Stud by Siskind, Kelly (11)

Eleven

 

Ainsley

I didn’t normally walk through life disoriented, barely able to coordinate my shoes with my belt, but yesterday’s make-out session had rendered me intoxicated. Trapped in an endless state of horny inebriation. (Blue Bunny would need a heart transplant soon.) I couldn’t stop imagining the situation going on below Owen’s T-shirt. There was an undiscovered world under those wash-worn threads. He was a cityscape unto himself, all stacked bricks and polished marble. Miles of real estate to explore.

I was also dying for him to tug my hair harder and kiss me rougher, his thighs chafing mine as he thrust his length into me, but I found myself picturing other things, too. Us waking in bed together—those lazy mornings where you’d stretch and touch in the soft place between wakefulness and dreams. I’d always found that time intimate. Vulnerable. Sheets would rustle. Legs would tangle. Contented sighs would whisper along warm skin.

Missing that bond and imagining it with Owen had trepidation tapping restlessly in my chest. I wanted that connection with a man. Wanted it with Owen, specifically. But I was nervous. Scared to walk that open road again. Owen seemed perfect, but there was no such thing as perfect. Perfect usually came with secrets and skeletons in closets. Or I was just wary of repeating my mistakes. Which meant I needed a diversion.

Thankfully, Rachel was in town. I’d be able to seek oblivion tonight while drinking fruity cocktails with my friends. I’d made plans to take Sherise dress shopping tomorrow. Felipe’s wife, Gabriella, was on the books for Sunday. She’d need easy dresses and comfortable yet stylish shoes for their Italy trip. I had several stores lined up.

That left today. I had no clients booked. No sample sales were in need of my perusal, and I couldn’t afford my own shopping until things turned around for my folks. Normally, I’d head to the Habitat site. Volunteering had become my safe haven, a place to release my turmoil through manual labor. But it was Friday. Basic reconnaissance had informed me that Anton Bickley would be at the build on Fridays.

My arch nemesis was a school teacher now. He’d be at the site weekly, guiding his co-op students through the paces. I should have used the intel to head over and apologize to him for my awful stunt, but when I thought about how terrified I’d been in that walk-in fridge, how disgusting it had been to stick my hand in a maggot-filled bucket, my temper would flare. I was sick about the cockroach prank. I was angry about Anton’s bullying.

I wasn’t sure which emotion would rule me when I finally faced him.

I chose a hike instead. The fresh air cleared my mind, but not my Owen Restlessness. I checked my phone incessantly afterward, hoping Owen would send a flirty text, to no avail. I also creeped him on Facebook, but the mysterious man didn’t have an account. My wariness increased. People with secrets avoided social media, like my ex had. But Owen wasn’t Brandon, and I was letting my past affect my present.

Hanging out with Gwen and Rachel would be the distraction I needed.

Unfortunately, when I met them at the given address and realized where they were taking me, I nearly left. “Is this your idea of a joke? What kind of club needs an elevator?”

“A new swanky one,” Gwen said. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand.”

“You’d be better off holding a barf bucket.”

She tapped the toe of her turquoise stiletto, unimpressed, while we waited for Rachel to get off her cell. The girls knew I disliked confined spaces. They knew I’d be green by the time we reached the top floor. They also knew I’d recover. Checking out a new hot spot trumped my claustrophobia. “They better sell margaritas by the pitcher.”

Gwen petted my hair. “I’ll buy the first round. And we’re doing you a favor. You can’t spend your life avoiding your fears.”

Except avoiding the Habitat build today proved I could.

Rachel hurried over, jamming her phone into her overflowing purse. “Sorry. Mother drama. She thinks my niece might have meningitis because the little peanut coughed.” She planted her hands on her slim hips and exhaled.

I made the sign of the cross over my chest. “Let’s get in that moving coffin and get my torture over with.”

