Stud by Siskind, Kelly (4)

Four

Owen

I’d seen Ainsley twice since the safety-mask debacle two weeks ago. Both times, she’d showed up in her tight jeans and snug T-shirt and her ridiculous tool belt. (Who knew those things came in pink?) She’d studiously ignored me, and I’d hammered nails within an inch of their lives. If I could retract our first meeting, I would. Redo the whole encounter.

Most of it, at least. Kicking myself repeatedly for the fiasco meant I’d also relived her near fall.

How her waist had felt in my grip.

That part left an imprint on me. Like muscle memory. The way I could go years without kicking a soccer ball, then hit the field and weave between players and bend the ball into the net. My legs just knew how to react, and every time I neared Ainsley, my hands burned. They tingled with awareness of how her hips had flared below my touch. The soft give of her middle.

I’d remind myself she hated me, that I wasn’t supposed to lust after a woman who wore name-brand clothing as a status symbol. But she was volunteering her time to help the community, and I kept thinking about her sharp tongue and what else it could do. Her quick wit.

Her smell—the one drifting toward me now.

Vanilla and chocolate and something flowery invaded my senses. Not sure how she smelled so sensual with all the dirt and sawdust kicking around the place. She always did, though. I sensed when she was near me. Behind me. Upwind from me. That’s when my hands would twitch, wanting to latch around her again.

I swiveled as she and Sherise overlapped a section of synthetic housewrap. The older woman held it in place while Ainsley taped it down, securing the protective barriers that would shield the homes from mold and rot.

It made me think of my rainbow-walled home growing up, a ramshackle house in southern Texas, nothing protective guarding it. It didn’t have visible mold, but there’d been no denying its shoddy workmanship. Or the fact that my mother had rarely been there.

The last time I saw her, she took Emmett and me to visit the beach. She had a faraway look about her that day. The one she’d get when high, before she’d disappear for a day or two or seven. She’d piled a collection of beach glass in her lap, while I sat across from her. “When glass is made,” she’d said, “it’s strong. If it breaks, the edges are sharp enough to cut, but they can be glued back together. Unless it’s carried out to sea.”

She’d held up a blue piece, and the sun had shot through it like a prism. “Those pieces get swept away. They turn soft from the push and pull of water. From drifting. Those pieces never fit together again.”

She’d flitted down the coast then, her long dress and dreadlocks lifting in the wind. I could sense it—that something was different. I was twelve, Emmett ten. We didn’t know our fathers, and we’d been cared for by her and the dozen or so hippies living in our commune, but there’d always been people to kick a ball with, fellow explorers to help search the woods for treasures.

Eternal children content to drift through life like shattered glass.

I’d scoured the beach after my mother had left. Gathered as many pieces of broken bottles as possible, determined to prove they could fit back together. They never did, and she never came back.

Now I was adrift, too, unmoored after a failed marriage, and I’d taken out my frustration on Ainsley, like some insecure jerk.

Sherise nodded to me, but Ainsley didn’t glance my way. I busied myself, cleaning up a section of the site. I picked up discarded wood and stray nails, biding my time. Hoping for a minute alone with Ainsley, to finally apologize.

“A blue dress,” Ainsley said to Sherise. “Like a deep sky, nothing too ultramarine.”

Sherise swatted the air, dismissing her. “I usually wear neutral colors. Nothing too bold.”

“Which is safe, but blue will highlight your skin. Your eyes will shine. And I know exactly where to go.”

Sherise flattened her hands on the wall. “Don’t go choosing something flashy. Jerome is my baby. My only child. Being part of the wedding means everything, and I want to look good, but we got to keep the price down.”

They moved around a corner, and I inched closer, lurking like a creep. I wasn’t willing to let another day go without making amends.

Instead of offering a pitying smile, Ainsley winked at Sherise. “Then it’s a good thing you came to me. I’m a personal shopper, but I’m also the queen of sample sales. Looking this fly”—she gestured to her ample curves—“isn’t easy.”

Sherise coughed out a laugh. “If I had your figure, I’d wear a bikini to the wedding. As it stands, we’ll look for a blue dress.”

