Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  Her laugh had me smiling and leaning against the wall of the closet, just listening. It made me, God, it made me happy to hear her laugh. I wasn’t eavesdropping because she’d tell me about Chris in time, but hearing the way she talked to her only child had me learning about her—her inflection, the obvious love for her son, her warmth. “Yes, I’m still coming for parents’ weekend. No, it’s not too far. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  I stood, went to a drawer to pull out a T-shirt.

  “All right. Nine o’clock. Sure. I’m… I’m going to bring someone with me. No, not Simon. He said he’ll see you at the end of the year because he doesn’t talk to mere Plebes.”

  I couldn’t help but grin. Shit, I was crazy, smiling because she was pulling me in, letting me get closer to her son, to Simon. Her family.

  “I met someone, and I want you to meet him. Yes, a man.” I froze, my shirt forgotten. She wanted to bring me to meet Chris? “No, he’s not a doctor. No, it’s not the radiologist that hit on me at your graduation.”

  A radiologist hit on her? I’d like to hit him.

  “His name is Gray. Yes, like the color. Yes, he’s nice. Yes, he’s nice to me.”

  She didn’t say who I was. No, she had. She said I was Gray. She hadn’t told Chris I was Grayson Green, The Outlaw. To Emory, I was just Gray. Unless she saw one of my fights on the Internet, my past was just that. The past.

  “Okay, go. I understand. I’m glad you’re doing well. Good. Yes. I love you, too. Bye.”

  I left the closet. She sat on the side of the bed in the T-shirt she’d worn the night before, the hem brushing her thighs. I liked it on her much better than on me.

  “Radiologist?”

  Her head came up and she looked me over. “Didn’t you go in there a while ago to get dressed?”

  I was still wearing just my boxers and even though I grinned sheepishly, I didn’t want to get off target. “Radiologist?” I repeated.

  She rolled her eyes. “He sits in a dark room all day looking at films. He’s harmless.”

  “What’s his name?”

  She furrowed her brow. “His name? Oh no.” She held up her hand as if to stop me. “Are you planning on beating up all the men in my past?”

  “If he hurt you, he might have to check his own x-rays for broken bones,” I grumbled.

  She shook her head as she stood and planted a kiss on my cheek. A sweet kiss. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

  I heard what she didn’t say. “Your ex then. Can I beat the shit out of him?”

  This time when she kissed me, it was on the mouth, and there was nothing sweet about it. When her tongue met mine, it was sexy as hell.

  “Yes, you can beat him up.”

  I pulled back from the kiss enough to take a deep breath. “You’re distracting me from our conversation.”

  She grinned against my mouth, her hand resting on my bare chest. “You noticed.”

  “I notice everything about you. Do you really want me to go with you to Parents’ Weekend?”

  Stepping back, she let her hand drop, and the spot felt cold. She looked away. “Did I overstep? I mean, it’s a plane flight and everything. A specific weekend, and you might have plans.”

  I reached out, tugged her back, so she bumped into me. “No. I’m… it just sounded like you were including me in your family, and it was… nice.”

  She offered me a smile, a soft one, filled with what looked a whole lot like… love. “Good.”

  Was that what this was? Was that what I felt for her? Love? Did she feel the same way? She was the most important thing in the fucking world to me, but love? I had no clue what love was. It was like trying on a suit and seeing if it fit. With Emory, she fit—we fit—perfectly. “Emory, I—”

  Her cell rang then mine only a few seconds later.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  “I bet that’s Christy.”

  “Which means that’s Paul on my phone.” I didn’t hide the irritation from my voice. Emory was kissing me. She was kissing me. She was being the pursuer, and I liked it. A lot.

  “They don’t know we’re together. Together as in you and me.” She pointed between us. “And also as in the same room.”

  I knew what she was saying. Did we want to keep us a secret or tell? I angled my chin. “Go. Answer it. I’ll take my call in the other room.”

