by Vanessa Vale
The door slid open and Gray stepped back, letting me exit first. Instead of opening into a hallway, I stepped out directly into his apartment. It was wall-to-wall windows, the space bright and airy with an open floor plan. The decor was more masculine minimalist than sleek and shiny. The kitchen was modern and stainless steel, the couches leather, the TV large. It was apparent from the space alone that he had money, but he didn’t flaunt it. He didn’t flaunt his fame either. It was a very appealing trait, along with so many others I was slowly discovering.
“You think this is messy?” I asked, surprised. I knew what male messy was like and this was not it.
“I have a cleaning crew come through on Mondays while I’m downstairs, so it’s been all week since they’ve been in.” He dropped his keys on a table by the door.
I walked toward the kitchen. “No dirty dishes.” Turning, I faced the couch, coffee table, TV arrangement. “No empty pizza boxes or game controllers scattered around.” I finished my circle and faced a long hallway down which I assumed were the bedrooms and bath as it was the portion of the apartment with walls for privacy. “No dirty laundry on the floor.”
Gray shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a clean freak.”
I put my hand to my heart in mock surprise. “No woman has swept you up? Seriously, I had to ship my son to a military academy in order for him to learn tidiness.”
“Same for me then. Army.” He placed his water bottle in the sink, then came over to me, gave me a surprisingly hard stare. He had only touched me once, holding my hand at the restaurant, but this look, I felt it all over. “I don’t bring women here, so this…compulsion I have is a secret.”
I couldn’t respond to that because my brain was frozen. Didn’t bring women here.
“I’m going to jump in the shower. There’s juice and iced tea in the fridge if you’re thirsty. The remote for the TV is somewhere near the couch. I won’t be too long since I don’t have to do my hair.” He ran his hand over his head, the short hairs rasping against his palm. I wondered if it was prickly or soft and I itched to find out. Instead, I only nodded.
He turned and walked down the hall. As he went, he reached behind his head and yanked his T-shirt off, gifting me with a view of his muscled back, lean waist and a tattoo that took up part of his left shoulder blade and worked its way around his ribs toward the front. Oh my God. That back. The door at the end of the hall shut behind him, then moments later I heard the shower.
Realizing I just stood there, mouth open, practically gaping at him, I rolled my eyes. I was being an idiot, ogling the man. No, not an idiot, because any conscious woman would ogle him. I mean, that was just his back. The way his biceps bulged with his movements, the way his back was sinewy and V-shaped with muscle had my nipples tightening. And the tattoo! I’d never found them all that appealing before, but I wanted to strip him naked and check out every single one of them. I knew about the one on his arm, and now the one on his back. Were there more? God, if there were, there wasn’t much skin left I hadn’t seen, but I wanted to tug on those shorts to find out.
Not that I could act upon it; I was a wuss. I barely remembered what it felt like to have a man-induced orgasm and was pretty bad at sex. Bad enough that I hadn’t been able to keep Jack from sniffing around Paralegal Sue, divorce me and move to California.
What did guys even want these days? Sex, for sure. But I’d heard, from Faith and Christy and all my younger single friends, that oral sex was done first these days. Even on first dates. Seriously? Was I so old-fashioned I wanted to work my way down a guy’s body?
Did Gray expect me to give him a blow job? Today? He’d barely touched me, just held my hand the other night, and that had been for show. But that was it. Was this even a date? Had he not touched me any more because he wasn’t interested? He said he didn’t bring women to his apartment, so why me?
Hearing the water shut off had me coming back from la-la land. The guy took two-minute showers like in the military. I hadn’t even moved from where he left me, so I went to check out his view from the large windows. We were above the treetops lining the sidewalk and I could see across the street to the other buildings. We were in an area of town that had once been a suburb of Baltimore but had been absorbed into the city. The small downtown area was thriving with boutiques and small shops, restaurants and coffee houses. I could see why Gray put his gym here; young people, fit people would find the location convenient.
I moved to look at framed pictures that were on a table behind the couch. One was of Gray competing in a fight, his arm out punching his competitor in the face. The photographer had caught him in motion. Pretty ruthless. Another was of Gray and a few other men, clearly other fighters. I picked up one of him and Thor, both with medals around their necks, both younger. No family pictures, then I remembered he’d said he had a shitty childhood.
“I hope I didn’t take too long,” Gray said, coming out of the hallway.
Putting the picture back, I looked up at him. He wore tan cargo shorts that hit the top of his knees and a pale blue button-up short-sleeved shirt. His feet were bare. His male scent filled the air, something woodsy and not too strong. Soap, perhaps? Whatever it was I liked. A lot.
“Me and Thor, back in the day.” He nodded toward the picture I’d just put back.
I glanced back at the photo. “One of your competitions?”
“Yeah, you can see what I look like with my hair grown out a bit.”
I assessed him, picturing him with longer hair. It was only about an inch long in the photo, but his hair was dark and covered his brow. I wondered if it were even longer if it would curl over his forehead and be unruly. Not his style, it seemed, and I liked Gray with it closely cropped. It exposed him to the world and with it he was saying This is me. He didn’t hide behind anything and I liked that. So far he’d been direct and forthcoming, and it totally, totally, worked for me.
