Page 33 of Stud

It was also more than that.

He listened when I spoke, his replies always thoughtful and soothing. I could also use a hug from his gravity-defying arms. Friends could hug, after all. Friends could offer support. If I wanted to salvage things, I’d best start by apologizing for my forwardness at dinner.

Lunch was in an hour, but I couldn’t wait. As soon as he came out of the house he’d been working in, I bee-lined for him. “How goes the dry walling?”

He wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving behind white finger streaks. “Good.”

God, one word? He didn’t ask me what I’d been slaving over or joke with me about the new volunteer with the misspelled tattoo. (Knawledge is Power.) I’d really messed things up. Not as badly as that tattoo, but Owen’s distance worsened my already rising anxiety.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He shifted his attention to the clouds blowing across the blue sky. Like he was frustrated. Like he couldn’t look at me. He dragged his same hand through his thick hair, leaving a white smudge on his forehead. It was sweet, seeing a blemish on his handsome face. Being the Good Samaritan I was, I pressed to my tiptoes and swiped my thumb across the white streak, bringing us closer than intended. My breasts nearly grazed his wide chest, my senses filling with his intoxicating smell, an inhale I shouldn’t have stolen.

Bad Ainsley.

Before I could snatch my arm away, Owen clasped my wrist. “What are you doing?”

He almost sounded angry, and I bit my lip, ashamed I’d made things weird again. There was no sweeping my behavior under the carpet. Brutal honesty was the only thing that would fix this mess. It would embarrass the crap out of me, but I’d made my bed.

Time to get cozy in it.

He still had my wrist in his hand. When I moved, he startled, releasing me.

I tucked my hands into my front pockets. “I’m sorry about the other night. It’s just…” I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. Here comes the crazy. “I’ve never had a gay friend before, and I’m kind of attracted to you, like way more than I was with Emmett. I don’t even know what that says about me. Anyway, it was tough for me, spending time together. But I like you, like really enjoy hanging out. So I thought, because I’m clearly an idiot, talking about sex and guys, and making those non-taboo subjects, was smart. That I’d get over my feelings for you. Turns out I made things worse.”

My heart pounded an unsteady rhythm as I studied Owen’s work boots, big and rugged like him. Unmoving, like him. Unable to handle his silence, I finally looked up. The fire in his eyes was unexpected. And odd. It was the kind of heat I’d expect from a lover, a person about to tear my clothes from my body. God. How did he expect me to stay friends with him when he looked at me like that?

“You think I’m gay?” was all he said.

I blinked a thousand and one times, and my heart raced faster. Was that disbelief in his tone? “Are you telling me you’re not?”

And oh, that fire in his eyes sparked, his pupils blowing wide with intent. “I am not gay.”

My life was not this lucky. Surely I had heard him wrong. I shook my head and dug a finger in my ear. “Sorry. I thought it sounded like you said you’re not gay.”

His right hand shot out, gripping my hip, spikes of fire zinging from each point of contact. “I am not gay.”

I was having trouble breathing.

Maybe I’d harnessed some magical powers. Had somehow embodied Criss Angel or Hermione Granger, or that geeky kid from Weird Science (minus the tacky eighties outfits) and had conjured my ideal man with nothing but a pink hammer, orange hardhat, and good intentions.

Blinking was no longer an option. “But I saw you with Emmett. He grabbed your ass.”

“You saw me with my brother. He thinks he’s being funny with the ass grab, but that explains a lot. I also might have to kill him.”

My pulse surged, my veins likely to burst from the rush of blood. “So, just to be clear, you’re not gay.”

Chuckling now, he flexed each finger on my hip, digging in deeper. “I’m not gay, Ainsley. I’ve been trying to figure out why the hell you’d go out with me and pick up another man on our date.”

He wasn’t gay. My gaydar wasn’t broken, and by the sexy smolder aimed my way, I’d say my attraction wasn’t one-sided. His thumb pressed under my hipbone, moving in a tortuous rhythm. Someone called his name, but neither of us flinched. We stared at each other, locked in some sort of carnal staring game. My eyeballs were getting a serious workout.

He stepped so close his belt buckle caught on my T-shirt. “I’m going to fucking ravage you.”

A throb of want pulsed between my thighs. “I’m going to fuck you so hard the sheets will catch fire.”

“I want to taste every inch of you.”

“I want you to come all over me.”

A pained sound tore from the back of his throat, and my body temperature shot to scorching. I was as wet as I’ve ever been, and I had no doubt if I gripped the thickening line in his jeans I’d find his cock was harder than the concrete footings.