Page 27 of Stud

“You look great, Ainsley. You always look great,” he said softly.

Belly, meet manicured feet.

Even in my construction outfit, I was powerless to his charms. “Okay. Let’s take your truck.”

Realizing my need to stay incognito, he spun and positioned me in front of him. Not nuts to butt, unfortunately, but his large hands curled around my hips, keeping me shadowed. And horny. But I could do this with him. Have dinner. Drinks. Become besties and figure out how to deal with the Anton development.

Owen led me to the passenger side of his truck and held open the door. Ever the gentleman. It shouldn’t surprise me, considering he grew up watching black-and-white films and dancing with his grandmother, just another dazzling thing about the man. Shaking off his awesomeness, I slid in and buckled up. I studied Anton from my perch. He was talking to Nick, likely asking about volunteering, which meant I could be working closely with him.

My stomach soured. Anton had never apologized to me, and I’d never apologized to him. Last I heard, the burns on his hand had left nasty scars, and he still limped.

Way to go, Ainsley.

Owen slid into his side and turned the ignition. Anton’s attention flipped our way. Crap. I dove down, my face nearer to Owen’s crotch than I’d ever have hoped. To avoid a broken nose, I placed my cheek against his thigh and sighed. He cupped the back of my neck, those calluses as rough and sinful as expected.

His thumb sunk into my hair. “I got you, doll.”

Slowly, he accelerated. At light speed, my heart revved.

Lord have mercy. Doll.

“It smells divine in here. How have I never been to this place?” Where most Indian restaurants had a cafeteria vibe with buffet offerings, this intimate room—full of soft lighting, gold-and-burgundy walls, and hanging swathes of sheer fabric—was sensual.

“I come here with my brother sometimes. Figured there’d be lots for you to order.”

I scanned the vegan options. “Tons. This is amazing.”

I sat across from him, eager to gossip and forge our new friendship. Redefine my Owen Time. The second our handsome waiter brought our drinks, I sipped my Riesling, enjoying the view as the man walked away. Our server was a looker. All chiseled and swarthy, his tidy beard and inky eyes reminded me of Aazam. Since Gwen wasn’t here to help me deduce and assess a potential crush, I’d have to rely on Owen. Maybe he could assist in sussing out a good catch.

Even someone dateable.

Owen Time was pushing me to rethink my no-relationship motto. I liked getting to know him, sharing pieces of myself with someone again. Sure, most men were dicks like Thomas Arlington the Third, who liked to park their cars in other women’s garages. My last boyfriend, Brandon, had proven as much. But lately I’d sensed my faith creeping back. My father was devoted to my mom. My favorite client, Felipe, spent countless hours at his law firm, but he made his wife a priority. Jimmy was a winner too; Rachel was the happiest I’d ever seen her.

Putting my heart on the line again was terrifying, but I found myself craving that closeness. With someone like Owen—a man who put me at ease. I mean, I was in a public place, wearing dirty jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt, and I didn’t care. I kind of liked not sitting with perfect posture in a tight dress and heels. The ease of it reminded me of nights eating chips on the couch with my dad.

Before we could discuss my revelation, there was business to attend to. “Anton’s for sure volunteering, right? I’m going to end up partnered with him, or something equally as horrifying.”

Owen sipped his beer. “If I had to guess, yeah. He was talking to Nick, who organizes that stuff. But I could take care of him, if you want—shove him in a box and ship him to Antarctica. The prick deserves it.”

“That’s sweet, but I’d have to be deported, too.” I went on to confess my shameful stunt, describing how I’d forced my brother to collect cockroaches, not relenting until the “gift” box was full. I slumped as I admitted Anton’s resulting injuries.

Owen scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “I get feeling guilty over that, but the guy had it coming. You also didn’t mean to hurt him. And I know this isn’t what you want to hear…but maybe Anton turning up is a good thing.”

“Good because this is an alternate universe and everything is opposite to what I’m actually feeling?”

“No.” He nudged my foot with his. “But that would be kind of cool. I was thinking more along the lines of a fateful push. If you’re still upset over what you did, this could be life’s way of offering you closure.”

I stamped one Converse on the other, twisting uncomfortably. My birthday wish hadn’t been made on the fly. I’d been down for a while, frustrated with aspects of my job, feeling badly about myself. But helping my parents took priority over ditching clients. As much pride as the Habitat project provided now, it didn’t change my circumstances, and seeing Anton was a reminder that I had more to atone for than my work.

Apologizing to him could help with my resolution. I could rise above the scars his bullying had left and be happier with myself, beyond my newest nail job—purple with white flowers, my pinkies dotted with rhinestones.

But the thought of confronting him had me tensing, a mental tally of every mean stunt he’d pulled locking my joints. I’d done one mean thing that had ended horrifically. He’d been the architect of months of my torment.

Overwhelmed, I turned my focus to Owen. Another drama I needed to sort. My first stride toward forging our touchy-feely friendship was admitting I knew his boyfriend. I’d avoided the topic, had sidestepped any subjects nearing our love lives. I hadn’t wanted to confess I’d had a thing for Emmett, and I also liked pretending Owen was mine. A ridiculous notion.

Since I couldn’t plow him, it was time to stop playing make believe and plow ahead. While admiring my horny coverings, I said, “I didn’t mention it, but I know Emmett.”

Eight