Page 74 of Stud

My throat burned, and I bit my lip. “What I feel for you scares me to death.”

“Baby, I know. I’m nervous, too. But this is right. We’re right.”

Instead of agreeing or confessing the extent of my emotion, I said the next best thing. “Is it okay if I sleep over?”

Closing his eyes, he exhaled a long breath. “It would save me from cutting your spark plugs and tying you to the bed.” His tone was light, but he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple traveling the length of his strong neck.

Since we’d started dating, every time I’d leave his place—never sleeping over, never offering him more—his thinly veiled hurt had cut me to my core. But staying meant trusting, as did sleeping with him without a condom. I was in this relationship mind, body, and soul, whether I was ready or not. “If you do mess with my car, I might have to miss work tomorrow. Spend all day in bed. And this piece”—I lifted the glass from my chest and set it on the bedside table—“is mine.”

He placed the full jar next to my blue shard. “You can have it all. And this was my plan, you know. To woo you with the dance so you’d stay over.”

Time for an admission of my own. “I packed a bag earlier. Before dinner at my folks. Before the dance.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm.”

His gentle smile said he approved. “I still plan to punish you for ambushing me with your father and your friends.”

“Do your worst.”

His worst turned out to be kissing me slow and deep until I nudged him off. “I need to grab said bag and brush my teeth. I don’t want to have bad morning breath. I might not get invited back.”

I went to move, but he placed a hand on my arm. The humor drained from his eyes, and the lull that followed sent my pulse racing. “I e-mailed Tessa today.”

There goes my afterglow. God, I hated her name. Hated her vile accusations and the hold she still had on Owen. “About the divorce?”

He nodded. “I spoke with a friend from D.C. and sorted through some stuff. I think if I own part of what went down between us I can get the papers signed. She’s coming here next week. No lawyers. Just us, to talk. I wanted you to know.”

Acid burned through my gut. His honesty this time meant the world, but I didn’t trust a woman hell bent on destroying a man, no matter their history. Even if the text I’d gotten had come from Caroline, Tessa’s vindictiveness had been behind it. I also couldn’t imagine why she thought Owen had cheated on her, had no idea what level of crazy she subscribed to.

Unless she wasn’t crazy. Unless my instincts with Owen were as faulty as they’d been with Brandon.

Head spinning, I said, “Thank you,” putting as much sincerity into the sentiment as possible.

Frazzled, I borrowed a T-shirt, grabbed my bag from my car, and escaped to the bathroom. Not cool. So not cool to be having a meltdown after the night we’d shared, but meltdowning I was. All the baggage I thought I’d released roared back, and I gripped the sink. Facing the reality of Tessa and her slander fed my insecurity, rational or not, but I wouldn’t fuel it further. Not this time. I wouldn’t let it ruin this beautiful thing Owen and I had. He also knew his ex. He had a plan.

As did I. I was one step away from becoming my best self and firing my sleazy clients. Facilitating their affairs had to stop, and losing my focus to insecurity could derail my efforts.

Soon I’d be starting a personal shopping business by women, about women, for women, turning the table on my unpleasant job. I’d target those recently divorced, wanting to reinvent themselves in the face of their losses.

What better way to do that than with my pals Dolce and Gabbana?

With Dad landing his job, I had a window of opportunity. He could still get injured, or the factory could fold or cut jobs, so I couldn’t sap my savings completely. But I had a shot.

Owen had even donned the hat of my financial (and sex) advisor recently. We’d sat down for a professional meeting, outlining how much money I’d need for a start-up business and ways to access my target market. I would decrease my volunteer shifts to one or two a month, use all spare minutes to build a website. It was the perfect distraction for my persisting paranoia.

Nineteen

Nine-letter word for the deterioration of metal through oxidization. Or when your ex-wife’s drama further infects your life.

C O R R O S I O N

Owen

I hated being late. I found it rude and wasteful and generally made a point of watching the clock. But mornings the past couple weeks had been too sweet.

I’d slept at Ainsley’s a bunch of nights, and she’d crashed at mine the rest. Each morning I’d tell myself to get up and get dressed, but she’d move in her sleep, snuggling up closer, and I couldn’t let her go. I’d stroke her hair instead, tracing the smooth slope of her shoulder, mapping the three freckles set in a line. She’d shift and stretch. My touches would get more demanding until we were rocking together in an endless erotic dance.