Page 89 of Stud

Ex-squeeze me? “How did I miss that?”

“I think he felt bad for me.”

I squeezed my legs tighter around his back. “And?” When his smirk widened, I fisted the front of his shirt and pulled him close. “Now’s not the time to hold out on me, cowboy. My form of punishment involves lack of sex.”

He slapped my ass. “I’ll take it under advisement. How about we go to your place and get naked?”

The bugger ignored my ultimatum, but my willpower waned. I was weak, needy. “Will you tell me eventually?”

Keeping me clutched to his chest, he kicked his leg over the bench and stood. He walked us to our cars while I did my best koala impression, legs hooked around his middle. “If you stick around, maybe.”

I pressed my face into his warm neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

Ainsley

A six-letter word for a place of ideal perfection.

I grinned at my crossword clue, an easy one that wouldn’t require any cheating. Before I could type my answer, Rachel elbowed me. “They’re finally starting.”

“About time.” I pocketed my phone and watched the group of fit men slap one another’s backs as they spilled onto the soccer field. “It’s a hunk buffet.”

Gwen snorted from my other side. “You two aren’t allowed to indulge.”

“But we can look,” Rachel said.

And we did. Thick thighs abounded. Broad backs filled out the yellow or blue shirts on either team, long socks suctioned to defined calves. There was one particular set of calves I was searching for—the pair attached to my favorite hunk…whose ass was being squeezed by another man.

His perverted brother flashed me a wink.

I glared at the jerk. “Emmett needs to get over the ass grab.”

Rachel scrunched her adorable nose. “Why does he even do it?”

“Because he knows it annoys me. It’s always the left cheek, the one with the tattoo. Neither of them will tell me what it means.”

“I still can’t believe Owen hasn’t let it slip.”

“I can’t believe we haven’t pantsed him yet to see that sucker.” Gwen shook her head in disgust.

My scowl deepened. “He’s staying mum. I figured it’s better to focus my efforts on Emmett. He’s likely to crack sooner.”

“Good luck with that one.” Cameron climbed the small set of bleachers, joining us for the morning festivities. He scanned the field. “It’s a hunk buffet.”

My words exactly. “You and I share a brain.”

Gwen sat straighter. “Good thing I’m the only one of us available. Considering how long it’s been, I might need the all-you-can-eat variety.”

Rachel and I traded hopeful glances. Gwen had been on a break from men for over a year, focusing instead on work and CrossFit and her other life-threatening hobbies. She also hadn’t been out much since her mother had passed away last month. The end had come suddenly, so swiftly Gwen hadn’t spoken with her since their last fight. Gwen claimed she’d come to terms with the loss, accepting that her “mother” had gained said title by blood alone, not through any sort of proper relationship. She’d said losing her had felt like reading about a celebrity death in a gossip rag—a moment of sadness, followed by life moving on.

I patted her thigh. “If you go the buffet route, make sure the men all wear their bibs before entering your restaurant.”

Cameron cracked up. “I need a book of Ainsley-isms.”

I could totally rock that book. “We’ll call it Musings on the Love Glove.” Not that I had time to write such brilliance. My next two months were fully booked.

Aside from my growing client list, my weekly Habitat shift took priority, and I needed to add a before-and-after page to my website, showing off recent makeovers. One in particular would be front and center: Sloane. She’d progressed from a size celery to a size Italian eggplant and looked stunning in her less-conservative wardrobe. She was my ideal client, ready to shed her past with a new look and a new lease on life. She’d also made sure Thomas hadn’t slandered my reputation.