Page 48 of Stud

“You get blue balls. I get blue bean. It’s not fun, so wipe that ridiculous grin off your face.”

I covered my mouth with my hand, unsure when my smile had gotten so wide. “Sounds painful.”

“You have no idea. So get on with whatever conversation is more important than saving your girlfriend from an excruciating death.”

I sobered quickly, shoving my hands in my pockets as I played the words in my mind. I had to say this right, not scare Ainsley off.

Before I could speak, she touched my cheek softly. “You’re making me nervous. What’s going on with you?”

Nothing. Everything. My life tumbling out of control. “I didn’t tell you the real reason I went to D.C.”

She snatched her hand back, like she’d been shocked. “You didn’t have to sell your house?” Confusion sunk in a line between her eyebrows. There was uncertainty there, too. Wariness.

I forged ahead. “No. I did have to. I still do, but there’s a reason it’s lingering on the market.” A stray nail was on the floor, and I rolled it under my boot. “I’m in the middle of an ugly divorce, and my ex is making things difficult. Including selling our house.”

Recoiling farther, she blinked and shook her head. “You’re married?”

God, the distress in her eyes. Her chest rose faster, while mine caved in. “No. I left her months ago. Nearly a year. It’s just the law and paperwork getting in the way of ending things.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I should have, right away, but I was hoping to clear things up on this trip. Hoped I could tell you the divorce was final.”

Her distrust was palpable, red blotches dotting her neck. Moisture glazed her beautiful eyes. It hurt worse than Caroline’s disdain at Tessa’s office and hearing Tessa’s lies. I should be making Ainsley smile, not causing her pain, tossing roadblocks in our way. And there was still one left to wedge between us. A massive boulder. But the second I opened my mouth to explain how bad things were for me, a tear slipped down Ainsley’s cheek.

Startled, she dashed it away. “God, I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m really not that girl. It’s just…” She fanned her face. “I think I need some air.”

“Oh, doll. No.” Unsure what to do, I pulled her into my chest. “It’s over with her. I promise. On my life. Please, don’t worry.”

But she would. Worse than this if she got wind of the slander I’d been dodging. I couldn’t risk it. Not this early. Not after Caroline’s venomous insults and Tessa’s newest antics. As long as Ainsley knew the facts, the truths of my divorce—that it existed, and that it was challenging—was all that mattered. The rest was fabrication, distortion. Lies that would be meaningless when our papers were finally signed.

Ainsley pressed her face into me, and wetness coated my T-shirt. She used it to wipe her nose. She could use me as her own personal Kleenex, for all I cared. Anything to make her feel better.

“Air,” she said again. “I’m fine. I really am. I just need air.”

I stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Sure. We can talk about it after.”

Releasing her, I took two steps and yanked on the knob. The door didn’t budge. I gave it another hard pull. Nothing. Frowning, I gripped the damn thing with both hands and jerked with all my might. It moved a millimeter and jammed. “Fuck.”

I examined the edge, bending down to feel the warp of the floor, the slight upward slope preventing the door from moving.

“Owen…” Ainsley croaked my name, her voice dripping with distress. I whipped around to find her breathing harder, pure fear on her face. “Why isn’t the door open?”

That’s when I remembered her claustrophobia.

Thirteen

Eight letters for a device used to increase the static pressure of fluid passing through a system. Or a boyfriend who shares a humiliating story to distract you from certain death.

D I F F U S E R

Ainsley

The walls inched closer, the temperature in the shrinking space skyrocketing. Moments ago I’d been fine. Better than fine, about to experience an oh-my-God-yes-yes-yes with Owen’s hands on my body. Not through a battery-operated bunny or discovering a vintage Oscar de la Renta accidentally marked down. My construction hunk’s sinful lips had been on my skin, my legs around his waist.

Now I was seconds from hyperventilating.

Owen held up his hands as though I were a rabid dog. “It’s okay. We’ll get out of here. It’s just stuck. I’ll get it open.”