  Two hours later, I was pushing the speed limit on the highway, not wasting any time getting up to Wyoming, to the casino. I knew exactly where he was, on the closest reservation to the ranch. The closest place to gamble. When Emory told Christy what had happened the night before at her house, she'd pulled Paul into the conversation. Emory had made me sit down beside her on the bed, and we talked to the couple by speakerphone. If they were surprised we were together, they didn't let on.

  Yes, someone had been in her house.

  Yes, she was fine.

  Yes, it could be my dad who was behind it all.

  I had to face him. Emory agreed, but there was no fucking way I was letting her anywhere near him. This was an old score I needed to settle, and she’d only distract me. She understood, but Paul had even more and offered to have Emory hang with them for the day. Until we knew exactly what was going on, I wasn't leaving her alone.

  I passed an eighteen-wheeler when my cell rang. I pushed the button for the handheld. “Green.”

  “They’re painting their toenails.” Paul said. “She’s safe here.”

  “Thanks. I just passed Cheyenne. Once I find him, it won’t take long.” I gripped the steering wheel. Hard. “I should be back before dinner.”

  “Do what you have to. We’ll be waiting.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You’d do the same.”

  I would. I might just be Paul's trainer, but we were friends, too. Friends who watched out for each other. In the MMA world, it went unsaid, everyone knew no one messed with family. There was always a rivalry, shit talk, some fighters who fought dirty. That shit stayed at the gym, stayed in the ring. No man took it home with him. Fights could be resolved with fists, with words, but no one fucked with someone’s woman. With their kids. My dad had crossed the line, and I needed to shut that shit down.

  Now I knew what Paul had been telling me all along while he trained with me. Between sparring rounds or miles on the treadmill, he'd told me more and more about Christy, and I’d seen him change. He became… more. He wasn’t pussy whipped either. Christy was perfect for Paul, and I knew she was everything to him. Everything.

  Just like Thor. He would do anything for Laura, even buy a toilet brush. I understood now. Emory was everything to me, and I’d even go buy a fucking toilet brush for her. With her. If that wasn’t a sign I was in love, I didn’t know what was.

  Chapter 21

  EMORY

  I had cotton balls wedged between my toes as I sat on Christy’s couch. Paul worked at the kitchen table, papers spread out before him, and he had his phone set to mute as he listened in on a conference call. They were babysitting me. It was obvious. A pedicure was just something to do to pass the time. I didn’t think I needed to stay indoors and under supervision until this whole house break-in thing was resolved, but if it eased Gray’s mind, I’d do it until he got back from Wyoming. If he were watching me, we would be busy doing more… enjoyable things.

  I could feel my cheeks flush just thinking about what we’d done together, and I darted a glance at Christy, who was fortunately leaning forward and putting a top coat of polish on her right foot. I was sore in places I forgot even got sore. I wasn’t a virgin, but the way my body ached, I had probably reverted back to one. The way I felt with Gray was nothing, nothing, like it had been with Jack. If I’d known what I’d been missing, I’d have divorced Jack years earlier. But then I wouldn’t have met Gray. It seemed that he appeared just when I was ready for him. Was I ready for him? Was one ever ready for love?

  “You must have been so scared,” Christy whispered. Paul could be heard talking about some kind of
brief from the other room. I could talk medical emergencies and the science behind a specific drug, but torts and legalese were over my head.

  I propped my feet on the coffee table. “Yeah. Very.” I didn’t want to go into details about what happened. I didn’t really want to think about it ever again, and perhaps Christy could sense it because she switched topics.

  “Gray thinks his dad’s behind it?” She dipped her nail polish brush into the bottle. “He sounds like a complete ass.”

  I didn’t want to tell her that the guy was well known in the business community, to have her impressed with him. It didn’t matter what his career was, how much power or money he had. A child beater was a child beater.

  “Mmm,” I replied, trying to remain neutral. If Gray wasn’t telling people about his past, I wasn’t going to do so. It was something for him to share in his own way, in his own time. Or ever. The fact that he told me was… huge. His dad affected him so deeply, so painfully, I knew it had been hard to share. I wondered if he'd shared it with anyone. Thor, perhaps. The fact that he'd gifted me with the knowledge, that he'd made himself vulnerable to me, was telling. Overwhelming. My strong cowboy.

