Page 36 of The Dating Coach
The familiar voice shattered the moment like ice water. I stumbled, but Liam's steady presence kept me upright as we turned to face my ex, Devon, and his date – a delicate blonde dripping in diamonds who looked like she'd stepped out of a society magazine.
"Devon," I managed, proud when my voice came out steady.
"Liam," Devon nodded curtly, clearly remembering their previous encounter. "Still playing the devoted boyfriend, I see." His arm tightened possessively around his companion. "I don't think you've met my fiancée, Bethany. Bethany, this is Gemma, the girl I told you about."
Bethany's smile was perfectly practiced and completely cold. "Oh yes, the swimmer turned medical student. How... ambitious."
"And this is Liam," Devon continued, "Gemma's current... project."
"Boyfriend," Liam replied smoothly, his arm sliding around my waist. "Congratulations on your engagement."
"Thank you." Devon's smile turned smug. "I have to say, finding Bethany really put things in perspective. See, Bethany understands what it means to be a partner. She's supportive, agreeable, never creates unnecessary drama." His eyes flicked to me pointedly. "She's everything a man could want in a wife."
Bethany preened under the praise, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the light as she adjusted her hair. "Devon deserves someone who appreciates his ambitions. Someone refined."
"Unlike some people," Devon added, his gaze traveling over my dress dismissively, "Bethany actually knows how to be feminine. She doesn't spend her time in chlorinated pools ruining her hair and skin. She takes care of herself—"
"Can she swim?" Liam interrupted quietly.
Devon blinked. "What?"
"Your fiancée. Can she swim?" Liam's tone was conversational, but I felt the steel underneath. "Because Gemma's not just good at swimming – she's extraordinary. Olympic-level extraordinary. She's dedicated years of her life to perfection in something most people can't even attempt."
Bethany's laugh was sharp. "Swimming is so... high school. I prefer more civilized activities. Yoga, Pilates—"
"Right," Liam nodded. "So when you say 'refined,' you mean someone who's never pushed herself to excel at anything challenging. When you say 'elegant,' you mean someone who's never fought for anything meaningful." His gaze moved between them. "Got it."
Devon's face darkened. "There's more to being a woman than athletic achievements. Bethany has class, breeding—"
"Bethany has money," Liam said bluntly. "Which is probably what you really meant to say. But money can't buy the kind of strength Gemma has. The discipline. The heart." He pulled me closer. "You're an absolute fool for letting her go, Devon. But honestly? Thank you. Your loss is the best thing that ever happened to me."
Devon's jaw clenched. "You have no idea what you're dealing with."
"I know exactly what I'm dealing with," Liam said, his voice dropping to something dangerous. "A woman who's strong enough to walk away from someone who didn't deserve her. Smart enough to see through bullshit." He stepped forward slightly, and Devon actually took a step back. "Everything you were too weak to handle."
"Come on, Bethany," Devon said finally, his face flushed with anger. "We're wasting our time here."
They stalked off toward the bar, Bethany's heels clicking aggressively against the marble floor. I watched them go, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Gemma," Liam said softly, turning to face me fully. "Look at me."
I did, finding his eyes blazing with protective fury that was slowly softening into something gentler.
"He's wrong," he said firmly. "About all of it. You're not too intense or too competitive. You're passionate and driven and absolutely incredible. And anyone who can't see that is an idiot who doesn't deserve five minutes of your time."
"Thank you," I whispered, overwhelmed by the conviction in his voice. "You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." He cupped my face gently, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "Because someone should have been defending you all along. Someone should have been telling you how extraordinary you are instead of making you feel like you need to be less."
The words broke something open in me. I surged forward, one hand fisting in his tuxedo jacket as I pulled him down to meet my lips. This wasn't the gentle exploration of our previous kisses – this was desperate and claiming, pouring all my gratitude and confusion and want into the connection.
He made a sound low in his throat and responded immediately, one hand tangling in my carefully styled hair while the other pulled me flush against him. He kissed me like he was trying to prove a point, like he could pour certainty into me through touch alone. When his tongue swept across my lower lip, I opened for him without hesitation, the taste of champagne and promise making me dizzy.
We broke apart only when oxygen became necessary, both breathing hard. His forehead rested against mine, and I could feel the rapid beat of his heart where my hand pressed against his chest.
"That was..." I started, not sure how to finish.
"Real," he said quietly. "That was real, Gemma."
