Page 29 of Tight Spot

I needed to fold her newest delivery, and now was the perfect time. Misty couldn’t see my hands shake with nerves and fear if I kept them busy. “It’s fine.”

“When are you going to see him again?”

Sloane and Misty showed up Sunday afternoon when I was in my workroom, and apparently, lovely Meredith, who was now safe from me in Puerto Vallarta, had talked to them and told them Dawson and I went out. They were only slightly pissed I hadn’t called them myself.

“Don’t know.”

He hadn’t called. It wasn’t a normal relationship, so I didn’t expect to start checking in on each other, but the radio silence after four days was creating a cramping sensation in my chest.

Had he changed his mind? Was he ghosting me? I’d thought we had a deal, and after we’d agreed, dinner had proceeded like a more normal date. He asked about me, my family. I told him about my siblings, that my parents were born and raised and still lived in Friendswood while everyone else moved away. I told him about my business, and he’d seemed so genuinely interested, I’d gone into detail about my work, how I started it.

He hadn’t seemed to be faking any of that, but maybe he went home and realized he could do better?

Maybe what I wanted from him was too much to ask?

“He hasn’t called?”

“No, Mist, he hasn’t.”

“So call him.”

I was not calling a man who agreed to help me with my sex life. And say what? “Wanna fuck me tonight?”

How absurd. And so not me.

I glared at Misty. “Don’t you and Ryan have plans tonight?”

Usually bringing up her situationship or whatever was enough to get her to be quiet.

“Nooo…he’s going to a brewery with friends tonight. Although I might swing by later if he’s not too drunk.”

She wiggled her brows. For sex. Because everyone was having it but me, and I was supposed to be a married woman by now and getting it whenever I wanted.

“Rub it in,” I muttered.

Misty laughed and spun one of her braids in a circle. “Speaking of rubbing. If you called him—”

The bell above the door rang as someone came in. I shot Misty a glare to shut her up, but she’d already closed her mouth. At least, right before she breathed, “Holy shit. You have got to rub your hands all over that.”

“Mist,” I scowled at her and turned to see her gaping at the customer.

The customer currently headed our way—or mine—

The customer I hadn’t seen since Saturday night and the man who looked entirely too brutal, too savage, to be in a tiny little shop with painted and restained antique furniture. In jeans that clung to his thighs and a long sleeve, simple gray Henley that looked fitted to every single one of his muscles. His hair was pulled back at the back of his neck, and that beard…he was the epitome of a bull in a china shop, moving with grace right for me.

“Hey,” I said, and I was pretty sure it came out on a breath. My heart started racing and my fingertips turned sweaty.

“Damn,” Misty whispered. “Lucky girl.”

She said it quietly. No way could Dawson hear her, but still, he quirked an amused smile at my friend before his look changed to uncertainty when he finally reached us.

“How’s your week going?”

Better now. So much better now.

“Um. Hi.”

Misty laughed.

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