To the Studs

by Roxanne Smith

  Yeah, she judged people, but only those who left the privacy of their homes in sweatpants or hair curlers and thereby truly deserved it.

  Duke brought a small smile to her lips. He certainly didn’t look gay. A lean manly man with a mean glare and thick black hair hanging pin-straight down his back, like some eighties metal guitarist. A long, grizzled beard hid what she decided must be a stately jaw to fit the rest of his broad, oh-so-manly face, and deep blue bedroom eyes that made promises his body refused to keep. At least for the women of the world.

  She dreamed of converting him. Except when he tried to steal Darcy the Pit. Then she dreamed of throwing him off her fifth-floor balcony.

  After converting him.

  Austin was a study in contrast. With tight golden-blond curls and big cornflower-blue eyes on a wide, serene face, he was as cherubic as Duke was wickedly handsome. His generous mouth set him apart from a dozen other too-pretty college boys she’d considered getting involved with. She immensely enjoyed those plush lips, particularly after teaching him how to use them to properly satisfy a woman.

  A real woman, that is, not the flakes he went to college with.

  His smile at her approach bespoke of pleasurable things. If he were a little older or a little more masterful in bed, it might be love. “Hello, gorgeous. Missing something?” He held up a dainty glass, a cosmopolitan by the look of it, with a cocky, inviting grin.

  That mouth. Those lips. Neve came awake and reached for the glass. She chugged half before sitting. The liquor spread through her belly, adding to a warmth already there. “Three more of these, and I’ll feel like I had a real drink. Make sure you get me a Jack and Coke next round, will ya?”

  Austin leaned back in his usual relaxed demeanor, but his smile slipped a little. A brief flicker of something undiscernible crossed his face too quickly for Neve to peg. He sipped his drink, another fruity cocktail. “Bad day, sweetheart?”

  She lifted her hand to signal their waiter, ignoring Austin’s annoying habit of using generic pet names. “Terrible. My new assistant is incompetent, and my client is a cheap asshole with high-dollar expectations and no qualms about mixing designers. I’m finishing what some other jerk started.”

  Austin’s eyebrows hitched up. “That some kind of no-no in your profession?”

  “Depends on if the client likes my designs better, I guess. Ruby is my real problem. I don’t get some people. If I’d been born a mouse, I’d dress like a fucking hawk, you know?” She flicked her gaze over the menu. “Still no crab cakes. I don’t know about this place sometimes.”

  That odd, totally non-sexy stillness returned to Austin’s expression. “You actually expect them to add a new menu item to please a single customer? C’mon, Neve.”

  His tone might have been flat, but Neve hadn’t missed how it toed the line between joking and genuine exasperation.

  She dropped the menu and glared at him. “Something on your mind?” God help her. If she had to listen to one more complaint about the poor lumbar support on his office chair at the university, she’d hurl her fork straight at those lush, pillowy lips.

  Instead, he gave a tiny shake of his head and lifted a hand in a lazy apology. One corner of his mouth lifted in a listless semblance of a smile. “Nothing, nothing. Go on. You were saying you don’t know about this place sometimes?”

  She studied him.

  He lounged comfortably and watched her with the affected innocence of a child. A little too innocent and definitely mocking.

  Her lips curled cruelly. She didn’t have to call him out. There were easier ways to wipe the smug look from his angelic face. “That’s right. The menu is stale, the new chef is a Burger King castoff, and the waiters don’t earn the ten percent I’m socially obligated to give them.”

  Naturally, their waiter chose that precise moment to approach the table.

  Neve had to give the guy credit. With reddened cheeks and a tightly clenched jaw, he took their orders for another round of drinks and dinner salads with an aplomb Neve probably couldn’t have mustered herself. No tip was worth her pride.

  Apparently, their waiter felt differently. His stiff stride carried him away from their table.

  Did she feel bad? A little. Austin had been her target. “He’s definitely getting twenty percent,” she grinned, tipping her glass toward their retreating waiter. “Did you see his face? I should notify Cover Girl. All these years they’ve been missing a lovely shade of blush in their selection. Maybelline has something close, but mottling is so hard to pin. It takes the exact amount of white splotches amid the angry red spots.”

