Page 50 of Stud

“Seriously?” I didn’t know why I found that so hot, but I did. Unbelievably sexy. “Did you like it?”

“It was nice, but it didn’t turn me on. I never did it again.”

I pictured my masculine man rubbing bristly cheeks and hard bodies with Aazam (Because Aazam), and a glimmer of my desire sparked back to life. “Is there a video?”

His chest shook as he laughed. “No video, thank God. We kept drinking. Hard. It was the most wasted I’ve ever been. The last half of the night is a blur, but I remember waking up, my head as painful as it’s ever been, then I spent the next six hours puking my guts out. I didn’t notice the tattoo until I crawled into the shower the next evening. I also wasn’t sure why my ass hurt so bad. At first, I freaked out. Thought maybe more happened with that man than a kiss.”

Squealing, I covered my mouth and cackled into my hands. “Oh my God. If I didn’t know the outcome of this story, I would not be laughing at you right now, but oh my God.”

“Don’t hold back. Emmett never does.”

“I mean, they make movies about this stuff. Actually, it’s something Rachel would totally do after four glasses of wine, but I digress. Continue your confessional.”

I leaned my head back on his shoulder, giddy for the rest of his juicy story. I was still uncomfortable, but I could once again access the rational side of my brain. Thanks to Owen’s distraction techniques.

Still giving me room to breathe, he traced shapes on the dusty floor. “All I know is what Emmett’s told me. A friend of his back then was a tattoo artist. We ended up there, and I got inked. When I asked Emmett what the hell the Japanese letters meant, he busted his gut laughing. I endured that a few times, until I gave up. Whatever it means, it’s enough to send my brother into hysterics. I decided I’d rather not know. If I had to guess, I’d bet Emmett had the guy tattoo something stupid like, Ugly Bastard Eats Shit.”

He went on to talk about Emmett and him, two teen boys who’d wanted to ride horses and run soccer fields until the sun set. I listened. I breathed. More oxygen pumped through my lungs. The walls didn’t press so closely.

I listened. I breathed. I fell harder for Owen Phillips.

I became aware of how much I’d missed him while he was gone. Still, he’d withheld vital information, reigniting my innate distrust. His admission had sent my mind careening to a disastrous time in my life, all of it jumbling together until a traitorous tear had pushed from my eye. I wasn’t a crier. Yet there I’d been, rubbing my ruddy face against Owen’s T-shirt.

Stupid Brandon and his stupid lies, messing me up like this.

Owen’s stories ended, silence blanketing us. A soft place that cushioned my sudden vulnerability. I curled my toes in my sneakers. “Is there anything else, Owen? About this divorce I need to know? I want to believe you, that your ex isn’t part of your future, but you should have told me when I asked about your trip. So is there anything else you’ve kept from me?”

His whole body froze. Not a smidgeon of air puffed against my hair. Then, “It’s hard to talk about it, and my lawyer has been on me to keep quiet, so I’m not used to opening up. But that’s the truth of it. My ex is bitter. She’s giving me hell, getting in the way of selling our assets.” Another pause stretched, this one speeding his heart rate. His pulse point raced against my cheek. “She’s also been—”

Owen’s cell phone leapt to life, and I shot forward. He reached for it, pushing to his feet as he spoke to Emmett. “First townhouse you see. Walk through the entrance, then down the hall to the right. You’ll see the closed door. A safety floodlight is on inside.”

I hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten. Not with the muted glow seeping into the small room. It was bright enough to see relief etched on Owen’s face, but I couldn’t tell if it was because Emmett was rescuing us from this room or him from that conversation.

My panic resurfaced. Without Owen behind me, his rumbling baritone in my ear, the reality of our situation slammed home. We were still stuck. It was still too warm. The ceiling was still too low. It wasn’t as intense as earlier, but I’d donate half my wardrobe if it meant escaping this coffin.

“You guys okay?” Emmett pounded on our door.

“Just glad you’re here. On the count of three, you push and I’ll pull.”

The boys attempted to use their body mass to force the stubborn piece of wood into submission. My wilting temperature had reached a full-on sweat. Effort five was the clincher. Owen practically flew on top of me as the door busted open and fresh air wafted in. Salvation!

Crawling out on all fours, I rolled onto my back in the hallway and inhaled the entire atmosphere. “I almost died.”

“You look okay to me, Stepper.” Emmett towered over me, grinning.

“Is that a step class insult?”

“It is.”

“I rocked that class.”

“Your face nearly hit the riser.”

“Details, details. And speaking of details, I need to know what Owen’s tattoo means. I promise not to tell him.”

He winked at me. “I’ll take it under advisement.” He smacked his brother’s ass. “You guys need an escort home? Any kittens rescued from high places?”

“Fuck off.” This from Owen hovering at my right.