“I kind of like the clean-cut look,” I admitted.
He ran a hand over his very short hair, all the while assessing me, perhaps testing the weight of my words. He made a sound deep in his throat. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.” My flip-flops were noisy on the wood floor as I followed him back to the elevator.
Grabbing his keys and sliding his feet into a pair of flip-flops of his own, he pushed the button for the elevator, which opened right away.
“You aren’t skipping a Sunday lunch with family, are you?” He leaned back against the handrail, gripping it.
Clearing my throat, I replied, “I got divorced four years ago. The house was sold in the settlement and I moved into my parents’ row house in the city.” I fiddled with the strap on my purse. “Yes, it was pretty pathetic, living with my parents in my thirties—with a child of my own. Fortunately for all of us, they retired and moved to Florida a few months later. I decided to stay and live in the house I grew up in, maybe because it was familiar, maybe because it was just easy. I had too much insanity as it was with a fourteen-year-old who was angry at his father, at the world. At the time it didn’t make sense to find somewhere else to live, but now with Chris gone, maybe I should start thinking about it.” I flicked my gaze to his and realized I'd rambled. “To answer your question, no. No family in town.”
The doors opened and he led me back out into the heat, which hit us like a wet blanket as we walked to the car. I glanced back at the gym, curious. This was Gray’s business. His life. When I first saw him on Friday night I’d thought he was fit and lived it instead of just pumping iron. I’d been right.
Through the wall of windows, I could see dark mats on most of the floors, a large reception area, punching and kicking bags hanging from the ceiling and what appeared to be a boxing ring with chain-link fence around it. Several people were working out.
“Want to check it out?” he asked, angling his head toward the gym.
“Sure.” I didn’t want to tell him I was curious, but I was. I followed him to the door, which he held open for me. The space was la
rge with high ceilings, the windows faced the street so whatever was happening in the gym was advertising itself. It was clean, just like Gray’s apartment and didn’t have that sweaty-sock smell I was expecting.
A guy was punching a small bag that hung from the ceiling that swung back and forth, Rocky-style. Two men were in the fenced ring, sparring with headgear, mouth guards and gloves. A woman ran on the treadmill, earbuds in place even though music came from hidden speakers.
The young guy at the front desk was on the phone but gave a quick wave to us.
“You used to fight like those guys?”
Gray turned to face the ring. “No, they’re just boxing. I did MMA.”
I bit my lip, hoping I didn’t sound too much like an idiot. “What’s the difference?”
“Boxing’s like Muhammad Ali, just punches. See, they’re only using their arms.” When I nodded that I followed, he continued. “MMA is combining boxing with kicking, like Muay Thai or karate, then fighting on the ground like wrestling, but some Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in there for submissions.”
An electronic bell rung from a timer on the wall. The men touched gloves and stepped out of the ring.
I saw Gray here, just right for his surroundings, his job. The knowledge and experience it took to run a place such as this, to have the following, the backing, the fame, was impressive. I was impressed. I was also completely in awe and a little bit in lust, because the testosterone seeping from him in this space was heady.
“Want to give it a try?” he asked.
I frowned. “What, me? In there?” I pointed to the ring. “That looks like something out of a Mad Max movie.”
He smiled. “Come on. I'll show you what I do, but you have to promise not to hurt me.”
Letting me step in the ring first, I rolled my eyes at him.
“Okay, so you want to stand like this and put your hands up in fists, here and here.” He stood beside me and I copied his stance. “Good.”
He moved to stand in front of me, hands up like mine. “Punch me.”
My eyes widened. “Are you serious? I can't punch you,” I said, lowering my hands. “Besides, we aren't even wearing gloves.”
“Think of something that makes you mad. Got it?”
The first thing that came to mind was Jack. My eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I got it. My ex.”
“Good. Now pretend I'm him. Punch him. Left, right. Like you mean it.”
I lifted my arms back to the position he'd showed me, then thrust out with my left hand. Gray's arm came up to block my strike. When I shifted my stance and punched with my right, I felt my feet come out from underneath me and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground with Gray sideways on top of me. In the blink of an eye—and with a care I doubted he gave to his usual opponents—he swept me to the ring floor. Gray's chest was pressed into mine and his face loomed over me. I was breathing hard, perhaps from the surprise move, but most likely because I had him on top of me, his mouth only inches from mine. I felt the firm floor beneath my back. There was no question he could hurt me, for there was no way I could defend myself from him. I knew, though, if I pushed against him, he'd let me up. I wasn't afraid of him.
I licked my lips. My heart was racing and surely he could feel it. “Now what do you do?”
Gray's eyes lowered to my mouth. “If you were my competition, I'd try to either choke you out or do an arm bar.”
I felt every hard muscle of his torso, even though he held himself off of me with his forearms. Regardless, I felt pinned and at his mercy. I did not mind in the slightest.
“As for you—” His eyes met mine and I blushed. “—I take you to lunch.” He levered off me, stood and held out his hand. I took it and he helped me up, but didn't let go.
