Naked Choke (3 page)

“Really?” He crossed his ankles. “I think you’re the only woman in here not on the prowl.”

“And Christy,” I added. “What about you?”

“I look,” he admitted. “I saw you, didn’t I?”

“You rescued me,” I countered. There was a big difference. Paul
asked
him to save me. Still, I could feel my cheeks flush and I glanced away, uncomfortable with his words.

“I’m not looking either, but I’m not
not
looking as well.”

“Surprisingly, I follow you.”

“Don’t you want your drink? It’s still pretty hot out.”

I glanced at the glass, the condensation beading and sliding down the sides.

“I don’t drink from glasses given to me by strangers.” Oh my God. Had I said that out loud? I pinched my lips together afraid something else horribly bad would pop out. I was a complete and total dumb-ass. I’d just baldly accused Gray, who’d only been nice to me, of drugging my drink with a date rape drug.

Christy was right. I had zero skills in interacting with guys—I talked oysters with Bob/Bill so maybe
I
was the dud, not him—but too much experience with my job had made me jaded. I’d seen too much of the real world pass through the ER to make me wary. Besides that, it had been almost twenty years since I’d dated. Hell, Jack and I had barely dated. We went from doing the whole college meet and hook-up thing to being surprise parents all in one year.

Regardless, I didn’t need to insult Gray. I was such an idiot!

“Oh shit,” I whispered. I shifted in my chair to face away from him. Tears burned the back of my eyes as the extent of my words sank in. He’d probably roll his eyes at how weird I was, consider me a psycho chick and leave. He could find a woman that offered a large amount of cleavage and a mile of exposed thigh who could have a normal conversation and who wouldn’t think twice about accepting a drink from him.

“Hey. Hey now,” Gray murmured, his tone almost soothing. “A beautiful woman like you is smart to have that rule.” I felt his fingers on my back, a gentle touch and I startled.

I covered my face with my hand, willing him to go away. “I’m a little embarrassed over here,” I muttered.

A group of men, talking loud enough to indicate they’d had plenty to drink came around the corner. I turned my head away even more, hoping none of them would notice me.

I heard the legs of Gray’s chair scrape on the concrete floor. “Hey, guys, find somewhere else to hang,” he said as he stood in front of me, his voice calm yet powerful. The men’s voices ceased immediately and I had to turn and see what was going on. Gray stood and faced the group, hands on hips, shielding me from them. I couldn’t see his face, but the men didn’t argue, only stared at him for a moment and retreated.

I was able to take a brief moment and glance at his butt, his back, his broad shoulders, his entire back half I hadn’t been able to observe before. It was just as fine as his front.

Once we were alone again, Gray turned, glanced down at me, then pulled the chair back into place, although this time when he sat, he was several inches closer.

“Emory.” His voice made my name sound silky smooth.

I met his eyes. His head was cocked slightly to the side, as if he were trying to read me. His dark eyes looked concerned yet didn’t lack in intensity.

“I’m sorry,” I admitted quickly. “I'm such an idiot. I told you I don’t know how to do this.” My words were thick with emotion and extreme mortification.

“You were doing just fine.” He picked up the glass of water, took a big sip to prove he had no devious plan to drug me, then offered it to me. “Take the glass, Emory. It’s safe. I’m safe. I promise. But don't just take my word for it, ask Paul. Text him.”

“He gave me the thumbs-up sign, so I have to assume you’re not a dangerous criminal,” I replied.

“Dangerous, maybe, but not to you. Never with you. Text him later then, after the party. I want you to, so you aren’t scared of me.”

Somehow I knew he wasn’t as dangerous as he looked; tattoos, close cropped hair, scars. I was just naturally and ridiculously wary. If I were ever going to come out of my shell as Christy consistently prodded me about, I needed to start now. Gray wasn’t looking for something. Someone. He’d said as much. I’d seen him being friendly with Paul. He was just being friendly with me. So I reached out and took the glass, our fingers brushing. The spark I felt at the slight touch had my eyes darting up to see if he felt it, too. For a brief moment, we both held the glass, the world around me focused solely on the smallest of connection.

“I’m not scared of you,” I told him, just before taking a sip of the cold water.

He cocked his brow and looked at me skeptically.

“Really, I’m not. Not scared, but you make me…nervous, too.” My fingers were fidgeting and I held my hand up to show him. “See?”

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. “Good idea. 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 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?”

“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.”

“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?

Something settled inside me.
He liked the quiet.
 

“You…you 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.

“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?”

“Girls? Like the ones inside?”

I could only nod.

“I want
you
…to come to my game. Not as a date, because I imagine if I asked you out right now you might bolt. As I said, I don’t want you scared of me.” When I opened my mouth once again to speak, he put a finger over my lips. The touch was warm and gentle and I could do nothing more than feel the tingle of it all the way to my toes.