  “I don’t know much, but it’s possible.”

  Christy must have picked up my vague responses. “So, you and Gray?” She waggled her eyebrows as she grinned.

  I flushed like a schoolgirl.

  “Yeah,” I said on a sigh. “Me and Gray. I… I like him.” Perhaps more than that. A lot more.

  She turned to look at me, eyed me carefully. “This isn’t some fling, is it?”

  I shook my head, and she grinned. “Is he good?”

  Oh yeah, he was good.

  My cell rang in my bag, saving me from answering. I didn't want to kiss and tell. My heart skipped a beat at the thought that it was Gray, but I quickly squelched it. It was too soon. The drive to the casino was about three hours, so he was most likely driving, focused on dealing with his dad. He needed to work on that, not me, and I understood. I wanted him to be able to let go of the crap with his dad, to put it all behind him. If going to Wyoming could do that, I'd support him. Wait for him, just as he'd been waiting for me.

  I didn’t recognize the number on the display. “Hello?”

  “Emory, this is Quake Baker.”

  I was a little surprised to hear from him. While I had his number on the matchbook Frankie’d given me, he didn’t have mine. Obviously, he did. “Hi, Mr. Baker. I've been meaning to call and thank you for the meal. It was excellent.”

  “Quake, remember? I’m glad the meal was good.” He didn’t seem interested in lingering on small talk. “Heard your home was broken into last night. You okay?”

  Concern laced his words. I had to wonder how he knew about the break in. It wasn't newsworthy.

  “Yes, thank you for checking. It was scary, but it’s over.” I wasn't going to go into details with him either.

  Christy eyed me as she continued to do her nails.

  “I’d like you and your friend, Mr. Green, to come to the Double-B tonight. Have some dinner. On me. I have some things to discuss.”

  “Oh.” I paused, wondering why he didn’t want to just talk now. Then I realized maybe it wasn’t something to share on the phone. “That’s very kind of you. Gray is in Wyoming today visiting his father but should be back by dinner.”

  “You’re alone?” He sounded concerned. “Frankie will come and stay with you, wherever you are.”

  I frowned. Why would he want Frankie to stay with me? Were all the new men I met overly protective or had the ones in my past just been slackers? “I’m with my friends. I promise I’m well supervised.”

  I heard his gruff laugh through the phone. “You can’t trick a mother,” he said. “Good. Glad you’re not alone. It’s not safe for you on your own right now. Have your friends come, too.”

  Christy glanced my way as she screwed the top back on the nail polish bottle. I pasted a fake smile in the hopes to hide that I was worried by Quake’s words. What did he know that I didn’t? He obviously thought I was still in danger if he would send Frankie to watch over me. If a president of an MC worried about me, then I was worried.

  “You’re sure it’s all right to come?” I didn’t mean about eating but about showing up at the restaurant and remaining safe, not that Christy would know that.

  “Yeah, the diner’s safe. You, too, if you’re with Mr. Green or your friends. As I said, you took care of Jackson, so I take care of you.”

  “Then there will be four of us. What time?”

  “Whenever your man gets back from Wyoming,” he replied then hung up.

  I tossed my phone back in the bag.

  “What are we doing tonight?” Christy asked.

  “We’re going to dinner at Double-B Diner.”

  “Double-B?” She pulled the cotton balls from her toes. “That’s right, you said you met the owner.”

  “Who’s going to Double-B?” Paul asked as he came in from the kitchen. He tilted his head from side to side, trying to release a crick. “I hate conference calls,” he muttered.

  “We are. With Emory,” Christy told him.

  Paul’s brow went up. I told him about Jackson's scraped knees and the thank you meal.

  “Gray will come to dinner, too, hopefully. I should have asked if you had plans. I hope it was okay to accept,” I said. “Quake wants to talk with me about something.”

  “Quake? You’re on first name basis with Quake Baker?” he asked, dropping down into an overstuffed chair that sat perpendicular to the sofa. He grabbed Christy's ankles and propped them up on his knees.