“Wow. Um, okay, I know what you’re talking about now.” I had to get my bearings. The feel of a man above me—specifically Gray—had me hot all over. “Chris used to go to a friend’s house because they watched the fights on Pay-Per-View. Does that sound right?”
He nodded. “Sure, that’s it, but I also fought back in the old days before cable.”
“All you did was take me to the mat. The choking and the arm bars, isn’t it really violent?”
He grinned. “Very.” He pointed to his ear, then his nose. “I got these along with my trophies.”
I took in the whole package and the scars and marks on his body from his career didn’t detract. Instead, it showed he had a past, a history and he survived. “As a nurse, I have a pretty good idea of how those injuries must have felt.”
His smile slipped a bit. “I’m sure you can.” He led me out of the ring with a gentle hand at the small of my back.
I walked over to one of the long punching bags, ran my hand over the black leather. “How did you get your start though? I mean, did you do karate as a kid or something?”
This time his smile dropped away completely. “No. Nothing like that. Let’s just say I learned early on how to defend myself and give as good as I got. After high school, I went into the Army and they honed that skill.”
My eyebrows went up. Earlier, he'd glossed over his childhood and downplayed how bad it must have been. The Army, perhaps, had been his escape, and it would have made him really skilled.
“You left the Army and became a professional fighter then.”
He nodded. “I did what I was good at.”
I looked around the space. “Looks like you were really good at it.”
“I’m not as interesting as the Internet says.”
“Now that I know your full name, I’ll have to look you up.”
He didn’t seem too keen on that.
“Does it say something like you fathered some movie star’s kid?”
He grinned again and I liked it. I liked knowing I could make him smile. “Something like that.”
My eyebrows went up. “I was only joking. You’re serious, aren’t you?” When he didn’t say more, but watched the boxers get back in the ring, I asked, “Was it the lady who stars in that sci-fi blockbuster? I take you more for an action-adventure type.”
He turned his head toward me and grinned. “There’s only one type I care about,” he replied, stepping closer.
“Oh?”
He nodded. “Emory’s type.”
I had no idea what to say to that. I had absolutely no comeback and I was flustered. Of course that made him grin even bigger.
“I love the way you blush.” He ran a knuckle down my warm cheek, which made my face heat even more. “Ready to get out of here?”
I could only nod, still stuck on Emory’s type. I followed him to the car and his gaze raked over my body as he opened the door for me.
“So, rowing?”
“It’s not MMA, but it’s a good workout,” I replied, getting in.
“I can tell.” Was his voice a little rough?
He climbed into his seat, turned on the engine to get the air conditioning going. His car was new and sleek. Sporty yet understated, and it matched Gray’s personality.
Turning to face me, he said, “We can go to the bar and meet up with the team, but they’re going to be three beers in by now and singing crude rugby songs as loud as they can. Most guys probably haven’t showered, which won’t be pleasant, so I was thinking we could get some lunch on our own. Something a little less crazy.”
He sat less than two feet away. I could clearly see the scar in his eyebrow, the start of new whiskers on his cheeks. One of his ears had a hint of fighting damage to it, cauliflower ear, that he’d pointed to. But that was all superficial. Inconsequential. It was his eyes that hooked me. The way he looked at me with that dark, piercing gaze as if I was the only person around. In this case, I was, but he was completely and totally focused on me, not the car blaring its horn on the street, not the bad song that came on the radio. It was as if he wanted to be just with me.
I licked my bottom lip and he sucked in a breath. “What about your friend, Thor?”
“He texted me while I was in the sho
wer. Laura, his wife, didn’t want to waste a babysitter on a bunch of drunk guys singing off key. Her words.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame her. Thor’s a smart man for doing what she wants.”
He cocked his head in question.
“If she gets what she wants, I promise you, he’ll get exactly what he wants,” I explained. I folded my hands in my lap.
He nodded slowly, thinking about my words, then grinned. “So if I take you where you want, will I get exactly what I want?”
My eyes widened. Even though the air conditioner was blowing out cool air, it was awfully hot inside the car all of a sudden and my heart skidded to a halt. “And…um, what is it that you want?” I whispered. I was dying to know and petrified to find out.
“Your phone number.” He grinned at my expression. It must have been priceless because I was expecting him to say something completely different, something that involved a first-date BJ. And he knew that.
Shaking my head slightly, I laughed as I retrieved my cell from my bag, handed it to him. He fiddled with it for a minute, then I heard a ring from his pocket. Then he gave the phone back, put the car in gear and backed out of the parking spot.
“There, now you have my number, too.”
CHAPTER SIX
EMORY
I let Gray decide where to eat for lunch. He took me to a place on the water near Annapolis for steamed crabs, a Maryland summer specialty. We ate outside on a covered patio at a picnic table covered in newspaper. A tin bucket sat between us for empty crab shells and we used wooden mallets to crack open the legs. It was a really smart choice on Gray’s part. It was slow picking the meat out of a crab, so we were able to linger and talk. Our hands were busy the entire time, which helped to avoid awkward moments. It was also a messy task, and it was hard to take anything too seriously when you were swinging a wooden mallet with crab seasoning all over your hands.
