Page 28 of Stud

Ten-letter word for a small elevator used to move objects between floors. Or the asshole who hits on your dinner date.

D U M B W A I T E R

Owen

Visions of my brother sharing humiliating childhood stories with Ainsley flooded my mind. I plunked my glass down harder than intended. “What do you mean, you know Emmett?”

“I saw him a few weeks back, when he stopped by the build. I kind of hid my face, so I don’t think he recognized me. I was embarrassed.” Even now, she twirled a lock of blond hair around her finger, avoiding eye contact.

“How exactly do you know him?”

She crossed her legs and bounced her foot. I could feel her movements more than see much under the white tablecloth, but our calves brushed. Even through our jeans, a spark of awareness snapped up my thighs. Like it had when she’d plastered herself to my back earlier. I’d nearly growled when she’d pressed her cheek to my thigh in my car. If I didn’t get us naked soon, that spark would ignite and burn me whole. Tamping down the urge to drag her onto my lap, I waited her out.

She wasn’t quick to answer. She flipped her fork in circles. She rolled her eyes as though annoyed with herself. “Thing is, I had a crush on him.”

“On Emmett?” She nodded, a sweet blush dusting her cheeks. I’d have laughed, but she looked ready to crawl under the table. “How’d you even meet him?”

“At the gym. I work out with a couple friends there, and I’d seen him around. I mean, he’s easy on the eyes, but he wasn’t interested, obviously.”

I didn’t question that. Hearing she’d been into him irked me a bit, but it explained her mixed signals. Must be awkward to be interested in my brother, find out he’s gay, then meet me. “You’re not the first woman to fall for him, if it makes you feel better. I bet he got a kick out of it.”

“Something like that. Anyway, I thought you should know. I enjoy spending time with you, and I didn’t want it to make things weird with us.”

Did that mean there was an us? I really hoped it meant there was an us. Either way, as new as I was to dating, talking about her feelings for my brother probably wasn’t high on any win-the-girl checklist. “Thanks for telling me, but it’s no big deal. And I like spending time with you, too.”

“Yeah?” she asked, almost skeptical.

I stared into her blue eyes, losing a bit of myself each time they beamed me in. “Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. The moment lingered. Something lingered. Until she looked down sharply, breaking the intensity.

I scanned the menu. “You want to share stuff or order on our own?”

“Share,” she said, without looking up.

Sharing it was.

Two drinks and a stomach full of Indian food later, we both leaned forward, elbows on the table. Nana would flick my ear if she saw my poor table manners, but the spices and conversation had me warm and hazy. Ainsley had me hazy.

“What would be your worst way to die?” she asked between sips of water. “Like, your most terrifying option.”

“Zombie bite to the nuts.”

She snorted out a stream of liquid, then slapped a hand over her face. It only made her cuter. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Too bad I didn’t have my phone out. I could have videoed it.” Come to think of it, she hadn’t touched her phone, either. Our conversation had been effortless, jokes and silly topics thrown between us. And there had been touching. Subtle brushes of her fingers on my wrist as she talked. My blood vessels swelled with each connection, her bright mood making my blood sing. Whatever barrier she’d thrust between us had toppled.

“Seriously though,” she said. “Zombie bite to the nuts? Why?”

“If you’d ever been kicked in the nuts, you’d understand.” I reached down and shifted my jeans at the agonizing thought. Ainsley’s gaze followed my movements. The heat in her eyes had me adjusting for other reasons.

“Men have low pain thresholds. It can’t hurt that badly.”

“You have no idea.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’d probably skip a week of work for period cramps.”

The one and only time I’d had a solid shot to the nuts had involved a soccer cleat, a missed kick, and me rolling on the ground. “If period cramps feel like being punched in the gut with Thor’s hammer, followed by simultaneously wanting to puke and shit yourself, then yeah, you’re probably right. I’d take a sick day.”

“Baby,” she mumbled.