  “Watch the toes!” she said, wiggling her feet.

  “Um, yeah,” I replied.

  “He does more than own a diner, you know,” Paul said, watching me carefully.

  I frowned, and Paul leaned forward, resting his forearms over Christy's lower legs.

  “Yeah, he’s president of a motorcycle club,” I replied.

  “Motor— Are you serious?” Christy asked, her voice full of awe.

  Paul looked to Christy, then me. “He doesn’t spend his days waiting tables and washing dishes. He keeps his nose clean, at least as far as the cops know. The diner’s one of many of the club’s successful businesses.”

  “You know this because…?” I prodded.

  “Because I work for the District Attorney’s office.”

  That made sense. Paul would know more about Quake’s underworld affairs more than most.

  “Is he dangerous?” I asked, worried I was going from one dangerous situation to another. Had I just accepted an invitation to something… bad? God, it was easy to kill someone if they showed up exactly when and where you wanted them. Quake was definitely rough around the edges, and calling him “rough” was probably me being nice. And naïve at what he was involved in. But he’d been nice to me. Courteous even. And he’d even taken the time to teach Jackson to be a gentleman. I couldn’t hate him or even be afraid of him. It didn’t mean I would stop by his clubhouse—or whatever they called it—to say hi, but I wasn’t going to turn down his offer for dinner either.

  “To you?” Paul shook his head. “You helped his grandson, right?”

  I nodded. “As I said, Jackson was hurt, and I gave him Band-Aids. Plus Chris’ old bike helmet. I guess he and his uncle Frankie live a few blocks away.”

  “And Frankie Baker personally fixed your front lights and brought you food,” Paul added. “I’d say you’re under his protection. Quake, I mean.”

  “His protection?” When his expression didn’t change, I went on. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Paul nodded.

  “I had no idea there was a motorcycle club in Brant Valley. Gangs I know are creeping in but outlaw bikers?”

  The ER was filled with gang bangers who’d moved from Denver or even California. They’d been shot or beat up, and I was becoming well versed in the tattoos and colors to know there was a war on the streets of the city, but I’d never onc
e heard of the No Holds Barred MC.

  Quake did have a sense of authority about him, and his son Frankie did whatever the man said, but I related that more to respect than do-as-I-say-or-you’ll-be-shot-in-the-back-of-the-head power.

  “Hang on.” I remembered the matchbook Frank gave me and went back to my purse and dug through it. “Here. I was given this.”

  Paul took it, flipped it over. “Jesus, you have Quake Baker’s cell phone number. You’re definitely under his protection.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” I sat back down and finished tugging the cotton balls from between my toes, added them to the pile of Christy's to throw out.

  “It means when you decide to get out there, you get way out there.” He patted my shoulder. “Gray’s not the only one watching out for you. What time tonight?”

  I told him.

  “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  Chapter 22

  GRAY

  My dad wasn’t too hard to find since I knew where to look. There was nothing in Wyoming as far as the eye could see. Open grassland, undulating hills, mountains in the distance for a stretch. I loved it. That was why, as soon as I had the cash, I bought a ranch of my own. An escape. I wanted to take Emory there, get her alone. Get her beneath me again. No interruptions. For days.

  There were parts of Wyoming I wanted to avoid, like where I grew up. I never wanted to step foot on that land again. I hadn’t been back since I left for the Marines and had no reason to do so now. My father, thank fuck, was at the casino. It was on the reservation only thirty miles from the ranch, and I could feel the tension creeping into my shoulders with each passing mile.

  I had to deal with him, and he sure as fuck wasn’t coming to me. The only reason I was doing so now was because of Emory. No one fucked with her.

  No one.

  The casino could be seen for miles, like a city seen from space, the only thing on the prairie besides the double strips of pavement for the highway. I exited, parked in the large lot and went inside. Even with the powerful ventilation systems, smoke hung thick in the air, and the sound of the slot machines—the digital music, the pinging of the game and the clinking of coins falling into little plastic cups—was quickly going to give me a headache.