  She waited for Austin’s physical response—the straightened back and upward-angled chin—before lazily moving her attention his way. Neve liked Austin. She truly did. He wore his emotions like a fine suit, every exquisite detail on display. Sadness sloped his shoulders. Pride puffed out his chest. She read his body language like a roadmap to his feelings and she’d hit her mark. “Oh, I’m sorry. You were a waiter here, weren’t you? Funny, the things we forget.” She let her false sincerity fall away. “You have something to say, Austin. I suggest you say it and let’s stop with the head games. You aren’t dealing with some campus bimbo.”

  Austin’s mouth stayed firmly shut, even as his soft blue gaze bore into her. “I said it’s nothing.”

  Later that night, even as he pinned her arms over her head, breathed heavy grunts into her neck while thrusting into her, she recognized the familiar sensation of disconnect. Everyone liked to say men didn’t get emotionally involved when it came to sex, but as usual, everyone was wrong.

  * * * *

  Duke waited until Angel Face shuffled into the elevator before rapping his knuckles across Neve’s door. He avoided men around Neve at all costs. Being gay was harder than he’d thought it would be. Was Angel Face superhot? Should he make a smutty comment or smile coyly at his butt as he walked past?

  I need gay lessons. Hell of a thing to come to terms with, especially after two years of pulling it off.

  Pajama-clad and curled into a ball on her ultrachic sofa, a beige monstrosity set square in the center of the high-ceilinged room atop a thick white rug, Neve didn’t pause in shoving yogurt-covered pretzels down her gullet to bother with a greeting. The scenery didn’t differ—sofa, pajamas, snacks, bad television—but she seemed more subdued than usual.

  He sat next to her and snatched the remote from the coffee table. “Just because you renovate and design for a living doesn’t mean there aren’t channels besides HGTV. Why can’t I live next door to a chef? Or a chiropractor. Someone useful.”

  “I’m assuming it’s because you were a real asshole in a previous life.”

  “Can we watch Survivor, maybe try a movie once in a while?” He swept a lock of his hair over his shoulder and grinned as Neve rolled her eyes.

  She’d never hidden her envious love of his hair. “Do you do that on purpose? Play with your hair and wear tight black jeans and T-shirts to torture straight females?” She turned her attention to the flipping channels on the television. “Because I would.”

  “Really? If you were a hot lesbian, you’d deliberately entice straight men? That’s brutal.”

  “That’s me. Brutal.” Normally, she made proclamations like that with a little more pride.

  Duke chewed his lip and looked her over. She had her glossy, coffee-colored hair pulled into a rakish bun on the top of her head, wore her favorite plush robe over plaid pajamas, and one hand steadily ferried pretzels from the bag to her face.

  Pretzel crumbs and all, he’d still get hard if he stared too long. Neve joked about converting him, but if she ever made an honest effort, he wouldn’t hesitate to wrap her killer legs around his waist like a bow, wind a lock of her silken hair through his fist, and make good on every vulgar fantasy he’d concocted over the last two years.

  Duke shifted to find a more comfortable position in his awkwardly tight jeans, jeans growing tighter with each vivid
image popping into his cranium—Neve on her back with her hair fanned out like a dark halo, Neve’s haughty mouth humbled by a moan of ecstasy, his palms on the inside of her thighs, spreading—

  Jesus Christ, man. I need to get laid.

  He landed on a hotrod channel before recalling he shouldn’t. Or should he? He had a hard time balancing his act while trying not to be overly stereotypical. He clicked over to a shopping network and tried to appear interested in a china set the overly made-up host fawned over. “You all right, Neve?” He looked at her.

  Her flat amber gaze met his in an almost mechanical way. Deliberate and threatening, her displeasure clear and coupled with challenge—a dare to prod further. Basically, with a single glance she told him to mind his beeswax.

  Duke’s balls instinctively crawled into his stomach. Glares like that were the reason he pretended he was gay. He thanked his lucky stars every day that Neve was so awful, the thing that both compelled him and made it easy for him to keep his distance. He had experience with alpha females, and while they were apparently his cup of tea, he was trying to wean himself from the habit.

