by Poppy Parkes
“She’s the one who needs your apology, not me.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. Glancing at the woman I’m defending, my chest floods with warmth when I realize that she’s looking on with grim satisfaction, lips set in a thin line but her eyes alight.
She approves.
My stomach flips and I have to work to stay focused on the jackass in front of me.
His eyes slide from me to her, and he mumbles something under his breath before moving to turn away.
“Hang on.” He flinches and freezes at my words. “I don’t think she heard you. I sure as hell couldn’t.”
The guy’s irritated and I can tell he’s opening his mouth to argue. But then he catches my glare and thinks better of it. “Um, sorry,” he says, peering around me.
“For . . . ?” I prompt.
He looks at me, actually confused. I shake my head. “You really have no idea what you did wrong, do you?”
“I, uh, touched her?” He speaks in a hushed tone, glancing around him to make sure no one is listening in on our exchange.
“You touched her without asking — with your crotch, you asshole, and on her rear end. That’s assault. And you also verbally harassed her. So,” I cross my arms over my chest, “why don’t you go ahead and try that apology again.”
To his credit, his face is now gray — probably out of concern for himself, but hey, at least he looks something like contrite. “I’m sorry that I harassed and assaulted you.” He glances at me, then adds, “ma’am.”
I turn to the woman. “What do you think? Does he seem sorry?”
To my surprise, she snorts. “Not sorry enough, but I’m not surprised.”
“You want to press charges?” I ask her. “It’s well within your rights. And you have an eye-witness and video footage to back you up.”
“Hey, I thought you said if I apologized —“ the guy pipes up.
I turn on him with a growl. “You do not want to finish that sentence.”
He clamps his jaw shut. Smart man.
I look again to the woman, trying to ignore how stunning she is even though she just sweated her heart out and then had to put up with this dumb fuck of a human. “Your call,” I say. “I’m behind you all the way if you decide to press charges. And I’ll represent you free of charge.”
Her eyebrows peak. “Seriously?”
I nod. “There are too many dicks like him out there. It would be my pleasure to put at least one of them in his place.”
Her eyes wander from me to him. She catches her bottom lip in her front teeth as she ponders her options. Finally, she shakes her head. “While I’m tempted by your offer,” she says, giving me a shy smile, “I’d prefer to never have to look at him again.” Her gaze shifts to the younger man and grows steely.
“You sure?” I ask.
She nods, the movement decisive. “One hundred percent.”
“Well,” I say, turning back to the guy I’ve got trembling in his trainers, “it’s your lucky day. But I never want you back in this gym, got that? I see you here again and I’m reporting you to management.”
“But I just joined this gym.” He scowls, and his voice twists into a whine that makes me want to punch him in the face. I ball my hands into fists and force them to remain at my sides.
I make my stance wide, feral. I’m the alpha in this situation and I want it to stay that way. “The members deserve to have a safe place to work out — a place free of you. So get the fuck out and don’t come back. I’ll know if you do — I’m here often.” I take a single step forward. “Got it?”
He drops his eyes to the floor and I know I’ve won. I can practically see his fight fade like a thin wisp of smoke wafting from a just-extinguished candle. “Yeah,” he says faintly. “Got it.”
He beats a hasty retreat, eager to get out of here without a charge on his criminal record.
As he should be.
I turn back to the woman. My heart’s hammering in my throat. I was calm and confident throughout my whole exchange with the dumbass. But now that it’s just she and I, I’m fucking terrified.
“Well,” I say, not sure where to place my hands. “Sorry about that guy.”
“Thanks for stepping in. I mean,” she says with a smile, “I know how to handle myself in situations like that. But I’m grateful that this one time I didn’t have to.”
I nod, suddenly worried in spite of her reassurances that I’ve overstepped my bounds and gotten involved where I wasn’t wanted or needed. “I’m sorry if I —“ I stammer, but she shakes her head and cuts me off.
“You didn’t.”
My mouth opens and closes and opens again in quick, confused succession before I finally manage to squeeze some words out. “Uh, I didn’t what?”
Her smile widens, and damn, I didn’t know she could get any more beautiful. But with that exquisite smile aimed at me, she’s a goddamn work of art. “You were going to apologize for getting involved, for overstepping. You didn’t.”
I blink. Overstepping. That was what I’d thought, the exact word I’d used in my head. I fix her with a suspicious eye, unable to contain the smile that’s now curving at my mouth. “Are you a psychic?”
“Close. I’m a therapist.” She extends a hand. “Emilia Romano, L.C.P. Although my friends call me Emmy.”
I take her hand, relishing the softness of her palm against mine, and shake it. “Oliver Lewis, Attorney at Law.” With regret I release her hand. “What should I call you?”
Her smile grows into a wide grin. “Definitely Emmy.”
I return the grin, feeling like I just won the lottery. Emmy. Her name is Emmy. With her thick curls, sugar-sweet smile, and eyes that tell me that she’s got depths I can only hope to have the privilege of diving into, it’s the perfect name. I emit a sigh like a swooning Victorian before I catch myself.
