No, that wasn’t right. I’d had to fight my way out of my dad’s house, fists up, deflecting his physical blows until I was around sixteen and grew bigger than him, then built up my defenses against his verbal assaults until graduation when I shipped out for Basic Training. But that had been surviving, and that was the difference. If my middle school gym teacher, Mr. Jahn, hadn’t picked up on what was happening and shifted my anger from lunchroom brawls to the ring, I’d probably be in lockup right now.
Being a soldier had been easy. Running a business was easy. Working for something made it important. Made it special, and Emory was special. She wasn’t throwing herself at me. The opposite, in fact. If I hadn’t invited her to the rugby game, I wouldn’t even be a fucking blip on her radar.
Sure, she was a challenge and I never backed down from challenge. But this wasn’t a fight, conquer and win situation. And that was the kicker. I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I actually texted a girl. Fuck, a
woman. Emory was all woman.
She wanted me. I saw it in her eyes when I had her beneath me in the ring. I saw it again when I walked her to her door after our not-date yesterday. I knew the signs and I’d desperately wanted to act on them. But I’d only have conquered her body and that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to get to know her and I wanted her to give herself to me completely. I didn’t want to take.
She’d written me back.
I hope you didn’t break anyone’s legs like the crab.
I couldn’t help the shit eating grin on my face. She hadn’t sent anything else, not that I expected it, so I tossed my cell onto the bench beside me. I could only imagine the stuff she dealt with, the horrors she saw with her job in the ER. Getting the crap kicked out of you in the ring was nothing in comparison to the harsh reality of the streets. As long as she was safe in the ER when she dealt with it, I was fine. I only wanted to show Emory my controlled side, but if someone fucked with her, she’d see the real me, the hard, dark parts that were there, beneath the surface.
Thor squirted water into his mouth, swallowed, then wiped the sweat from his face. A guy his size would sweat another hour before he cooled down enough to grab a shower, so we sat at one of the long metal benches beneath the big calendar of monthly classes and events.
“The date went great. We got snowballs from that stand over on Falls Road and just sat there,” he told me, propping his head back against the wall. “Held hands and watched the cars go by. For an hour. Then our date continued when we went to Target for shampoo and a new toilet bowl brush. Without the kids. No toy aisle. Plus, there was air conditioning.” He took another swig of water. “I know you’re going to think we’re crazy, but it was heaven being in a store without a kid holding onto your leg or hiding in the clothing displays.”
I shook my head in male disgust. This big giant of a man, the friend I’d known for years, was putting toilet bowl brush and date in the same sentence.
“When we got home, the kids were out cold. The babysitter’s a miracle worker. So the date continued.” He wore the grin of a well-satisfied male.
Emory had been right. Thor did what Laura needed and she gave him—from the shit-eating smile on his face—amazing sex. Emory had no clue about dating, but could clearly see the relationship dynamics for others. Not that I ever, ever wanted to be the guy who was thrilled picking out a toilet bowl brush, but I’d never tell that to Thor. I wasn’t that stupid. I leaned forward so my elbows rested on my knees, watched the activity in the gym. Two guys jumped rope in the corner. The advanced Muay Thai class was stretching out. Several guys worked the bags with punches and kicks.
“How’s Emory?” Thor asked, wiping his face.
“Good. We went to Pierce’s and got crabs.” We’d spent two hours eating and talking, and I’d enjoyed watching her get messy. She’d forgotten how nervous she was and lost her skittishness so I could see her, and I really liked what I saw.
“She seems…different.”
I thought about that. There was no comparison between her and the women who threw themselves at me, or I'd taken to bed in the past. I’d been looking for an easy lay, a reprieve from my life. With Emory, though, I wanted more. I wanted her, fuck, I wanted her more than any woman. Ever. I wanted to learn her body, to watch her eyes as I explored her curves, to see what made her hot, to see what made her eyes go dark with passion. To have her beneath me again, but in a bed…and naked. To know what she looked like when she came all over my cock. I shifted on the bench. “She didn’t know who I was.”
He was wiping his face with the end of his towel, but lowered it. “No shit?”
“I told her, but she didn’t seem all that impressed. She wanted to see inside the gym and seemed impressed for what I accomplished, definitely, but not overly interested that I was famous for it.”
“Are you going to tell her about the shit with your dad?” he asked, rubbing the towel over his face again. He watched two guys in the ring, knowing it was easier to talk this way.
I dropped my head, looked at the concrete floor between my feet. “Fuck if I know, but I’m sure she learned a fair amount with a computer search by now.” The shit with my dad was out there on the Internet, but not the full story. Enough though to drive her away. “I held her hand. That’s it.”
This had Thor glancing at me. “No shit?” he repeated.
“No shit,” I replied on a sigh. “I want to do this right. I…I like her. It’s not a matter of me telling her about my past because a quick search on her phone will tell her enough, but if she makes it to my bed—no, when she makes it to my bed, there will be nothing between us.”
“I thought you had a no-sleepover rule.”
Sex was sex and that was it. There was no cuddling after, no sleeping over. That’s why I never had a woman to my apartment. No strings. I hadn’t even thought about it when I took Emory there yesterday. When I'd come out of the shower and she was there, pretty as a picture waiting for me, it felt right. It felt…more.
“I don’t think that’s what I want from her.” I ran a hand over my head, my short hairs rasping against my palm. The front desk attendant held the phone up in the air and pointed at it. I stood. “Which means I’m fucked.”
I went into my office that had a wall of glass that faced out onto the mats, and dropped into my desk chair to take the call. I hadn’t even gotten a taste of Emory and I knew whatever could be between us was doomed. I shouldn’t have texted her, kept things going, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to let her go.
“Green,” I barked.
“Hello, Sonny.”
That voice. That nickname. Not Grayson or Gray. Sonny. Fuck. My hand gripped the phone so hard it probably cracked the plastic. A call from dear old dad only meant one thing. I was still totally fucked.