“Look, I’ve got to go.”
“Oh.” I heard the pout in my voice.
“Emory,” he groaned. “I’m at the gym with a bunch of guys still on the mats, and when I hang up, I’m going to have to sit here in my office for a few minutes and pretend to do paperwork before I can head back out there to coach.”
“Oh,” I repeated. Then I realized what he meant, and I flushed hotly, savoring this little rush of power I had over him. “Oh! Then I guess I shouldn’t tell you what I’m wearing.” I was cruel, and I knew it.
“No,” he hissed. “Goodbye, Emory.”
He hung up, and I laughed as I did a little happy dance on the steps up to bed.
GRAY
Emory was a distraction. Plain and simple. I hadn’t been able to leave my office for twenty minutes after our phone call the night before because I had a hard-on that could pound nails, just from having her tell me she wanted to kiss me. Just a kiss! I usually fucked them and forgot their names by now, and I was losing my mind just from the idea of kissing Emory.
My first training session of the day was at six-thirty, and a restless night of sleep from thoughts of a very introverted nurse had me in the ring as a fighting partner.
“Dude, what crawled up your ass and died?” Reed asked when I’d pushed him through not only a five-mile run on the treadmill but an all-out sparring session. We sat on the edge of the mat to cool down. I pounded water and wiped my sweaty head with a towel. The guy was almost half my age, and he was toast, arms resting on bent knees, his breath coming in harsh pants. His dark hair was dripping wet, the skin on his tattooed arms was slick with sweat. He wanted to be an MMA champion. He would get there if kept working his ass off like he was—and I got paid to see that happen.
My muscles ached from pushing him—and myself—but I needed something, anything, to burn off this restless energy. I’d had to take my dick in hand in the shower the night before to ease the discomfort, but it had only been temporary. Blue balls were something new to me. Waiting for a woman was new to me. Desperate just for a kiss was absolutely new to me.
“You’re weak,” I muttered.
He laughed but then groaned. “You’re old,” he countered.
“Yeah, but I fucking kicked your ass.” I schooled him, and he knew it. Keeping his ego in check was just as important as teaching him to fight. I wanted my fighters cocky but not assholes.
We slapped hands, then I stood and headed up to my apartment to shower. I first went over to my cell on the kitchen counter and sent a text to Emory.
Gray: Have dinner with me tonight.
When I heard the phone ring an hour later, I thought it was her and answered it without checking the screen. I should have known better, should have known Emory would cloud my judgement.
“Didn’t think you’d answer.”
The voice on the line had my back stiffening. Jesus, would the asshole ever leave me alone? “What the fuck do you want now?”
“That’s how you treat your father? I call twice in one week. Whatever happened to family ties?”
I refused to be baited. Whatever feelings I had a moment before about Emory were crushed beneath my father’s grating voice.
“What do you want?” I repeated. “That’s the only reason you’re calling.”
“You hung up on me the other night. It’s time to talk.”
The last thing on earth I wanted to do was talk to my dad. After his call the other night, I’d blocked him out just like I always did. I pushed him and the fucking memories that went with him down deep. The running, the workouts, even sparring helped, but he had a knack for bring it all back like a scab ripped off and a wound bleeding again.
“That fight next month with Reed Johnson. I saw he’s one of yours.”
Reed was training for his third competition this year. He was two and O so far and, if he kept his head on straight, would have another victory.
“What about it?” I replied, my words a sharp bite. I leaned against the counter. Nothing was out of place. No crumbs. Not even a coffee cup in the sink. Emory was right—it was ridiculously clean. God, I didn’t want to think of her when I was talking to my old man, but she kept popping into my head at odd times, and when it happened, it felt like Christmas morning. Christmas morning for those who had Norman Rockwell childhoods not a fucker for a father.
“I’ve got money riding on it. Don’t blow it.”
I shook my head and laughed then pinched the bridge of my nose. That’s all he wanted from me—another bet. “Yeah, that’s why I’m training him to be the best, so you can make your money.”
My dad barked out a laugh. “You think I’m betting on your guy? Hell no. I’m betting on Ramirez. Just keep doing a fuck-up job of your life, and your kid’ll blow it, and I’ll rake in the dough.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear, slowly shook my head. “Fuck you,” I muttered. I heard my old man’s miserable laugh as I pushed the End button. Yeah, no sunshine and unicorns in my family.
How I could let my dad push my buttons after all these years was something I’d never understand. He was a fucking asshole, and I’d walked away after high school graduation and never looked back. Somehow, he kept getting my unlisted numbers and calling just to fuck with me. But betting against me? This was a new low, and it was hard to handle. I wanted to punch the shit out of something, and that’s why I had the gym downstairs. Instead of taking that shower, I jabbed the button on the elevator to go and hit the bags and work off some of the anger.
A few hours later, with my frustration tamed and my muscles sore, I finally got that shower. After, I climbed into my truck to head to a lunch meeting across town. The ping of a new text came from my pocket. I hit the air conditioning to high and grabbed the phone.
Emory: Is this a date? You said I’d know for sure when you asked me out.
I grinned, remembering my words. Whatever angst lingered from the shit with my dad slipped away as I typed.
Gray: It is if you say yes. Otherwise, it's a not-date.
I put on my seat belt.
Emory: I will be in my scrubs and gross, so I will want a redo.
I shook my head and shut my eyes briefly at her humor.
Gray: You can have a redo. Definitely. As many as you want.
I didn’t hear from her right away, so I set off for my appointment. She was at work and probably on some kind of quick break, so I didn't expect to hear from her right away. But five minutes later, my cell pinged again. I pulled into a strip mall lot to read the text.
Emory: I forgot. Someone is bringing me dinner. Long story. Come over at 7:30.
Later, when I walked up the sidewalk to her place a few minutes early, I knew the man and the boy sitting on Emory’s steps were part of the long story.
Chapter 12
EMORY
Not used to attractive men waiting for me on my steps, I stopped short as I walked up the sidewalk toward my house. I couldn’t help but ogle the two men sitting there. Gray leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. The other man I’d never met but was most likely Jackson’s uncle. The boy sat on the step above, and the family resemblance was strong. Jackson’s hands waved in the air, animated and lively as he talked. While the man was focused on his nephew, Gray watched me as I approached, and I felt the familiar flutter at the sight of him. I was becoming used to the sensation, and I wasn’t afraid of it any longer. He was so relaxed, so at ease. So flippin’ hot in his cowboy hat. And he was here for me. Watching me. Taking a deep breath, I walked toward them once again. His dark eyes raked over me, from my work clogs to my scrubs all the way to my messy ponytail. I could only imagine what he thought of me dressed like this, in the outfit I considered man-repellant.