Giving myself a little shake, I steel myself and do something far more terrifying than facing down a sexual offender.
I ask her out.
“Emmy,” I say, enjoying the way her name feels as it rolls over my tongue, “can I buy you a drink to try to make up for what just happened?”
It’s not on a date, exactly. That wouldn’t be appropriate under the current circumstances.
But I ask her out. And that’s the important thing.
My stomach drops when she shakes her head from side to side.
“No,” she says, and my heart hits the floor. But then the side of her mouth curls upward and she cocks her head to one side, mischief dancing in her eyes. “But you can let me buy you a drink.”
My heart recovers and performs an uncoordinated but enthusiastic jig. “But —“ I say, trying to be the gentleman.
“I won’t take no for an answer,” she says. Her eyes are gentle but her voice firm. “You were about to give me free legal representation — which I would’ve taken you up on if I’d decided to press charges. At least let me buy you a drink.”
My chivalrousness battles with my desire to spend time with this woman for any reason. Including getting treated by her.
She cocks her head to the other side. “Please?”
And fuck, that soft appeal does me in. I’d do anything to make this woman happy, I realize.
So I nod, restraining myself from taking her in my arms and spinning her around the emptying group fitness studio, and instead say, “I accept.”
She rewards me with a smile more luminous than any she’s given me thus far and god, even if this evening is the only time we spend together, I’ll cherish every moment of it.
Emmy
In spite of myself, I find myself having a blast with Oliver at the dive bar we agreed to meet at. He’s charming and funny, and the way he stood up for me at the gym made a bigger positive impact on me than I would have predicted.
Like, in a panty-moistening sort of way.
So when we finish our ice-cold beers and he offers to get us another round, I let him.
I don’t know why I’m letting myself do this. In
my line of work, I’ve seen so many relationships gone wrong. And experiences like the one after class tonight? They occur all too regularly in my personal life. My friend Hattie says it’s because I look sweet and guys take that as an invitation to be anything but.
And yes, Oliver did come to my rescue like a knight in shining armor. And while a lifetime of exposure to fairy tales and Disney princesses and happily ever afters may have taught me that being a damsel in distress is nothing but a bullshit patriarchal construct and that I don’t need rescuing . . . I liked it.
A lot.
So much that, while I watched Oliver defend me, putting himself at risk to face down a stranger when he could’ve just ignored the whole thing and walked away, I felt my low belly tighten and my nether regions begin to pool.
Which never happens. At least not since the ragingly hormonal days of puberty, when just thinking about chaste kisses with my middle school crush would get me dripping.
These days, I know better.
And Oliver is probably just another guy that wants to get in my pants.
But for the first time in a long damn time, the feeling is mutual.
This time, I want to jump the guy’s bones as much as he wants to jump mine.
Maybe even more, judging from the wetness I feel between my thighs when I cross my legs — wetness that has nothing to do with the workout Wendy put us through.
Oliver returns with two fresh beers, both in glasses frosted with icy condensation.
“Yum,” I say, wrapping my fingers around the cool base of one of them and drawing it across the table toward me. “I love how this place freezes their cups.”
He takes a sip of his beer. “I agree. It makes the drinks far more refreshing.”
“So,” I say, the alcohol making me bold, “do you normally do that sort of thing? Ride in like a white knight?”
“You mean what happened at the gym?” He crooks an eyebrow at me.
I nod.
He shakes his head, sipping his beer and licking the foam off his top lip.
Which makes my inner sex-starved teenager shiver.
I clear my throat and try to focus on the words coming out of Oliver’s mouth and not how much I want him to kiss me.
“No, not unless I’m getting paid,” he’s saying.
I nod. “In your work as a prosecutor.”
“Yep.” He winces. “Does that make me a bad person?” He sounds like he actually wants to know. A guy who values honesty and self-reflection? It’s a dream come true for this therapist.
“Not at all. I just wondered if you had a habit of rescuing ladies. That might be a red flag.”
I blink. Is it just me, or are Oliver’s cheeks flushing pink? God, a man who blushes too . . . I wonder if he’ll be the one to change everything for my love life.
I wonder if I believe that’s even possible.
Looking at the silver hair that shines from his head like a crown and the warmth in his slate eyes, I find myself hoping it is.
“How’s this for a red flag?” Oliver is continuing, slowly, as if he’s weighing each word. “A man is attracted to a woman who’s likely half his age.”
His voice is deep and masculine. But the vulnerability in Oliver’s eyes gives me a glimpse at the little boy that still lives within him, and it makes me want to wrap my arms around his solid form and protect that inner child with everything that I have in me.
And then his words hit home. He’s talking about me, I realize. About us.
I’m the woman he’s attracted to.
Now my cheeks are the ones growing crimson.
“I don’t consider that a red flag. Attraction doesn’t follow any rules. We like who we like.” I meet his eyes through my lashes. “I’d think a young woman would very much appreciate the experience and emotional maturity an older man could offer.”
Those steely eyes smolder and I swear that look alone might actually be able to light my underwear on fire.
“Really?” he asks.
