“Then that’s what matters.” Marty started to say something else, but the front door swung open, and a woman who looked to be in her twenties strode in.
She smiled at them both. “Hi. I heard you have a class for adults.”
“We do.” Marty turned to her and began to outline the two options, and the difference between them. “If you’ve got some ninja experience, you might be better suited for the second class.”
“Oh, no. I’m a brand-new beginner,” she said, her smile widening as she studied Marty. “Are you the coach for the adult class?”
Good grief, the woman was practically drooling. Did she have no shame?
“I am.” Marty stood a little straighter. “Or at least I co-teach it. While we do encourage progression, we have some other new students as well. You’re welcome to join us. The next class is Wednesday evening at six.” He winked and shot her a smile. “We’d love to see you there. The first class is always free.”
It was all Emma could to do to not groan or smack Marty in the back of his head. Seriously, did the guy have to flirt with everyone? She grabbed her backpack, lunch, and headed for the door.
She’d barely made it to her car when the younger woman left the gym with a wave over her shoulder. Marty jogged out behind her, spotted Emma, and turned her direction.
Pretending she hadn’t seen him, Emma tossed her things into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. She almost got the door closed before Marty caught it. “You in a hurry? I was hoping we could get some lunch.”
Emma motioned toward the sports car pulling out of the parking lot. “Why didn’t you ask her to eat lunch with you? Seems like the next logical step after all of that flirting.”
Marty rolled his eyes. “I was talking to a potential customer and encouraging her to try a class.”
“Right.”
He put one hand on her door and the other rested on the dashboard. He crouched down until he was face-to-face with Emma. “Maybe you should ask yourself why my alleged flirting with other women bothers you so much.”
* * *
Marty should have letit go and walked away before either of them said something they didn’t mean. Except he didn’t. Couldn’t. And now he was crouched down next to her car, watching her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and admiring the fact that she hadn’t so much as flinched at his veiled suggestion. She was staring him down—giving as good as she got—and all Marty could think about was leaning in and kissing her. A move, he was quite sure, would not be welcome.
Even with her lips pursed together in irritation, they were pink, full, and begging for attention. He shifted his gaze back to her eyes before she deduced his line of thinking.
Those lips finally parted as Emma responded with clipped words. “Maybe not everyone who comes into the gym wants to be flirted with.”
If only she knew how hard it had been to flirt with a woman for the first time after his accident. It’d taken everything in him to prove he wasn’t going to let the loss of his leg hold him back. It’d become a coping mechanism, a way to prove to himself he was still normal. Still the same man he’d been before. It’d become a routine way of interacting with the women around him.
Maybe Emma was right, and maybe he should change the way he approached members of the fairer sex. But he wasn’t going to admit that, not now anyway.
His eyebrows rose as he reflected on her comment. “What about you?”
“What do you mean?” She crossed her arms and didn’t quite meet his eyes.
Marty had no doubt she knew exactly what he meant. “Are you one of those women who doesn’t want to be flirted with?” When she didn’t respond immediately, he reached over with one hand and gently fingered a blonde curl. It flowed like silk against his roughened skin. “There’s one thing you should know.”
“Oh? Please, do share.” Her arms were still folded, her green eyes sparking, but her voice sounded breathless.
Did he dare hope he had even a fraction of the effect on her that she had on him? “Of all the girls I’ve flirted with over the last few years, you’re the only one I’ve ever asked out.”
With that, he stood and strode to his Harley. The scent of vanilla and orange lingered, reminiscent of when he’d held her earlier. She’d fit in his arms perfectly. Why couldn’t she fit into his life as easily? He didn’t look at her again until after he’d placed his helmet on his head and could do so from the anonymity of the tinted face shield.
Emma closed her door and backed the car out of its parking space faster than she ought to given the parking lot. When she drove past him, she kept her gaze straight ahead.
With a heavy sigh, Marty started his own vehicle. He had to pick up something for lunch, although right now he didn’t feel like eating. What was it about her that managed to rile him more than any other woman he’d known? It was like she drove him crazy, and yet he couldn’t stay away. There was no denying his attraction to her, he just wished he knew for sure whether she disliked him as much as she seemed to, or if it was a defensive mechanism for something else.
“I’m a glutton for punishment, that’s what I am,” he grumbled as he coasted across the parking lot to the street.
If Emma was determined to keep their interactions on a superficial, co-worker level, then maybe that’s exactly what he needed to do. The problem was, sitting back and doing nothing wasn’t exactly in his wheelhouse. He fixed things. Worked to make his situation better. Sought out answers to questions that wouldn’t stop pestering him.
Yeah, he didn’t like this at all.