When the elevator doors opened on the thirty-eighth floor, sweat had gathered in my cleavage. My skin was likely more gray than blush. My lungs had shrunk to pea-sized and swallowing was an effort. Dizzy, I stepped into the bar. The massive windows overlooking San Francisco swayed, but the room was stunning. A spray of tiny lights exploded from the ceiling, mimicking the galaxy of city lights expanding across the night sky. The elevator sucked, but the view and ambiance were worth it.

Gwen slapped my back. “See? Piece of cake.”

Said the girl who jumped off cliffs. “There should be a margarita in my hand.”

Two and a half margaritas later, my Anton quandary and Owen Restlessness still lingered, but I maintained my game face. We chatted with Rachel about school and Jimmy and Napa Valley. Gwen regaled us with tales of rock climbing and bungee jumping that had me green again. We also tutted over her, making sure she was managing her mother’s illness all right.

We laughed and commiserated at our high-top table. I managed to fly under the radar until Gwen said, “How did everything work out with your latest gay crush? You two besties yet?”

That had Rachel perking up. “Please don’t tell me I missed another one.”

I said, “Nope,” and Gwen crowed, “Yep!”

Traitor.

Rachel sighed into her Chardonnay. “Honestly, the only crappy thing about living in Napa is missing all the little stuff. I need details.”

They mirrored each other, chins in hands, waiting on me. They were about to get more than they bargained for. “That story is a doozy, but I need another drink before I open the vault.” I drained margarita number three.

Rachel frowned at her almost-empty glass. “I’m not sure I should. Reckless Rachel hasn’t been out for a while. I’m like the Hulk. Days Without Incident: Two Hundred and Twenty-five.”

Except Reckless Rachel was a blast. Give my sweet friend four glasses of wine, and her inhibitions often vanished. Case in point: the Dildo Incident. If it weren’t for Reckless Rachel dragging us into a sex shop, making a fool of herself, then running through the street with a dildo while screaming, “I have a penis!” I wouldn’t have found Blue Bunny.

I fluttered my Lancôme lashes at her. “I rode the elevator. Drink up, girly.”

Three men in slacks and button-downs, who had been circling us like sharks, finally moved in for the kill. The tallest led the way. “How about we treat you ladies to that round?”

I didn’t blame them for hitting on us. I could strut through a Sex and the City rerun in my fluffy tulle skirt and pink strapless top as Carrie’s stunt double. Rachel’s red dress flaunted her tanned skin and freckles. Gwen was her usual rumpled-yet-styled self in a loose off-the-shoulder top and skin-tight black pants. Guys assumed we got dolled up to impress them. So adorably naïve. They’d never understand that women often dressed for women. I had to look my best for my girls.

Clueless, these men lingered. All three were fit and handsome. Business types with fancy watches, Crest Whitestrip teeth, and superhero jaws. Before Owen, I’d have flipped my hair and angled my cleavage their way. Before Owen, I’d have accepted their flirtatious offer. After Owen, I said, “Thanks but no thanks.”

Rachel was taken, Gwen was on an asshole break, as she called it, and I was…

Big, fat question mark.

Defeated, the men went to search for other fish in this glittery sea, but Gwen leveled raised eyebrows at me. “Since when do you turn down drinks?”

“I don’t know. Nothing. Whatever.” God, I was pathetic.

Rachel nudged Gwen. “She’s lying to us.”

Gwen lifted her chin, studying me. “I know.”

“Does it have to do with that gay guy?” Rachel asked her.

“Maybe. She was weird on the phone about it.”

“You two suck,” I said, reminding them I was at the table. But we often pulled this stunt, omitting one person from the conversation to make them squirm. It totally worked. “Yes, it’s about that guy. There’s a story. Get me my drink first.”

Gwen saluted me and scurried over to the bar. Rachel grooved on her seat to the smooth R&B tunes. A Rachel groove looked like a giraffe on stilts trying to ice skate. It should have been enough to entertain me while I awaited my liquid courage, but thoughts of bars and flirting and buying drinks had me picking my newly polished nails.