  They’d become something of friends, but only as a byproduct of being the sole occupants of the fifth floor in their midtown building. Years ago, the place had been offices of some industrial firm. A developer had bought it and split each floor into two mirroring loft apartments.

  Duke liked the solitude in a city as busy as Little Rock, but it sucked having only one neighbor when he needed to borrow sugar. Especially if the neighbor was anything like Neve Harper, who had a tendency to speak her mind. It wouldn’t be so bad if she had nicer thoughts. But sometimes, he just couldn’t help himself. He had to poke, like she was an itch he had to scratch. He likened it to hanging out with a vicious dog—they smelled fear, so pretending you weren’t scared was key—but the dog was a pretty one he kinda wanted to pet sometimes. “I’m not here for you. I came to see Darcy.”

  Upon hearing her name, Darcy the Pit hefted herself from the rug and padded over to nuzzle Duke’s hand.

  He grinned and stroked the pit bull’s short, silky coat. Neve had so much style, even her rescued stray looked designer. Darcy the Pit had a coat the color of cream soda. Her eyes matched her fur, lined with the same delicate pink of her paws, belly, and nose.

  Neve continued to pulverize pretzels. “Go home, Duke.”

  “Nah.”

  She curled protectively around her pretzels, like they were the only thing she could trust. “You came to torture me with your need for social interaction.” She pushed a heavy sigh through puffed cheeks. “I think I’m nearing the end of my time with Angel Face.”

  Ah. Man trouble. “I’m sorry to hear that. He’s…” Shit. “Scrummy?” Oh, good one. Nice save.

  Neve stared at the television. “He’s okay. It’s just exhausting picking through a bunch of unskilled college boys to find one worth training. I’d hoped Austin would last longer, but his feelings are getting involved. What kind of feelings, who knows. Emotions aren’t my thing. I just know they lead to bad things and are best avoided.”

  Not a broken heart then. He’d been worried there for a second. But this was Neve. If she had a heart, it was made of carbonized steel. At the same time, she definitely seemed more put out about Angel Face than the previous college studs she dated. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s so passive-aggressive, it’ll be weeks before he gets around to doing anything about it. I’ve got time.”

  Duke gave her ankle an encouraging pat. “Way to think positive, sport.”

  “Shut up and switch the channel back to HGTV before I get nasty.” She struggled into an upright position at the same time her cell phone buzzed against the glass top of her coffee table. She set down the pretzels at last, dusted off her hands, and picked up her cell. Her eyebrows drew together quizzically at the identity of the caller.

  Duke expected her usual tart greeting, but Neve answered in a mellow professional tone. “Neve Harper.” A pause. “Hi, Mr. Dyer. No, of course it’s not too late. What can I do for you?” Her legs unfurled. She sat up straighter as she listened, a storm gathering on her face.

  Duke’s curiosity beat out his urge to run for cover. “Your client?” he mouthed.

  She zapped him with an annoyed glance that dissipated into an expression of mild shock, her gaze now locked on some point over Duke’s head. Her mouth fell open. “How in the hell can you ask me to resign before seeing the finished results of the renovation?”

  Duke cringed. One of those calls. Bummer.

  Neve’s free hand curled into a fist and her chin came up. “I haven’t verbally assaulted anyone who didn’t deserve it. And to be fair, Mr. Dyer, if you expected Ruby to get special treatment because she’s your niece, you should’ve said so before hiring me. I would’ve turned down the job. Besides, I don’t need your cheap project in my portfolio. Good luck hiring someone with half my talent. My team and I—”

  The voice whirred through the phone, effectively cutting off Neve.

  Her skin paled and her voice dropped an octave. “They agreed to finish the project under Ruby’s management? This is a joke. Did Matt put you up to this? Because Ben wouldn’t have the guts.”

  Somehow, Duke didn’t think Mr. Dyer would call Neve at home for the sake of a laugh.

  She nodded at Mr. Dyer’s response. The messy bun atop her head wobbled. “I understand I demand a unique quality of employee, but do Ruby a favor, will you? Tell her she’d better grow a hefty pair of stones if she plans on making it in this business. There’s worse than me out there.”

