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.
Oliver
I did what I did at the end of kickboxing class because I felt angry and protective and I let my inner caveman take the lead.
But mostly, I acted because it was right.
I never would have imagined that my actions earlier would lead to Emmy’s sweet body pressed between mine and the back alley wall of the dive bar we’d just frequented.
She’d kissed me over our drinks, and she tasted of red velvet and sunshine beneath the bitter leavings of her beers.
Then she’d swigged the rest of her drink and stood, reaching out for me with a hand. “Kiss me again,” she’d asked, “outside?”
Of course I’d said yes. Of course I’d gulped down the remainder of my beer and followed her faster than a pubescent teenager at the prospect of some tail.
Because she’s fucking perfect and I’ve wanted her for months, thinking I could never have her.