His hand snakes across the table and alights on mine. I don’t pull my hand away, enjoying his sheltering touch.
I offer him a soft smile, in awe of the feelings he’s awakening within me — feelings I’d thought I was not capable of, not after all that I’ve seen from my therapist’s chair. “Really.”
Love is a risk. And maybe it wasn’t that I was too smart — or jaded — to be willing to risk it. Maybe it’s that I hadn’t found a person worth taking the risk for, and with.
A person like Oliver.
I lace my fingers through his. It feels right, our bodies mingling in this innocent way. Like it’s meant to be.
It makes me want to discover how it would feel to join our bodies in different, more scintillating ways.
My heart pounds in my throat. I swallow, hard, feeling like it’s running away with me.
But then, maybe it’s about time that I let my heart take the lead. Maybe Oliver’s that one in a million man that my heart could be safe with.
“Okay, I have another red flag for you,” he says.
His leg jiggles under the table. He’s nervous, I realize. This confident, capable silver fox of a prosecutor is fucking nervous talking to me.
I marvel at how powerful this makes me feel. Like I’m a siren who’s brought a powerful warrior under her thrall with a song.
I like the sensation. It makes me feel beautiful and sexy, fearless and cocky and wholly alive — all things I rarely feel.
“Try me,” I reply.
“I’ve been watching you.”
His words are like an ice cube dropped down the back of my shirt.
No, not an ice cube — a whole damn freezer-full of ice.
“Not,” he continues, squeezing my hand, eyes dark with fear, “in a follow-you-home kind of way or anything. But at the gym.”
“You’ve been watching me . . . work out?” I say slowly, vibrating with uncertainty.
Oliver cringes. “It sounds bad, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “It really does. But I’ve now had —“ I examine my glass “— one and three-quarter beers, so I’m willing to hear an explanation before I pass judgment.”
“I noticed you one day at the gym. And god, you were so fucking beautiful, and you smelled like springtime and sunshine. And the staff person manning the front desk told you to enjoy kickboxing . . . so I went to kickboxing too.”
I wrinkle my nose. “When was this?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. Months ago.”
I open my mouth, but he hurries on.
“At first I was going to class just to see you, exquisite and powerful. But then I really got into kickboxing myself. I looked forward to the workout, to having Wendy kick my ass.”
I can’t stop the giggle that escapes me. “She does deliver a good ass-kicking.”
“I wanted to talk to you, say hi, see if we could strike up a friendship . . . or something more.” He looks me straight in the eyes and there’s that little boy again, peeking out from inside of him, and my heart twists at the sight. “But I was nervous. And I didn’t want to fuck things up — for you, or for myself.”
I cock my head at him, curious. “What do you mean?”
“It quickly became clear to me how important class is to you. A place to decompress, maybe, or work out some feelings. A safe space. I didn’t want to ruin that.”
Now I’m the one squeezing his hand. “You could see all that? Without even talking to me?”
“Was I right?”
“One hundred percent.”
His eyes dance, but his forehead still creases with worry. “I think that’s why I stepped in today. That asshole was destroying your safe place.” He shrugs. “I can’t say it was right, but the caveman that lives inside all guys came out when I saw that and I had to protect you.”
“That doesn’t sound wrong,” I murmur. “You made me feel safe in a situation where I would otherwise have been terrified. That means a lot to me.”
“So you’re not freaked out that I practically stalked you?”
I look within myself, traveling along my synapses and through my cells to discover how I feel.
To my surprise, I feel seen. Cherished, even. Certainly not afraid.
“No,” I answer, astonishment as clear in my tone as it is on his face. “I really don’t,” I smirk. “Besides, it wasn’t true stalking, but more of a low key version.”
He wrinkles his nose. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Look,” I say, leaning in so that I catch his delicious scent. “It is kind of weird to have someone tell you that they’ve been watching you. But you never approached me, never made me feel uncomfortable. And when you finally did come close, it was in a way that made me feel respected and valued.”
“I’m so glad.” He covers the hand that’s laced with mine with his other hand.
“Thank you,” I say, laying my free hand on the top of his new one. “For your honesty and for your respect. It’s not often that I receive either from the guys I meet.”
“I’m sorry to hear that’s been the case,” he murmurs. “You deserve so much more.”
I grin. “I know.” Then I shrug, grin fading. “That’s why I’m kind of permanently single.”
“Any chance that an emotionally intelligent, experienced, respectful older man might be able to persuade you to reconsider that?” His voice is rich with sincerity and so damn smooth, all without being pushy or domineering.
My smile begins to return, making the corners of Oliver’s lips curve upward to match. It feels so damn good to make him happy, much more satisfying than I ever would’ve expected.
“I think a man like that,” I say, leaning even closer, “would have an excellent chance of success.”
Dizzy with all these new discoveries of both myself and this beautiful man, I reach for Oliver’s lips with mine. When his find my mouth, brushing gently, the taste of his beer mingles with mine. It’s all I can do to stop myself from leaping across the table and folding myself into his arms, letting him hold me and kiss me for the rest of my days.