  Neve gained her feet and heaved in a breath after ending the call. The hand clutching her phone had turned white from her hard grasp. “Creepy little bitch. I’ve never been fired from a job in my life. I’m the cream of the crop, the best thing Little Rock has to offer. I’m Neve fucking Harper.”

  Duke sucked on his bottom lip. She was talking at him, not to him, which was good, because what the hell was he supposed to say? She wouldn’t do anything too human like cry, but she might throw something or be more than willing to take out her frustration on the closest target, which happened to be him, if he opened his mouth and something stupid emerged.

  Neither happened before her phone rattled again.

  Already in her hand, she gave a little sigh at the caller. “Austin,” she explained, regarding Duke.

  “By all means,” he urged, dipping his head in mock subservience. “I’m here for Darcy, remember?” To make his point, he reached for Darcy’s pink belly. She rolled over with a lolling tongue to give him better access to her favorite spot.

  “Her name is Darcy the Pit.”

  “It’s a mouthful.”

  “You’re gonna have a mouthful of teeth if you don’t call her by her name.”

  His palms went up in surrender. “Okay, okay. You win.” For now, anyway. Neve had been canned about three minutes ago. He could pick a better time to argue about her dog’s longwinded name.

  She gave him a withering stare and answered the phone. “Hey, Austin. I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight.”

  Unlike the conversation with Mr. Dyer, Duke easily caught Austin’s voice as it buzzed into Neve’s ear but discerned about one word in every ten as he hurriedly mumbled over the line.

  Neve resettled into her spot on the sofa, her feet propped onto the edge of the coffee table. A laugh from Austin creased her features into yet another look of concern. She flopped back and rubbed her forehead. “You want to have this conversation now?”

  More buzzing from Angel Face. Duke didn’t have to listen intently to make out words like tact and asinine.

  Neve scoffed. “Even if he is their best waiter. Besides, I was speaking in generalizations. You want to know what I think of tact, Austin? I think it’s a word people like you throw around because the truth is uncomfortable. Instead of facing it, you lie about how you really feel under the guise of havi
ng tact.” Her shoulders sloped, her voice softened. “Look, Austin, this was inevitable. Happens every time with you young, idealistic guys. Sometimes they fall in love with me, sometimes they grow tired of waiting for me to become this nice person they suspect I keep buried beneath my bitchy exterior.”

  More indiscernible buzzing.

  “No, hon. This is me.” She shook her head like a disappointed parent. “Where did you expect this to go, anyway? Were we going to fall in love, get married? No. I’m a mature woman with an established career and reputation, and you’re just over the legal drinking age. I just wanted to give you a different kind of education than you’re getting at the university, that’s all. If it helps, you were one of my best students,” she added charmingly.

  Neve pulled the cell phone away from her ear to quizzically study the screen. “That’s weird.”

  Duke tugged on his long beard. Today it hung in a braid down to the collar of his T-shirt. “Oh? Getting hung up on is weird for you?”

  “Who do you reckon has the guts?” She shrugged and chucked the phone back onto the coffee table.

  It hit the glass with a resounding smack that made Duke wince. “May I ask now?”

  Her gold-flecked eyes met his. They were surprisingly devoid of hostility. She was definitely more torn up about losing the job than losing the boy toy. “Ask what?”

  He jostled her knee playfully, glad she wasn’t poised to attack. “If you’re all right. When I asked a minute ago, you mean-mugged me. Having eavesdropped on your last two calls, I have a reason now.”

  She rolled her eyes, but the ghost of a smile played across her wide mouth, host to thin but intriguing lips. “Save it, Duke. I bet I can come up with something I want more than your pity.”

  Chapter 2

  “No, following me to work is not a totally fab idea. It’s a terrible idea.”

  Neve grinned and hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. Duke hadn’t done much to try to stop her besides complain the whole walk from their building to the bus station. “Be a sport. I’ve been stewing in my loft—sometimes in yours when you aren’t home—for days. I drink tea with sad names like chamomile and watch even sadder television. Do you know what happens to fresh, delectable bread when it sits too long?”