Ainsley’s grin widened. “You won’t regret it, and I won’t charge you my fee. It’ll be my wedding gift.”

I knelt to collect a pencil, watching Sherise gush over Ainsley from the corner of my eye. Not only did Ainsley volunteer at a Habitat build, she was offering her services for free to a woman she’d just recently met. The superficial girl I thought I should avoid was turning out to be anything but. And she wanted nothing to do with me.

Sherise smoothed down the last wrap. “Let’s grab lunch.”

“Lunch sounds amazing.” Ainsley groaned—a sexy sound that lit a fire in my gut. She kept her focus on Sherise. “I’d say I’m so hungry I could eat a cow, but that would happen on a cold day in hell. I’ll get my stuff and meet you by the bench.”

Sherise left, and Ainsley raised her arms above her head, grabbing her wrist and stretching from side to side. She was likely sore, as I’d been my first month on the job. The good kind of ache. She arched her back, sending her hardhat tipping backward. It lifted and tumbled to the ground, and I didn’t hesitate. Taking my opportunity to corner her, I dropped my wood scraps and snapped up her hat before she could bolt.

“I’m sorry.” I rushed out the words.

She turned and crossed her arms. Her red T-shirt had a worn look about it—frayed at the bottom, a rip at her neck. The type of top designed to look old. Spending cash on that stuff confused the piss out of me. Like I could sell my jeans for a couple hundred bucks because the ass and knees were faded.

But it was the writing across her breasts that had my gaze locked on them longer than was decent:

Aw, hell. Now I was fantasizing again, picturing my hands sweeping over the rise of her hips, kneading her full ass as I sank in…

Nope. This was my time to apologize. Explain myself. Salvage some sort of friendship and end the awkwardness between us. She stood silent, not giving me an inch.

I shifted on my feet. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “That day, when you came by, was a rough one for me. It’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have told you to wear that stuff to the morning meeting. It wasn’t cool, and I’m hoping we can put it behind us. We’re a small group out here. Tension doesn’t do anyone any good.”

Stray blond hairs blew across her face. Her very stoic face. I hadn’t been this close to her since that first day. I forgot how impossibly plump her lips were, how her eyes shone like blue beach glass. It made me wonder if her glass was the type to drift or stick or cut.

I inched forward, and her throat bobbed. Her shoelace was undone, her pink sneakers another cute thing about her.

“It sucked.” Her husky voice took on a softer tone. “Made me feel pretty shitty. I’d wanted to volunteer for a while, and what happened is one of the reasons I’d waited so long. It’s not nice being made the fool.”

Talk about a left hook to the jaw. “The only fool here is me.”

“You got that right.” She studied my face, maybe searching for sincerity. Her shoulders lowered. “But thank you for apologizing.”

Her phone buzzed from her tool belt, but she didn’t grab it. She glanced toward the road, probably looking to escape. I wasn’t ready to let her go. “It’s dangerous to use cellphones on site. You could get distracted, and you should tie your shoelace.”

“Is this you trying to give me handy-dandy tips again?” She backed up against the house, her chin tipped up in defiance. Her eyes still glinted, but not with annoyance. Her attention drifted down my sternum, and lower. It returned leisurely to my face. Warmth dusted my chest.

The construction area had cleared out, most people breaking for lunch. It was just her and me and this heaviness between us. And maybe something else…

I swallowed hard. “People get injured when they’re not careful.” I’d almost hammered my thumb earlier, watching her bend over.

“I’m not distracted. It’s an alarm. I was playing my crossword app when Sherise went to get more tape. Sometimes I give myself a time limit. It’s telling me I lost.”

“Crossword app?”

“Yes, crosswords. Those games where there’s a clue and you have to guess which word fills the space. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”

She was a snippy little thing. Feisty. I liked it. “I’ve heard of them. It’s not what I expected, is all.”

“Because?” Accusation lit beneath her raised brows.

