Page 17 of Stud

An hour later, the stifling temperature had intensified. Some of the newbies looked ready to call it quits. Hiking up and down ladders and sawing and hammering was exhausting when working on the surface of the sun. Their sluggish steps and yawns were bad signs, exactly how I’d dragged my butt around my first day. Levity was needed.

I climbed down my ladder and stowed my hammer. “My mascara has melted.”

Sherise wiped her brow. “It’s hotter than hell. I won’t miss working in this heat.”

But I’d miss her. This was Sherise’s last volunteer shift, other things in her life taking priority. I hated to see her go, but at least we had our shopping expedition planned.

Nick was offering a pep talk to the other volunteers, so we joined the group. As he finished explaining how work got easier over time, I smiled sweetly, and said, “Will we be using caulking today? Because I love using caulking and hoped to get my hands on some caulk soon. It’s been ages.” I grinned.

Nick’s rounded cheeks blushed crimson, and the other volunteers eyed one another, until Sherise cracked up. “Girl, you are too much.”

That set them all off, the men and women wiping their eyes as they broke for lunch, hopefully ready to return with lighter spirits. Still snickering, Sherise left to meet her son for the break. That’s when Owen’s deep laugh rumbled from behind me, a bonus to my antics. That masculine sound echoed through the air and up my thighs.

It was clitoris catnip.

I didn’t turn, not with my site manager giving me the side-eye. Nick removed his hardhat. “You’ve been a great addition to the team, Ainsley. Really glad you joined up. Even if you embarrass the heck outta me. Caulking…” he mumbled as he strutted off.

But I was a “great addition.”

There was that cashmere again, working its way over my shoulders and wrapping my chest. Volunteering was nothing like I’d expected. Not only did I get all soppy when I’d remind myself these houses would turn into homes, but everyone accepted me for me.

We all had our reasons for being here: I wanted to atone for aspects of my job, Sherise was a cancer survivor looking to use her time for good. Some wanted it for their résumés, others hoped to learn construction. Whatever brought us out, no one teased me when I messed up. No one called me a stupid bitch for picking up the wrong tool or asking a question.

No one locked me in a confined space.

I hadn’t made any connections that could offer my father a job, but the warm glow and comradery volunteering provided made my current job easier to bear.

As did Owen’s deep laugh.

His long shadow fell over me. “You certainly know how to make Nick blush.”

I turned, wondering if I’d made Owen blush, too. One glance and my breath stuttered. His high cheekbones were flushed, but it was hard to tell if it was me or the sun or the hard work setting his handsome face aglow. “Just lightening the mood.”

“It was needed. They were looking rough.” His steady gaze locked on mine. It was intense, the way he stared into my eyes at times. Unnerving. “You want to grab lunch?” he asked.

Curls of blond chest hair peeked out of his crewneck. I loved a man with a bit of fur. Something to nuzzle and kiss and rub against. I also wanted to grab the hefty bulge in his jeans and stroke him until he roared, but lunch could be a small step forward. “Since Sherise left, I will need a lunch buddy. So if you’re offering…”

Again with that penetrating stare. “I’m offering.”

“Then I’m in. I’ll drop my hardhat and grab my salad.” I crossed my toes, hoping more was on the table than food.

A few bungalows were across from the building site, old-growth trees towering on lawns, a canopy of leaves warbling in the wind. I’m pretty sure they were singing “Afternoon Delight” as we walked. A block down was a small park. Recently gentrified, they’d reused pipes and construction materials to make a playground. A couple kids crowed, all screeches and giggles as they wriggled through the shapes.

We sat at a picnic bench, both of us on the table top, our feet on the bench below. His hip was an inch from mine, his massive beige work boots dwarfing my pink Converse. Warmth radiated from his proximity.

Since I wasn’t going to flirt first, I said, “Nice weather.”

His reply to my riveting conversation starter: “Yep.”

He unwrapped some godawful sandwich, the sliced bread barely containing piles of processed meats. I gaped as he opened his mouth impossibly wide and took a huge bite. His strong jaw worked. He settled his elbows on his knees.

I gagged silently. “You know bologna starts as liquid before it’s solidified, right?”

Still chewing, he considered his revolting lunch, then swallowed. “Tastes good.” He eyed my tofu salad. “Bet it tastes better than that.”

My glass container sat on my lap, and I mixed the tofu with the cucumbers, chickpeas, olives, and Greek vinaigrette. Being vegan meant I had to work at my meals, find the right balance of protein, fats, and nutrition to keep my energy up, never skimping on flavor. Rachel would mock-choke when eating my desserts, but I knew she loved them. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“Okay.” He laid his sandwich beside him and held out a hand. His strong fingers were thick and callused, his skin dry and peeling in spots. I’d bet my poppy-printed Coach purse they would feel sinful scraping up my inner thighs.