I ran inside and to the back porch and dug into the basket filled with a variety of sports equipment.
“Here,” I said to Marco as I went down the front steps. I handed him a bike helmet. “This belonged to my son, but his head’s too big for it now. It’s really important you wear a helmet when you ride a bike. Okay?”
He looked at the blue helmet with a Maryland flag sticker on the side of it. “Wow, cool! Thanks.”
I helped him adjust the straps so it fit him. It was a little big, but it was better than nothing, and he’d quickly grow into it. “There. If you ever get into trouble again, you can always knock on my door. You can remember it because the door’s red. Okay?” Since the block had about twenty turn-of-the-century houses connected—row houses as they were called in Baltimore—and all were identical brick and white trim, I had to use the colored door as a way to indicate to people which house was mine.
He gave me a big grin, a tooth missing on the bottom. “Thanks, Miss Emory!”
I watched him ride off and around the corner, wounds forgotten.
CHAPTER FOUR
EMORY
Simon and I showed up at the park a little before noon. I didn’t want to seem too eager and I had to do some serious psyching up at home to actually go. Committing Simon yesterday had been a smart move; I hadn’t been able to back out. There was no way he was going to miss seeing the guy who’d gotten me all flustered. When we’d met on the sidewalk out front, Simon had given me a once over as usual.
I looked down at myself. Because it was hot, I wore black shorts and a racer-back tank top that was black-and-white stripe on the front and red on the back. A pedicure had been my Saturday night excitement, but at least my toes looked good in my flip-flops. I’d pulled my hair back into a ponytail, the shorter curls framing my face. I wore sunglasses and a thick layer of sunscreen. “It’s a rugby game in a park. I can dress myself for that.”
The slight grumbling tone made Simon’s eyebrows go up, but he didn’t push. I could only assume he could tell how out of sorts I was and didn’t want to either make me run back inside and lock the door or start to cry. Not that I had plans for either, but he didn’t know that.
When we got to the park, guys were out on the field running around with a big white ball, tackling and crushing each other like in football, but without any pads or helmets. Since I didn’t know the rules and there was no scoreboard or time clock, it looked like a complete free-for-all to me. There were about twenty other spectators along the sidelines, some in folding chairs, others on blankets. Kids ran around, chasing each other, and babies took naps in their strollers, worn out from the heat.
I spread out a blanket as Simon put down the small cooler, then we settled in to watch. He handed me a soda as I sat cross-legged.
“Which one is he?” He popped the lid on his drink.
One team wore black-and-white striped T-shirts like a bunch of convicts, the other wore dark green ones with a yellow collar. As I scanned the men, I realized Faith would have enjoyed this. Watching sweaty, fit men run around and tackle each other, showing off their caveman qualities would spike any woman’s libido. When I finally glimpsed Gray on the field, my heart stuttered. The other night wasn’t a fluke. He did something to me. This guy, why this guy? Was I insane? There was one way to find out.
“There.” I pointed.
“The blond?”
I shook my head, took a sip of soda to cool myself down. Gray looked…God, amazing. Manly. He was wearing one of the ridiculous convict shirts, the neckline stretched out by someone’s rough grab. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he had a streak of dirt on his arm that blended in with the tattoo. With his arm exposed, I could see it was large enough to creep up his forearm and over his biceps. Although he was dark complected and tan, it stood out in stark contrast. I hadn’t been wild about tattoos in general before, but on Gray…it totally melted my butter. I had to wonder if he had any others, and if so, where?
“No, the one with the dark close-cropped hair.”
Simon looked where I pointed, his brows going up. “Holy shit, Em. That’s the guy?”
I nodded.
“I can see why he made you nervous. He’s fucking hot and nothing like a guy you’d normally be interested in.”
There was that word again. Normal.
“I know,” I admitted. “I don’t know what it is about him.” I turned to Simon, hoping he’d truly understand, because I sure didn’t. “I mean, he’s got tattoos! But when I saw him Friday night my heart stopped and my brain went to mush. I swear I had a hot flash.”
He looked at me over the top of his sunglasses, serious. “Maybe he’s the kind of guy you need and just never knew.”
We sat in silence, watching the game. Had I been interested in all the wrong guys? It wasn't like I had much chance to find out. Being pregnant at nineteen, married and with a baby at twenty didn’t offer much opportunity to play the field. Of course, Jack had decided he’d wanted more and ditched me for a newer model a few years ago. Maybe a guy like Gray was exactly what I needed. He wasn't normal. He sure as hell would push my boundaries.
I watched his body as he played the game and tried not to drool. Muscles tightened and flexed in ways that had me taking a big swig of my soda just to cool off. What would it be like to kiss him, to run my hands over that body, to have his weight pin me up against the wall? Those thoughts made those butterflies return and scared the crap out of me at the same time.
I hadn’t even realized there was a ref until he blew the whistle. I obviously wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to the game. The men worked their way to the sidelines, exhausted and sweating, slapping each other on the back or giving a man hug. I couldn’t tell by the looks on their faces who’d won or lost. The camaraderie was surprising, considering they’d just been tackling the crap out of each other.
Gray was drinking from a water bottle when he saw me. His eyes narrowed and I felt once again frozen in place as if he had a freeze ray stare. He swallowed, wiped his chin with the back of his hand and smiled. With a little bob of his head as hello, he held up one finger. He didn’t look away until I nodded back.
“Jesus, Em,” Simon whispered.