Page 66 of Tight Spot

People didn’t come to my store for typical furniture they could find in any bookstore or online shop so I always took the time to ensure my pieces could be used in multiple places if possible.

“I’m not telling you what happened after my dad left.”

“Is he good? You know? At the whole cherry popping thing?”

She popped her p’s much more dramatically than necessary.

I wouldn’t know, not yet. A week had gone by since that Saturday morning. We’d checked in with each other almost daily, and he’d come to my house for dinner once. I’d gone to his once. Both of those included more sleepovers and hands-on tutorials, but I was still, technically a virgin.

It was driving me mad, which was why I called Sloane and told her she had to come to my store and hang with me to get my mind off things. Except she was doing the opposite and kept needling.

“You were supposed to be helping me,” I told her. “And talking about cherries isn’t helping.”

“So you’re still a card-carrying member of the V-Club?”

I rolled my eyes and dipped my brush in more paint. “Sure, Sloane. You could say that. We’ve done other things, but he keeps stopping before that.”

And all the other things he did, he excelled at. Wednesday, we’d been watching a movie on his couch. There’d been touching. Flirting. Teasing kisses. I’d then found myself thrown onto the couch, hands on the cushions at the back of the couch. Dawson had thrown up the skirt of my dress, yanked down my underwear to my knees.

He’d then dropped to his knees on the floor and ate me from behind.

Incredible. Absolutely incredible. It was like he’d taken his homework seriously. Hell, maybe he hadn’t needed the help of ideas of what I’d like in the first place because every time he touched me, he worked miracles.

The problem was that it was all starting to feel a little too date-like. Good morning texts. Good night phone calls. Earlier this week, he had me FaceTime him and then walked me through stripping for him, masturbating while I saw him make himself come. And it was Dawson making the effort, all the way.

He was either taking his job of teaching me about sex incredibly seriously, liked the idea of having a willing sex partner at his beck-and-call, or the final possibility I was trying very hard not to think about…

I wasn’t the only one catching feelings.

Wishful thinking, so I chalked it up to him enjoying spending time with me.

“Have you asked him?”

“What?” I stood. Paint dripped off my brush, and I set it in the paint tray before I made a mess.

Sloane grinned. “Have you asked him to actually finish, you know…pop your…”

“Please don’t say cherry again. And no, should I?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’s holding back because he’s worried you’re not ready or something.”

That was a theory. My own fears and doubts were rising. Two weeks of all the making out and touching and it was spectacular, but I’d wonder why he held back. Why he always finished with his hand, or mine, or my mouth. Doubts had crept in. Was I not good enough…again?

I certainly hadn’t been for Darrick.

“Just a thought.” She jumped off the table. “I’m going to grab us dinner. Need anything?”

“Sure.” I placed my order for The Tavern on Main, their gyro meal was to die for, and while Sloane was gone, I finished up the last coat of paint on the dresser before stripping out of my painting overalls. After a quick clean-up, I was back out in the front of the store.

Grace was working that night, and since it was getting late, the shop was winding down. The weather had also been threatening storms all day which kept foot traffic away, but so far, the streets had stayed clean and dry.

“Busy today?” I asked her. She’d shown up as soon as her last high school class ended and allowed me to spend time in the back.

“I think it was a good day. A few bigger purchases—that headboard and then the side table by the front—” She pointed to them. “Sold. I have them on hold until tomorrow at five.”

“Awesome.”

The headboard was all wood. I’d stripped off the old seventies walnut stain, restained it to a lighter wood and then white-washed it. Sized for a king bed, it took up a ton of space which made decorating around it difficult. It’d be perfect for a lake home, or a beach theme bedroom. I was glad to have it gone. The dresser I was currently working on would fit great in the space it’d leave behind. It’d also been in the store since winter, and I’d been starting to worry it’d never sell.

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