Page 65 of Stud

Owen was in his usual work attire—worn jeans, gray T-shirt accentuating his broad chest, thick sandy hair askew from his hardhat. Untold tenderness warmed his eyes. “I don’t follow.”

“Apparently Anton was living with an abusive father back then. If I’d tried to understand him more, maybe I could have talked to him. Helped. But I was too wrapped up in my emotions to see beyond his pranks.”

A sharp look crossed Owen’s face, his features tightening.

My lungs constricted. “Do you think I messed up? That I should have done something?”

“Babe, no.” He shook his head vehemently. “Nothing like that. Teenagers are ruled by their emotions, and he was awful to you. I’d have done worse than a box of roaches. It just made me think of something else. But I’m happy you’ve found closure.”

I had found relief. As well as an idea.

Facing Anton had triggered a thought, a way to alter the focus of my current job situation. He’d found strength from my mean stunt, had used it to better himself. The way some women reinvented themselves after a nasty divorce. If I worked with women instead of men, people wanting to redefine their lives after a separation, I could make a difference. Help them find strength on their own.

Letting that notion marinate, I pressed to my tiptoes and pulled Owen down for a soft kiss. Someone wolf whistled, and I smiled against his lips. “We could give them a real show.”

“Nick would have a heart attack.” Another chaste kiss later, he said, “Looking forward to the club tonight. Emmett can’t come, but I’m excited to meet your friends…and your folks.”

Suddenly, so was I. Confronting my past-self had set my emotions awhirl. All my emotions.

I may have avoided sleeping at Owen’s place, had kept him at a healthy distance this past week, but pretending my heart wasn’t invested in him was foolishness. He’d pushed me to face my fear today, promising support no matter the outcome. He’d incorporated my vegan lifestyle into his, stocking his fridge with foods I liked. My man touched me whenever he was near, soft brushes that said: you’re mine, I’m yours, we’re better together.

He also fucked like a god.

The implications settled on me, just how hard I’d fallen for him. My father’s opinion was still important, but I couldn’t rely on him to confirm Owen’s honesty. I had to take this plunge on my own and hope for the best.

A first step to stop dwelling on what-ifs could be having some enjoyment at Owen’s expense. Watching him sweat while he feared for his life under my father’s intimidating presence would be gold. He didn’t know Mason Hall looked like a Hells Angels biker. He didn’t have a clue Dad’s tough exterior didn’t match his gooey center.

My father and I had played this game before: the Make My Boyfriend Wet Himself game. I nearly released an evil bwahahaha laugh at the image. This was going to be some kind of fun.

Seventeen

Four-letter word for the curved drain that prevents sewer gases from escaping. Or when your girlfriend sics her scary father on you for her own amusement.

T R A P

Owen

I stared at the e-mail I’d written to Summer, at the cursor blinking at the bottom of the page, wondering if it was smart to hit Send. I hadn’t spoken with her since our days on the D.C. Habitat build. More specifically, since I’d punched her husband in the face.

I reread my message:

Not sure if you want to hear from me, but I’m struggling with some stuff, and you always helped me figure things out in the past. If you’re around and can talk, let me know.

Ainsley’s comment this afternoon, as innocent as it was, had knocked my scattered thoughts further askew. My last meeting (argument) with Tessa had been sitting with me, too. You hear what you want to hear, she’d said. Then Ainsley today, upset she’d been too wrapped up in her emotions to see what Anton had gone through as a teen.

I was beyond proud of her for finally facing her past, but her realization hit home. Maybe I wasn’t seeing my past with Tessa clearly, either. I just didn’t know how to sift through it all.

I flicked the mouse until it hovered over the Send button, paused, then clicked the damn thing, hoping I wasn’t about to stir a hornet’s nest. I didn’t know if Summer had forgiven me for hitting her husband, but I didn’t regret the impulse. I’d also never forget how that day had changed my life.

We’d both been struggling in our marriages and started sharing our woes at some point. At the time, she was the only one in my life who understood what I was going through. When our volunteer shifts overlapped, we’d commiserate. Then one day she got something in her eye.

Her chin had trembled as I leaned over her to carefully remove the wood particle. The second it was out, her tears spilled over and she collapsed into me. “He cheated,” she’d said against my chest. “I saw a text and confronted him this morning, and… God, he cheated.”

I held her and listened, all the while wanting to pummel the asshole. But it was her next comment that sucked the wind right out of me. “I still love him. I’m more afraid of losing him than forgiving him.”

In that moment, I realized I had to let Tessa go. The love Summer still had for her husband had been palpable, even in the face of what he’d done, something I hadn’t felt in years, if ever. Something I knew I’d never get back. Tessa and I both deserved better. So I’d wiped Summer’s tears and kissed her cheek and told her to fight for her man, if that was what she wanted. What I shouldn’t have done was punch him when he turned up that afternoon.

Now I was reaching out to her, seeking advice from the woman whose worst moment had given me clarity.