He looked down at his feet, then back at me. “Yeah, I know.” His voice was quiet, almost resigned.
“Wait.” I shook my head. “You think I’m…no way. Have you seen some of the women here tonight? They’re so…young.”
His dark eyes raked over me, from my wayward hair to the tips of my polished toes and back. “And you're old?” He didn't give me time to respond. “I’m right where I want to be.”
Oh. I couldn’t help the little internal sigh at his words.
He leaned forward once again, rasped a hand over his chiseled jaw. “Let me start over. Okay?”
I cocked my head and noticed his chagrined expression. So I nodded, curious.
“I’m Gray, Paul’s trainer.”
Of course he was a trainer. He looked it. Fit. But fit like he lived that way, not just by pumping iron. His forearms were corded with muscle, his hands rugged, fingers long. With the scar and tattoos, he looked downright dangerous, more like a fighter than a simple trainer. Perhaps he’d competed in the past. Boxer? What did I know about that stuff? I just knew what I could see. With the combination of brooding danger and a wicked smile, he was lethal to my senses and made my heart skip a beat.
“I’m Emory. Christy’s friend.”
“Emory,” he repeated, as if trying out my name. “There we go. I didn’t screw that up.”
I rolled my eyes and smiled—I couldn’t help it. Every time he set me on edge, he put me at ease. “I guess I should thank you for rescuing me.”
He nodded. “Paul asked if I’d step in with his cousin. Both of us could tell you weren’t enjoying yourself.”
I looked down at my fingers. I offered a noncommittal sound because there wasn’t much to say about Bob/Bill. “I should have ditched him before I needed rescuing.”
“But you’re too nice, aren’t you, Emory?” he commented, as he watched me smooth my dress over my thighs. “He didn’t do anything, did he? Say anything to hurt you?”
Wow, he was intense, his complete focus on me, worried about me. It was exhilarating. With his dark eyes on mine, I couldn’t look away. I had no doubt if I told him the guy had put his hand on my waist Gray would have gone back inside and broke his fingers.
“No, of course not. Really,” I added, because he didn’t seem to believe me. I gave a small, dry laugh. “I could have gone home with him though.”
Both of Gray’s brows went up at my mocking tone. “I can take you back if you want.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the bar. I could see a humorous gleam in his eye.
I pursed my lips, trying not to smile. “He was really interesting actually. I now know the months to eat oysters.”
He held up his hands in front of him. “I can’t compete with that.”
I grinned at his ridiculous words. Gray had no competition, none at all, as far as I was concerned.
“Clearly I’ve been out of the game since I walked away from that winner.” I thumbed over my shoulder.
He frowned, not picking up on my sarcasm. “Game?”
“Parties, mingling, meeting people. Meeting men.”
“You hooked the oyster guy.”
It was my turn to frown. “Oh yeah, Bob/Bill is a great catch.”
“His name is Bob Bill?” he asked, surprised.
This time I laughed outright. “No. I don’t remember what it is. It starts with a B though. He was okay. An auditor.”
“You’ve had lots of guys proposition you at bars?” He watched me closely, perhaps a little intently, for the answer. He made it seem as if this was something of a test.
I frowned and pointed at myself. “Me? Really?”
He didn’t answer, but posed another one of his own. He crossed his fingers over his very flat belly as if settling in. “If that guy doesn’t do it for you, what are you looking for?”