covered in photographs and coupons were clipped to a magnet. A phone with a long cord, like one from when I was a kid, hung on the wall by the back door. The air conditioning was on and besides the sound of the water running upstairs, I could hear the air blowing from the vents in the floor. Placing the bag on the counter, I removed the food containers and found dishes and silverware from various drawers and cabinets.
My cell beeped indicating a text. I pulled it from my pocket. My dad. “Shit,” I muttered.
She must be one hot piece of tail.
His text had me seeing red. I shoved the phone back in my pocket and paced the small space, rubbed the hand over the back of my neck. Fuck. He was watching me. Turning, I placed my hands on the counter and thought. He knew about Emory, knew where she lived. That meant he was having me watched. Why?
To irritate the fuck out of me, to piss me off, to sour the only thing in my life that wasn’t tainted by him. Hearing the water shut off, I knew I had to pull myself together, not let my fuck-up father mess with this date with Emory. By the time I found glasses and filled them with iced tea I found in the fridge, I’d settled.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, pausing in the doorway. She could tell something was wrong. I couldn’t seem to hide it from her.
I realized my shoulders were tense and I sighed, forcing my body to relax. Just looking at her helped with that. She was all shower fresh and soft and…God, I had it bad. How did this woman, whose hair was wet and long over her shoulders, face makeup free, wearing a Ravens tank top and cut-off jean shorts make my heart lurch? Her legs were long and lean and her feet were bare, hot pink nail polish on her toes. She was the girl next door and she should steer clear of a guy like me—a guy with a past and a father who was an asshole. She had a kid and parents and a house that was a home. What the hell was I doing with her?
I swore under my breath and leaned a hip against the counter. “Nothing, just a stupid text from my dad.”
She looked at me the way she probably did her son when he kept important things secret—like hiding cigarettes in his room or when he was an hour after curfew. “Are you going to tell me about him sometime?”
I eyed her, seeing her right now for what she was, a calming influence. Just having her come into the room, seeing her questioning look had me realizing what was important, and it wasn’t my dad. My dad wanted to ruin this moment, this impromptu date and that was not going to happen. I took a deep breath, let it out, let it all go. For some reason, in this moment, it was easy to do.
Her eyes widened. “What?” she asked.
I just gave a little shake of my head. Now wasn’t the time to talk about stupid shit. “I hope you’re hungry. It seems the Casale boys are smitten.”
“Marco got scraped up and I helped him. That’s all.” She went over to one of the foil to-go containers and pried off the lid. “Mmm, chicken piccata.” She glanced up at me. “What?” she asked again.