Page 38 of Tight Spot

“Looks like it, doesn’t mean things can’t happen. And there’s always a chance, we go public, you could get some attention you aren’t prepared for.”

I’d already considered, but I hadn’t thought of bad attention.

I opened the door and pushed it open.

“Should at least get a storm door, so you can see who’s here before you answer.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I teased.

His lips quirked. “Smartass.”

I walked in and flipped on the light switches even though my kitchen light was already on. I might have been joking, but I wasn’t naive. Bad shit happened anywhere, to anyone, so I always left lights on when I left my house. The door closed behind Dawson as he followed me in, and I dropped my purse on the side table as soon as I entered. “I was teasing, but my dad says it to me all the time. I’m having a hard time finding the right one.”

“There’s a right kind of storm door?”

“Of course.” I kicked off my white Converse platform shoes. “Do I want one full sheet of glass? Do I want one that’s half and half with a screen? The screen would be lovely in the spring, on nights like tonight, but then just a screen sort of defeats the purpose of security. Someone could slash right through it and get to my handle anyway. With all glass, I might hear it shatter. But the screen would come in handy on Halloween, make it easy to hand it out without giving people access to my house. But then, if it’s a screen, and I look outside, that blurs the view across the street and of my magnolia tree.”

When I started talking, I’d headed toward the back of the house, straight through the open living room you walked right into to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. By the time I turned back, Dawson was standing in the middle of the living room, jaw slack, and he bounced his dark gaze from the door to me.

“Um.”

“Don’t get me started on the frames. Or the kick plates. Those could hide the view of my yellow door and I love that yellow door.”

I handed him a bottled water.

“Yeah, Hailey. Can see now how that’d be a difficult choice.” His lips twitched like he was fighting a laugh. Not meanly, and okay. I’d definitely gotten carried away a bit.

“Occupational hazard in my own home,” I admitted. “I put a lot of thought into wanting things to be perfect.”

“Yeah. I can see that. You do all this to your house, or did you and your ex work on it together?”

“Darrick was supposed to move in after we were married.” Darrick also hadn’t touched a tool in his life. “The flooring and kitchen were all updated when I moved in.”

Thank goodness, because the previous owners had taken a small kitchen in the back right corner with a closed-off dining area and put the kitchen at the far back of the house, fridge and pantry close at the ends, and then placed a giant island.

Dawson took a drink of his water and walked straight to my bookshelves.

My pulse kicked up a notch. Not from him, but the fact he was as interested in my home as he was my shop, and my home bookshelves did not hold knick-knacks I’d refinished or refurbished.

They held books. Romance books. A boatload of them and they were not at all my mother’s kind of old-school romance.

“I like to read,” I sort of mumbled, sort of whispered.

“You like to read a lot.” His finger brushed along the spines of not one, not two, but three shelves before he pulled out a book.

“Um.” I stepped toward him, the book in his hand. Probably figured I could grab if I moved quick, but Dawson spun and held it against his chest. Title out.

“Dominate Me” clear in red, bold font against the black cover and the almost entirely naked man.

“You can try to take this from me but should probably know I’m one of the fastest tight ends in football, and I’ve got no problems tackling two-hundred-pound men if I need to.”

The threat probably shouldn’t have sent a spike of arousal down my spine. I stayed glued to my spot.

“This is embarrassing.”

“What? That you might not have had sex, but you liked reading about it? Nothing embarrassing about it.” He flipped through the book and my cheeks turned the color of a fire engine.

“They’re tabbed.” His thumb brushed along the pages, and the tiny pink and blue stickers I’d put on some of the spicier parts flickered along with him. “Wanna explain why?”

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