Page 25 of Stud

Sucking a sharp breath, I went to cover my heart with my hand, but I smacked my dangling face mask. “How sick?”

“The C word. So I went to see her, the first time in a couple years. We fought. Couldn’t even have a normal conversation. Now I’m sitting here, trying to figure out if I’ll be upset if she dies, and I’m planning a vacation because the idea of getting away from her and these uncomfortable feelings is the only thing making me feel better. I’m a horrible person.”

“You’re honest, love. That’s more than most people can say. And I’m sorry. Do you plan to spend time with her? Patch things up?” As tough as things had been for me growing up, my family was close. Gwen and her mother had waged their own civil war. Partly because her mother was a crotchety bitch, but she’d also refused to tell Gwen who her father was. Just like Owen’s mother.

They were both so well adjusted, considering.

“Unlikely. For now, I’ll keep researching Roatán and picturing beaches. Sorry to hijack the conversation. Why’d you call?”

My gaze drifted over the muddy ground, tool boxes, and piles of wood. It landed squarely on my construction hunk. Creeper. “I have found myself in a pickle, but if I tell you about it, you can’t make fun of me.”

“Hell to the no. I just told you my mother is sick. Making fun of you will distract me.”

Not much I could say to that. “It happened again.”

“You scored another Gucci purse?”

“Don’t I wish. No. My recent pattern of male crushing has resurfaced.”

She gasped. “Another gay man?”

“I have a problem.”

Her cackle had me holding the phone away from my ear. “This is the best! I mean, maybe it’s a fetish. Maybe, subconsciously, you want a threesome with a couple of beefy men. Or you’re a voyeur and want to watch them. Which actually sounds pretty hot.”

“Don’t make me regret telling you.”

She laughed harder, and I glared at a darkening cloud, wondering if I could telekinetically explode her head. I didn’t mention I’d met Owen on a Habitat for Humanity build. My foray to realize my birthday wish was doing as well as the Titanic, and sharing it aloud could jeopardize it further. I was volunteering, finally contributing to the community, but I’d expected the rough edges of my world to align, too. Like they had for Rachel. But I still worked for cheating men, my father hadn’t found a job, and my love life was beyond pathetic.

Apparently, I had to try harder.

“Okay, okay,” she said, catching her breath. “So…he’s gay. Move on. We’ll go out to a club. I’ll vet any potential cute men.”

If only it were that easy. “I’m all for the clubbing, but my issue is bigger than that. I like this guy. Like, like him, like him. We’re working together on a project, and I find myself telling him all sorts of things I never share. He’s nice and fun, and he’s crazy hot. Just…being around him is hard, so I keep him at a certain distance, but I hate the idea of losing him as a friend. I even show up when I know he’ll be volunteering, like a glutton for punishment. It’s a rock-and-a-hard-place scenario.”

Meaning, I’d like to be pinned between a rock and his hard place.

“That’s easy. Stop fighting it.”

“Did you miss the part where I said he was gay?”

“Of course not. I get to make fun of you for at least a year with that tidbit. What I mean is, stop distancing yourself from him because you’re a second from mauling the guy. Embrace the gay. You can shop together and dish about guys. It could be great.”

Embrace the gay. Huh. I’d been avoiding physical contact with Owen, worried I’d accidentally/on-purpose cop a feel, but this could be liberating, allowing hugs and touches and cheek kisses, knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere. Owen didn’t seem like the shop-till-you-drop type, but I could get some guy intel. Real conversations about what sex is like for them. Learn some pointers.

He could be the Will to my Grace.

“You might be onto something. Sorry again about your mom.”

She avoided the latter comment, and we hung up as Owen stood and stretched. Drool pooled in my mouth. His threadbare jeans emphasized his narrow hips and thick thighs. His ass was a gift from the gods. I continued my creeper staring as he scratched the back of his head, his T-shirt riding up just enough. Flat stomach. A trail of light brown hair. Hip bones. Unf.

Heat bloomed between my thighs, and I didn’t fight it. If I was going to make this friendship work, I’d have to live with this constant ache or become accustomed to it. Sexy exposure therapy. Surely it would dissipate.

He spotted me and tipped up his chin. His long legs ate up the distance between us, his movements purposeful, focused. Like he was about to lift me up, spin me around, and kiss me senseless. I bit down on my cheek, willing these fantasies to subside.

He stopped in front of me. “Sorry I missed lunch.”

I wiped the corner of my mouth, worried the drool had escaped. “Lucifer was particularly ornery.” Because I was embracing the gay, no longer avoiding sexual jokes or innuendo, I added, “I think he needs to get laid.”