Because Owen, Owen, Owen.

As maniacal as I’d been with him at our park yesterday, pawing at him like it was my job, insecurity had swept over me since. My history with Brandon kept rearing its ugly head, reminding me how painful relationships could be until my anxiety had stretched its wings, flapping fitfully through my belly.

Owen was in D.C., and his life there was a blank crossword with no clues. There could be an ex-girlfriend. He could be out with friends in his own ocean, circling schools of fish, buying drinks.

We hadn’t discussed what we were, or if we were exclusive. We hadn’t even been on a proper date. (Dinner with Gay-Not-Gay Owen didn’t count.) Yet I felt like we were an item. Weeks of talking and laughing had set the stage for a romance that peaked yesterday. If he went out with another woman, it would hurt.

Gwen returned with our drinks. I downed half of mine, then blurted the whole story. Worried I’d impede my wish, I hadn’t told them yet about my volunteering, but needing advice trumped that silly superstition. I finally admitted my Habitat for Humanity work. Meeting Owen. Then Gay Owen. Then Not-Gay Owen. I couldn’t unpack the Anton Bickley situation yet and omitted that particular soap opera, but I bled out the rest.

Rachel spun her wineglass. “You met Owen at the Habitat build?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he tall and fit, with a deep voice and sandy hair? Looks like he belongs at a rodeo?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Have you been creeping me?”

“Oh my God. Owen!” She smacked her hands together. “This is insane. He’s friends with Jimmy. The one I mentioned volunteered at the build.”

I blinked, dumbfounded. “My Owen is the Habitat guy, and he’s friends with Jimmy?” I’d been reduced to repeating the obvious.

“From when they were teens. They played soccer together. They reconnected when Owen moved back to town. This means we get to double date!”

Gwen shook her head. “That’s actually pretty nuts.”

Absolutely crazy. It also meant Rachel might have intel. “So”—I sat on my hands before I picked my nails to death—“have you guys hung out?”

“A bit, but usually short chats after a soccer match. We did have lunch once.”

“And?”

“And what?”

I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. After six years of gym workouts, drunken nights, and gossip sessions, I shouldn’t have to spell this out. “I need to know all the things. Did he have a serious girlfriend in D.C.? An illegitimate child? Does he run a drug ring or work as a gigolo at night?”

Gwen snickered. “Shouldn’t you know all this? You just said you guys have done nothing but talk for weeks. Why didn’t you ask about his history?”

“Because he was gay.” I needed to apply for new friends.

My soon to be ex-bestie tossed her head back with another wild laugh, pretty much all she’d done since I told them I’d flirted with another man after asking Owen to describe his ideal BJ. Once she’d gained control of her faculties, Gwen wrenched one of my hands from under my thigh and laced our fingers together. “I’m sorry, love. I will make fun of you forever for it, but I get that this is hard for you. I wasn’t sure you’d let yourself fall for someone again after Brandon.”

She kissed my knuckles, and we turned our attention to Rachel, who shrugged. “I wish I had more dirt. He did have a girlfriend or something in D.C. and is single now, but that’s all I know. He seems like a good guy. Jimmy wouldn’t be friends with an asshole.”

There was truth in that, but it didn’t lessen my turmoil. “I hate Brandon for ruining me like this. I shouldn’t be this nervous to date again.”

The girls traded sad, puppy-dog faces. To me, Rachel said, “Have you told Owen?”

I extricated my hand from Gwen’s to sip my drink, curling in on myself the way I had with Owen yesterday when the words were at the tip of my tongue. “No. I almost did, but I chickened out.”

There was nothing easy about admitting you were dumb enough to be duped.

“Well, I think you should,” Gwen said. “Putting your trust in him is a big deal for you. If you’re not honest, you guys don’t stand a chance.” Gwen never minced words.

