Page 35 of His Secret Obsession

I shake my head, giving him a watery smile before turning back towards the screen. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“If it upsets you, then it’s not nothing.”

Why does that make something warm spread through my chest?

“My parents used to watch this show all the time,” I admit.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Jax’s hand reaches for the remote, only for it to tumble out of his grasp. He manages to catch it mid-air before it slips again. This time, it lands on the carpeted floor. The battery cover pops off, and two batteries roll out. A giggleescapes me, and he gives me a sheepish grin. Then his lips are tugging down, and he’s scrambling towards the remote. “I’ll change the channel.”

“No, don’t,” I protest. “It’s fine. I like this show.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

Jax nods once, relaxing back into the couch as the TV drones on. With that settled, I finally take the first bite of my omelet. A throaty moan slips out of me as the flavor of the decadent cheese bursts across my taste buds. Jax inhales sharply, his fingers clenching into a fist as he stares straight ahead.

“Maddie,” he warns me, his voice a deep rumble.

Heat sweeps through my belly, my heart giving a painful thump. And now I’m thinking about the almost-kiss in the laundry room again. The hungry look in his eyes as he fingered my bra, and the dirty words he growled into my ear. His lips had been so close to mine I could feel his breath ghosting across my skin, and I had been seconds away from giving into the temptation to lift my chin and brush my mouth against his. Shifting on my seat, I ignore the low buzz of arousal sweeping through me as I continue chewing.

Change the subject before you beg him to kiss you.

“My mom used to refurbish old furniture, and my dad made wood furniture,” I blurt out.

His fist relaxes, his fingers uncurling. “Oh, yeah?”

I nod towards the TV screen, watching absentmindedly as Hilary directs a pair of men dressed in denim overalls as they carry a desk between them. “Stuff like that,” I explain lamely. “Desks, chairs, dressers, headboards. Anything, really.”

“That’s a really handy skill to have. Did they teach you, too?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat again, that pesky lump reforming. “But I haven’t created anything in a long time…” This is a part of myself that I haven’t shared with anyone since their deaths,not even Luke. Sometimes, it feels like something special that’s just between the three of us—my parents and me—so I’m not sure if I’m ready to share this yet. I decide to change the subject instead. “We used to make friendly wages when we watched this show.” I waggle my eyebrows.

He tilts his head towards me, his eyes lighting up with interest. “And how did that work?”

“We would bet on whether we thought the homeowners would keep their home or decide to sell it.”

He hums thoughtfully. “So basically, you are betting for Hilary or David?” he asks, referring to their on-screen competition. If Hilary can improve their home enough to entice the owners to stay, she becomes the winner. On the other hand, if David can find the perfect house and convince them to buy it, then he is declared the winner.

“Exactly.”

He strokes his chin, a smirk pulling on his lips. “That’s easy. Hilary is the clear winner here.”

I snort. “No way. Did you not see the four-bedroom ranch-style home that David showed them?”

He gestures towards the TV. “She’s building them a pergola.”

“So? Have you seen how cramped their kitchen is? Their budget isn’t big enough to remodel it.”

“It’s a pergola,” he insists.

“Didn’t know you loved pergolas so much.” Pulling my coffee mug towards me, I take a sip to hide my amusement.

“It would be the perfect place for a hot tub,” he mutters, his tone petulant now. I sputter, choking on my coffee. His lips twitch as I cough and struggle to clear my throat. “Fine, then let’s bet on it. If I’m right, and Hillary wins, you have to clean up the breakfast dishes.”

I pretend to mull it over, not wanting to admit that I had already planned on doing clean-up duty anyway. “Then if I win,I want a foot massage,” I declare. Jax’s eyes widen slightly, his gaze darting down to my feet where the green polish on my toenails sparkle. I make a show of wiggling my toes.

“Deal,” he says quickly.

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