“Or nervous. Trust me, Emory, when I ask you out, you’ll know it.”

He’d said
when,
not
if.
 

“I just want to see you again.” While I was still processing that, he dropped his hand and continued. “Think of it as a coincidence, both of us being at Rifkin Park at the same time.”

“You really…?”

He cut me off with one simple word. “Yes.”

Those butterflies, bees, no, hornets were back in my stomach. He wanted me to show up, otherwise he wouldn’t have offered. He was leaving the decision to do so completely up to me, clearly aware of how nervous I was. Once again he was setting me at ease in the hopes I’d show up. I had until Sunday morning to decide what I wanted to do. From the brief time he knew me, he’d learned I had to make a weighted, safe choice.

While we’d been talking, the sun had set completely. Besides little white lights strung along the railing, the only light illuminating us was from the bar. Gray’s face was in harsh contrast, his gaze darker and more intent. He looked like a guy you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, but I felt…safe with him. I hadn’t had to pretend or fake a conversation, it just happened, even sticking my foot in my mouth. He’d set me at ease and it turned out we had a lot in common. I also found him hot as hell.

“No need to be nervous then,” I replied, poking fun at myself.

“Nope.” He smiled warmly, easily. His gaze dipped to my mouth.

“I…I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Gray, but I’m meeting my group to row at five thirty.”

I stood, although the legs of my chair didn’t scrape against the concrete. He stood as well and I had to tilt my head back to look at him. “I don’t want you walking to your car by yourself, so let me walk you.”

“Thank you. I would have taken you up on the offer, truly, but I valeted it.”

He laughed easily. “Of course, you did.”

I looked up at him through my lashes and realized he wasn’t poking fun, but he was definitely amused by me.

“Good night,” I murmured, walking past him.

His hand on my bare arm had me pausing, my breath catching. The touch was gentle, his skin warm, yet it was like a shock to the system. “I hope to see you on Sunday, Emory.” His voice was quiet, almost intimate.

I gave a little nod, but didn’t look up at him, my skin where he touched tingling all the way down to my car.

CHAPTER TWO

GRAY

I'd fucked up. That’s all I could think about. After my five-mile run, I began my usual thirty-minute stint with the jump rope.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of the plastic striking the gym mat was almost lulling and I fell into my groove, my muscles warm from the run.

Breathe in, breathe out.

There were a few early-morning guys getting their time in, but it was Saturday, so most of us were there to get in and get out and not interested in talking. This suited me fine. My first client was at ten, but right now, I just went through the paces. Besides, the guys knew I was always there for them—it was my gym—but a guy’s workout time was sacrosanct and everyone knew not to fuck with me during mine. With my usual early-morning opener at the front desk handling the day-to-day running of the place, I didn’t have any distractions. The gym had been open a few years and I had my regulars, my solid core of employees, which suited me just fine. I liked things calm. Consistent. The only fights I wanted to be involved in these days were in the ring, and usually it wasn’t me doing the fighting. I was done with that life now. I was just the trainer behind the ropes. Yeah, right. There was no fucking way I could ever be just a trainer behind the ropes.

The cleaning crew had come through overnight and the strong scent of pine cleaner and bleach lingered. The speakers pumped out a techno beat. I hated lyrics blasting while I worked out, the voices distracting me, so I kept a playlist where the steady rhythm helped keep the mood amped. As owner, I ran the gym my way. Since my name in the industry preceded me, no one was going to question me or how I did things.

I gave a little chin nod to a guy heading to the locker room, not breaking my rhythm with the rope, then gave myself over to my thoughts. Both activities were brainless, so my mind wandered easily to how much of an idiot I'd been the night before. My dinner meeting with my fighter, Reed, and the PR guys had gone long, so when I finally pulled myself free, I floored it across town to the engagement party. The way Paul looked at his fianc
é
e, Christy, had been worth the hustle, but watching a woman charm the bartender had made my night.

I’d been standing with two guys questioning me about the next big fight when I saw her. It was as if I’d been round-kicked to the head and I couldn’t look away. She had brown hair, wavy and long, pulled back from her face in some magical way women tamed it. But hers didn’t look all that tame. Controlled, perhaps. Barely. As if a strong wind, or a man’s hands running over the silky strands would set it all free. Her eyes were dark, but sparkling with mischief. Her full lips were coated with something clear and shiny. The bartender had laughed at something she said. It wasn’t flirting. She didn’t touch him, didn’t lean in to work her feminine wiles. Didn’t even bat her eyelashes. She just had a way about her I wanted focused on me, not the damn guy behind the bar. So when he handed her a glass of water disguised as a gin and tonic, I was intrigued and I was never intrigued these days.