Still holding her hardhat, I ran my tongue along the back of my teeth. I’d seen her on her phone at breaks, scrolling and tapping the screen. I’d assumed she was texting a boyfriend or checking fashion trends. Crossword puzzles were the last thing I’d have guessed.

“I’ll let that question lie.” I’d no doubt say the wrong thing. I didn’t want to end this conversation, either.

It had been years since I’d flirted, and I’d never excelled at it back in the day. My mother had me at fifteen, something that scared the crap out of me. It had kept me away from girls awhile. Until I’d discovered sex. I may have been a late bloomer, but the studious kid I was, I’d made it my mission to uncover the glorious riches of a woman’s body. Every canvas was different. Each woman had her own secrets, her body a treasure map.

Treasures I hadn’t sought in ages.

Ainsley was the first in a long while to spark my interest, and I was about ready to forget my lawyer’s no-dating advice. I’d also vowed to take it slow this time. Make sure I really knew someone before getting involved. If my flirting skills weren’t on the corroded side of rusty, it would make getting to know her a hell of a lot easier.

“You’re doing well,” I said. “Making a difference on site.”

Hope seemed to brighten her face, making her look younger, softer. “Really?”

“Pretty sure you’ve never used that hammer before, but you’re catching on quick.”

Her pointed look held more amusement than animosity. “Says you.”

“You telling me I’m wrong?”

Instead of answering, she said, “Did you know hammer heads can come loose? That’s where the term ‘fly off the handle’ came from.”

I cradled her hardhat against my stomach. It had a worn bit of plastic on top, protruding. I ran my finger over the sharp edge. My hands had a sudden need to keep busy. “You don’t say.”

“I do. Know what else?” She arched her back, and that rip in her shirt shifted, revealing a tease of purple lace. Damn. Purple.

I shook my head in answer, didn’t trust my voice to speak. But man, those eyes of hers were stunning, sucking me in again. I’d bet they burned into blue flame when she was coming. The possibility had me wanting to pin her against the wall, feel her surrounding me, grinding on me. Sweat gathered at the base of my spine.

“Well,” she said, mischief lighting her face, “according to my online dictionary, there’s also a peening hammer. It’s used in metal work. There’s a cross-peen hammer. A diagonal-peen. Point-peen. Chisel-peen. Like lots of peens that hammer things. Ever used one?” She batted her long lashes at me, dangling her teasing bait to see if I’d bite.

I sure as hell wanted to bite. To nibble and lick and kiss. Heat flooded my groin, my thighs flexing automatically. Time to dust off my flirting skills.

Unfortunately, as I opened my mouth, Sherise called, “You coming, Ainsley?”

The rest happened slowly, then all at once, like loose rocks setting off an avalanche. Maybe Ainsley was as flustered as me. Maybe her limbs felt as heavy as mine. Either way, she moved to face Sherise, but wound up tripping on her shoelace. I went to catch her—a habit with us—but somehow forgot I held her hardhat.

A hat with a sharp piece of protruding plastic.

The point connected with her “worn” T-shirt. She didn’t make a sound as it snagged on the rip by her cleavage. She didn’t wince as the fabric tore to her navel, exposing her lush breasts. A pained sound pushed from the back of my throat as I imagined how they’d feel in my rough hands, against my tongue. Her blue eyes popped wide, and her arms windmilled. A couple guys carrying brown bags glanced our way.

I dropped the hardhat and pressed her to my chest as quickly as possible, shielding her. “Sorry. I forgot I was holding that damn thing.”

“It could be classified as a concealed weapon.”

Her voice sounded strained, but she sank into me. The swells of her breasts against my chest made everything else rigid. My arms. My legs. My cock.

I kept my hips back and tried to swallow. Tried not to think about how sexy she looked in that purple bra. Not with the angry, red line blooming on her skin. I barely refrained from testing if she really tasted like chocolate.

Sherise arrived swiftly and pulled Ainsley aside. She threw a plaid shirt over her friend’s shoulders, telling her she’d get something for the scrape. The women walked away, and I watched. Waited. Needed my galloping pulse to slow down. When Ainsley glanced over her shoulder with a seductive smile, it damn near killed me.