Page 78 of Tight Spot

Sometimes, Tuevo was a bigger gossip and girl than Meredith. He lived for our stories.

“You’ll be there before us, right? Promise?”

I didn’t want to show up without friends already there for support. Misty and Sloane promised they’d be there. My parents. We all had a table at the front of the room, right off the stairs to make the trip up to the stage quick and easy for me.

“We’re leaving as soon as I finish this.” She lifted her glass.

My doorbell rang, and I jumped. It was early. Not quite six thirty. “That’s Dawson. We’ll see you soon.”

“Head high, Hailey. Even if this does not work out with Dawson, you deserve much better than any man who treats you like Darrick.”

“Thanks, Tuevo.” I blew Meredith a kiss, ended the call, and hurried to the door.

Dawson’s jaw dropped, and those dark eyes of his widened to large saucers. “You look…holy shit…Hailey. I wasn’t sure a dress could ever look better on you than the one you wore for my thing, but hot damn. That dress looks killer on you.”

My dress wasn’t nearly as fancy or rich or luxurious as last week’s, but I’d bought it for tonight. Two thick black shoulder straps crossed over my chest, making my breasts look plump and full and exposed some cleavage. The bodice was tight, ruched in a way that made me look ten pounds slimmer. The skirt part flared out at my hips with an A-shape, tulle beneath to keep it the black taffeta material fluffy and flowy. I’d spun in it at the store when I bought it months ago, thinking I’d be wearing it as a married woman, and had danced a little jig in the dressing room.

Putting it on tonight had brought those memories back to the forefront of my mind, part of why I wasn’t in the best mood.

Dawson’s compliment wiped all of that away.

I made the dress look good. It was such a subtle compliment, but I felt my shoulders roll back at the praise, standing tall. He didn’t just say I looked good, like I’d put enough covering on to be pretty, but that I made the dress stand out.

He made his tuxedo look like it was sewn directly on his body for as tight as it was.

His nose ring glistened in the light. And all of his tattoos were hidden.

His lips were full. Bottom lip wet like he’d been running his tongue over it, and I still hadn’t invited him inside.

“Come in, come in. Sorry. And you look…well, you always look good.”

An admission. One that made his lips press together before lifting at a corner. “You ready for tonight?”

“Just had a pep talk from Tuevo and Meredith. It’s all good.”

We walked through my living room and I beelined it straight toward my wine. “Do you need or want anything to drink?”

“I’m good.” He rocked back on his heels, hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants. “What’d Tuevo say?”

“Um. Called Darrick a dipshit and said I deserve better than that.”

“He’s right.”

It shouldn’t have felt so good. Still, the warmth of his tone made my toes curl into my heel. “Thanks. He’ll be there tonight. They both will.”

“Good. Don’t know him well, but it’ll be good to see him again.”

It was strange. Too strange how closely we were connected.

A silence fell, heavy. Stretched and thickened the space between us and Dawson’s chest with heavy, slow breaths that made my own pulse kick up.

I hid behind my kitchen island, sipped my wine, and Dawson seemed at a loss for words as I was. Last Sunday had been weird. A great day and then…I still wasn’t sure what happened, but it happened in the shower, when he’d cupped my cheek, two of his fingers still inside me. I was pulsing around him, and his eyes hadn’t just gone soft, they’d melted when he met my gaze. He’d brushed his nose along the edge of mine, and then he’d held me to him. Slipped his fingers out of me and pressed my chest to his and sighed so deeply in my ear, I was still hearing that contented sound a week later.

He’d shut it off so quick I wasn’t sure I’d imagined it, wasn’t sure he’d done it at all until that contented look was replaced with a coldness.

He’d started to feel something and shut down before the water in the shower was turned off and by the time we were both dried off and dressed, he was just a man. Staring at me. Conflicted.

It was the conflicted look that had hurt the most.

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