“Nervous enough to accuse you of Rufi-ing my drink.”
His broad smile had me smiling, too. How did he put me at ease when I should instead feel ridiculously embarrassed? “Can I have a chance to start over like you did?”
He nodded and crossed his blunt fingers over his chest. “Seems fair. We both get a redo.”
I took a deep breath, looked him straight in the eye and smiled. “Thank you, Gray, for the water.” I took a cold and refreshing sip. Stalled. He watched as I swallowed.
He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”
“How did you know I wasn’t drinking? Liquor, I mean.”
“The first time I saw you—I got here late because of a meeting—you were talking with the bartender. Pretty as a picture and making the guy smile. He nodded at something you said and made you a gin and tonic look-alike.”
That had been ten minutes or more before he came over and rescued me. Gray had been watching me longer than I’d thought. How had I missed seeing him earlier? He was impossible to miss; I responded to him in a way I'd never experienced before. It was almost visceral. Because of this... attraction, I didn’t know how to feel about that. Flattered?
“I had a glass of wine when I arrived, and I have to drive home,” I explained. “I’m somewhat of a lightweight, so I didn’t need any more. If I hold a glass of water, that really looks like just water, people ask me if I’m an alcoholic or they look at my stomach and wonder if I’m pregnant.”
His jaw clenched. “I stopped drinking when I was in training and never took it back up, but I don’t have people questioning me like that. Shitty double standard.”
I shrugged because there was nothing to add. It was a shitty double standard, but I was pleased to see he wasn’t happy about it. “Besides, if I drink too much at night, it’s hard to work out first thing in the morning.”
“You run?”
I rolled my eyes at the idea of running. As if. “Only if being chased.”
His eyes narrowed at the dark humor, clearly not amused. “The idea of you being followed is not funny.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, chagrined. Wow, he was protective, too. “No. I practice yoga.”
Interest lit his face. “Yoga? Really?”
I was waiting for him to say something about how flexible I was, but he didn’t.
“Yin? Vinyasa? Hot yoga?” he asked.
My mouth fell open, a little stunned he knew the various types. “You do yoga?”
He laughed. “I can’t even touch my toes, but we have classes at my gym. You’re a morning person then.”
“I like to see the sun rise.” The way the sky turned from black to gray to pink and then blue, how the top of the mountains caught the first rays. The way the city was still asleep.
“I can understand that. I run at six almost every morning. I like the quiet.” Was that why he drove those guys off—because they were too loud? Could this guy be an introvert like me?
Something settled inside me. He knew. He liked the quiet.
“You… you do understand then,” I replied, my voice soft. I was pleased, thrilled even and a little spurt of pleasure coursed through me.
The corner of his mouth turned up, but he didn’t say anything, only kept looking at me. Now, when his eyes held mine, I wasn’t nervous, I was… intrigued.
“I play flag football on Sundays through a rec league, just for fun. It’s not overly competitive, especially since there are a bunch of us older guys out there.”
Older guys? He couldn’t be much older than me. Maybe forty or so. I doubted he had trouble keeping up with anyone younger, especially if he was a trainer. He looked more than fit to hold his own at whatever he wanted to accomplish. I just didn’t expect a cowboy to play flag football. But that was pretty judgmental, especially when I hated it when people made snap decisions about me. Like Bob/Bill and me being a candy striper.
“The game is at eleven,” he continued. “I’d like it if you came.”
My mouth fell open, and I didn’t know what to say. He was asking me ou
t? He held up a hand. “Don’t panic—it’s not a date.”