Rachel’s doe eyes softened. “From what I know of Owen, and what you’ve said, he seems like the type of guy who’ll put your mind at ease. You deserve this, Ainsley. There are lots of jerks out there, but there are good guys, too.”

They were right. I knew they were. I had to lay my dirty laundry out for Owen so I didn’t wind up worse off than after Brandon’s betrayal. Although watching my friends fill my ex’s door lock with expanding foam while he was inside had made me giddy. Navy SEALs had nothing on us.

As I’d done a hundred and seven times today, I slipped my phone from my purse to check my messages. My belly whirled at the sight of Owen’s name. He’d texted me an hour ago.

My hotel room is lonely.

It was like he’d sensed what I needed to hear. With the time difference, he was probably asleep by now, but I couldn’t resist replying. Don’t they have gay porn?

A second later: I’ve already watched it all.

I could practically hear him chuckling from three thousand miles away, and I clenched.

Clitoris catnip.

You at home? he wrote.

At a club with the girls. The margaritas are flowing.

The girls in question made kissy faces at me and my phone. I could only imagine the goofy grin I was sporting. One word from Owen, and I was like a giant mop, swoopy and loose. Or maybe it was the margaritas. Rachel’s fourth glass of wine was almost finished. She dragged Gwen to the dance floor, giving me some privacy. I snorted as Reckless Rachel made her appearance, busting an uncoordinated move. I should have been filming the moment for posterity, but my attention slipped back to my phone. To Owen on the other side of the country.

There was no reply. You still awake?

We’ll talk later.

My levity dropped, nothing but a chill in those words. A chill I understood. If he’d told me he was at a club with friends, I’d have shut down on him, too. God, I was insensitive.

Then I stooped to a new low. Guys came by our table. Asked to buy us drinks.

His pause lasted an eternity. Don’t know what you want me to say to that.

Music thumping, heart racing, I wrote, I told them no.

Another pause. Why?

I didn’t know where we stood, couldn’t control what he was doing or thinking all that distance away. But I could be honest. Because the only guy I want to drink with is you.

His next delay held more promise. Then, Ainsley.

Yeah? My bated breath was practically fogging up my phone.

I miss you something fierce.

My heart pinballed. The stars and lights around me exploded in my eyes. I needed more of him, something to get me through the next couple of days. He was three hours ahead of me, but he was awake. Don’t move. Don’t go to sleep. I’m heading home and want to hear your voice.

I’m not going anywhere. I’d bet he was smiling.

I gave the girls sloppy hugs, braved the elevator down (only nearly passed out once), then took a cab to my place, slamming the door closed as I hit his number.

“Hey, baby doll.”

I melted onto my white duvet at the sound of his voice. “If you answer every call like that, I’ll be hitting redial all day.”

A half sigh, half laugh tickled my eardrum. “Glad you called.”

“Tell me again how you miss me?”

The rustling of sheets echoed. It was 3:48 a.m. his time. He was in bed. Did he slumber in the buff? In briefs? In pizza-slice printed pajamas bottoms? “I can’t sleep. Keep thinking about kissing you.”

“Just kissing?”

“No, doll. Not just kissing. The gay porn didn’t help.”

A yelp of a tipsy laugh burst from my lips. “Promise me we’ll always joke about my idiocy.”

“That’s an easy promise to make. How was your night? Aside from assholes picking you up.”

Jealousy edged his tone. I liked it. “Fun. Always nice to see the girls, and I found out a juicy tidbit about you.”

Heavy breathing replied. Then quiet. He was probably exhausted. I grabbed my lattice Calvin Klein pillow and tucked it under my arms.

“What did you hear?” His eventual question sounded scratchy, his deep voice roughed up by the late hour. His twang made an appearance, too. That sexy lilt he often kept hidden.

“Looks like we have friends in common—Rachel and Jimmy.”

