I crinkled my brow. “Really? All I said was yes.”
“It means that we’re more than just people who coincidentally meet in a park.”
“You make it sound like we’re practically lovers.” I walked over to my junk drawer, pulled it open and started weeding out expired coupons from the pile, wedging my cell between my ear and my shoulder.
“I know.”
I dropped the phone into the pile of junk. In my haste to grab it, I bumped my hip on the drawer and shut it, phone inside. “Shit!” With fumbling fingers, I yanked it back open and pulled out the phone. “Gray? Sorry, I dropped the phone.”
“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 the phone, I’m going to have to si
t 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, his skin on his tattooed arms were slick with sweat. He wanted to be an MMA champion. He could get there if he tried hard enough—and he paid me 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. Blue balls was 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.
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.
Have dinner with me.
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. “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.
“That fight next month with Reed Johnson. I saw he’s one of yours.”