Page 21 of Stud

A notion I could get behind.

Except she crossed her arms and refused to look my way. Women were confusing as all hell, but I was partly to blame. Her hot-and-cold routine was tough to read. No denying that. If I got too close, she’d lean or step away. If I placed my hand on her back or arm or elbow, she’d shrug me off. But I hadn’t asked her out to dinner, not even for drinks. After the Tessa fiasco, I wasn’t sure I trusted my instincts when it came to women. Getting closer also meant explaining my divorce and the fact that my ex believed I’d cheated on her.

Would Ainsley trust that I’d never betrayed my wife? Or would she assume the worst like my D.C. friends and cut our ties?

Maintaining our status quo seemed less daunting.

Lunches in hand, we retreated to our picnic table and struck our usual pose—side by side, sitting on the table top, our feet on the bench below. Our white ash tree shaded us. Ainsley was eating a cactus and chili taco, while I crammed the first of two falafel pitas into my mouth.

Manual labor was hungry work, and truth be told, I missed my heartier lunch. Hopefully Nana was making her famous meatloaf tonight. Between Emmett and me, we could polish off two loaf pans.

A few quiet minutes in, our ornery squirrel made his appearance, nattering incessantly. Ainsley growled at the little guy. “I’m not tossing you a crumb so you can turn your nose up to it.”

He screeched some more. The rodent really dug his meat, too. “We should call him Joe.”

She scoffed at me. “More like Ivan the Terrible.”

I tore off another bite and chewed. “Genghis Khan.”

“Attila.”

“Stalin.”

“Definitely Lucifer,” she said. “Or we could end the twerp. Put him and us out of our misery.” She licked some sauce from her wrist. A slow slide of her tongue over her pulse point.

My heart rate kicked up. “Where I come from we don't shoot vermin when they get ornery. We tame ’em.”

She cackled at my John Wayne impression. “Did the vegan food mess with your vocal cords?”

“John Wayne. It’s a line from the movie the truck’s named after, except horses not vermin. I took creative liberties.”

“Still have zero idea what you’re on about.”

I shoved the last bit of falafel into my mouth, remembering nights growing up as I swallowed. “Instead of cartoons or sitcoms, my nana would put on black-and-white films—Casablanca, It’s a Wonderful Life, Singin’ in the Rain. Old Westerns, too. Loved those and the musicals best. We’d even dance sometimes.”

“Is that so?” Her husky voice turned dreamy.

I bet spinning Ainsley around a dance floor would be heaven. “You dance?”

She crumpled her garbage and placed it next to mine. Avoiding my eyes, she plopped onto the far bench seat and lay down, blue eyes on the dancing leaves above. “I did ballet until high school. Loved it. I had to stop when it got too expensive, but it was everything to me.”

Taking her cue, I lay down on the opposite bench, boots wide on the grass below. I laced my fingers over my stomach. “What were you like in high school?” I rolled my head to face her.

She frowned at the passing clouds. “It’s the perfect temperature for hiking, don’t you think? Not too warm.”

She was evading my question, but her comment piqued my interest. “You hike?”

“Not as often as I’d like, but I try to get out once a month. I like the quiet, the fresh air.”

“Really?” I winced at the surprise in my tone.

She shot me a look. “Yes, really. When money got tight at home, my family started going on weekly hikes. It was free and fun, and I still love it.”

I wasn’t about to admit I’d misjudged her again, that I wouldn’t have guessed she’d choose trekking through mud over shopping the strip. I loved how she kept surprising me, each nugget I learned upping her appeal. “High school,” I repeated, hungry for more.

“You’re persistent.”

“I’m interested.”