A whoosh of an exhale slipstreamed from D.C. to my San Francisco bedroom. “Yeah, I found that out before I left. That’s who I had plans with.” His tone lightened. Hopefully he was as excited about the notion as me.

But I was a teensy bit more than excited now. I had my construction hunk on the phone, his sensual voice purring through the line. Feeling wired and overheated and frisky, I kicked off my heels and attempted to get naked.

“What’s that noise?”

I stopped thrashing around. “I launched my heels into the wall. Or do you mean the zipper sliding down the side of my dress as I dislocated my shoulder?” I’m sure I could have made that sound sexier.

He grunted—a low, masculine sound. “Ainsley…”

“Owen…”

My queen bed was a fluffy white cloud, my soft blue walls adorned with black-and-white fashion photos. It all looked hazy, probably hot-boxed by my heavy breathing. Zipper down, I shimmied out of my Carrie Bradshaw dress and dragged my pale pink panties and bra off. All that was left was a very horny woman. Blue Bunny was lounging on the duvet by my head, recuperating from today’s workout. I snatched him up and let him buzz into my phone.

Owen answered with a “Christ.”

“You want to play with me, or should we hang up so I can play on my own?”

“Has your bunny been busy?”

“Is your wrist sore?”

His next guttural sound came out more like a pained sigh. “Turn it on and spread your legs for me. Nice and slow.”

Holy Hannah. Dropping my head back, I let my knees fall wide and revved my little blue engine. “Are you touching yourself?” The need in my voice should have been embarrassing, but I was past the point of caring.

His baritone dropped an octave. “I’m gripping the base of my cock. I’m so turned on, baby. So damn hard. I’m stroking my whole length, slow but tight, picturing your luscious curves.”

Odds are I wouldn’t need battery assisted help to come. “Have you done this before? Because you could teach a class.”

His muffled laugh was hot and hoarse. “You’re my first. Now take that bunny of yours and press it to the top of your inner thigh. Beside your pussy. Don’t get greedy on me. Tease yourself the way I’ll be teasing you in a couple days.”

Forget a class. He could earn a doctorate.

Following his rasped orders, I touched the edge of my vibrator to the juncture of my thigh. The buzz sent a spark to my center. “Oh. That’s nice.” So close yet so far from where I throbbed.

“I bet it is. Imagine how nice it’ll feel when my face is buried in your pussy. I’m gonna plant wet kisses everywhere.” His panting grew shallow. “Give you nice long licks and quick flicks and suck you until you scream. Now move your toy to the other side. Next to all that wet heat. Picture me between your thighs.”

Molten lava dripped through me, his erotic words making me bubble and steam. I upped the speed but did as he asked—teased, tormented, and tortured myself. I pictured his dirty-blond hair tangled in my hands, could practically feel the scratch of his scruff on my sensitive skin. “More,” I begged, the needy girl I was. “What are you doing?”

“I’m picturing your lips wrapped around my cock. Your tongue swirling and head bobbing. I’m stroking faster. Getting harder. So hard, baby. Because of you. Now”—a rough grunt sounded—“now press your blue bunny exactly where you need him. Christ, Ainsley, I’m close.”

I was about to fly apart. The second I touched the buzzing tip to my nub of bundled nerves, I cried out. My hips shot up, my knees slamming together as I pressed down. “Owen.” All breath trapped in my chest. “I wish you were here. I want you so badly.” So much pleasure concentrated in one exhilarating spot.

“I’m going to spend hours exploring you. Fucking hours. Now move your hips. Close your eyes and let go, because I’m…fuck…Ainsley, baby, I’m…” He roared from across freeways and cities and farmland. He called my name and growled, somehow closing the distance between us. His heavy breathing slipped through the phone, down my sizzling skin, urging my hips faster, and I burst open. Everything clenched as pleasure shot through me, currents of snapping heat. “Oh, Owen. God. Yes.”

My high crested, endless shockwaves knocking me senseless, until I was too sensitive for Blue Bunny. I was too sensitive for a light breeze.

Blissful, I turned off my bunny and pulled the lacy quilt from the end of my bed up to my chest. “I’m paralyzed.”

Owen released a satisfied chuckle. “I’m sticky.”

That was quite the visual, unbelievably hot. I was languid and loose, heading into a pleasure coma. “I wasn’t kidding, you know, at the site yesterday. I want you to come on me. I’ve never wanted something like that before. Is it weird?” Although I often lacked a filter, my blunt honesty with him surprised even me.

“You trying to get me hard again?”

“Maybe?”

“Doing that to you, seeing it? It might ruin me.”

Letting my heart go with him could obliterate me. My anxiety returned, a sudden rush of nerves churning the alcohol in my stomach. His breathing evened out, but mine sped up. I could hang up and never see him again. Quit volunteering—avoid him and Anton all the things that scared me. Return to a life that, although unfulfilling, didn’t turn me into a panicked mess. That wasn’t what I wanted, though. I wanted this. Him. Our lunchtime talks and easy ways. To learn everything I could about this man. Which meant I needed to be honest with him. I had to share my past so I didn’t freak out and screw this up.

A familiar sting of humiliation closed my throat, an allergic reaction to memories of Brandon and heartache and my stupidity. Swallowing hard, I pulled my quilt higher. “My last boyfriend cheated on me.”

“Oh, doll. No.”

“Yeah. It was two years ago. I thought we were in love. Until I surprised him one evening. He was in bed with his coffee barista.” I squeezed my eyes shut, a flash of his bare ass pumping between her legs almost making me heave. “We’d been talking about moving in together, and I wanted to surprise him and tell him yes. I’d already given up my apartment, and had to crash on Gwen’s floor for a month. The man was a lying prick, but I’ve never felt so stupid in my life.”

“I’d like to meet this prick in a dark alley.”

His protectiveness curled around me, soothed me, as Owen’s sweet understanding always did. “I’d like to watch that, but it’s in the past.” Still, I pictured Sally’s shock when faced with her husband’s betrayal the other day. Remembered my own tragic fall. Could I really risk experiencing that again?

My silence must have hinted at my worry, because he whispered, “I won’t hurt you, Ainsley.”

Again, exactly what I needed to hear. His promise had me happy and nervous and overwhelmed. Regardless, I wanted to try. Force myself to open up and let this sweet man more fully into my life. I twirled the corner of my quilt in anxious circles. “Are you my boyfriend?”

Not knowing if we were exclusive, or if he’d visit the D.C. habitat build and lay pipe with other hardhat-wearing do-gooders, was messing with me. My heart raced faster than Blue Bunny.

“Do you want me to be?” His Southern lilt pushed into his tired voice.

Sneaky bugger, answering a question with a question. “Yes.” I relaxed deeper into my mattress. “I do.” The simple truth of it.

“Good thing, because I got your name tattooed on my chest.”

Contentment filled me. “You wouldn’t be the first man.” My father had my portrait inked on his forearm, mine and my brother’s names branded over his heart.

“I don’t like hearing about other men, Ainsley.” His possessiveness was adorable.

A sleepy smile spilled across my face. “I’d like details about this ink, though. Do you have tattoos?”

“One.”

“Oooh. Do tell.”

A lion’s yawn propelled through the line. “I need to sleep. Not sure if I’ll make it back Monday. Things aren’t going as smoothly as I’d hoped.” He was silent awhile. Long enough that I worried he’d fallen asleep. Then, “I’ll be back by Tuesday for sure. It sucks being away.”

There was tension in his voice, and my untrusting radar pinged. Owen was too good to be true, my intuition taunted. I shook off my paranoia. He was just tired and missing me. “At least Blue Bunny is rechargeable,” I whispered.

We breathed. We sighed.

“Goodnight, boyfriend.”

“Sleep well, girlfriend.”