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Don is still staring.

“How could you not know he was here?”

“I’m not psychic.”

“Don’t you talk to your lawyer? Or anyone?”

“Apparently not enough.”

“This is so scary.”

“You didn’t seem so scared when you were bantering.”

He drops his hat to his side. “He was flirty. What was I supposed to do?”

“You think the mannequins at Dillard’s are flirty.”

“Call it a defense mechanism. The fact remains we’ve got a naked stranger dripping all over your house.”

“He isn’t a stranger.”

Don’s eyebrows climb.

“He’s not a total stranger,” I correct.

“Oh, good. A partial stranger, partially naked. Much safer.”

Clint is probably calling his lawyer. He’s definitely close enough to hear if Don forgets volume control.

“Why would I ever think that he could be here?”

Don smirks. “See where underestimating gets you?”

I press two fingers to the bridge of my nose. “This is a temporary inconvenience.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He can’t just move in.”

“He appears to have done an impressive opening draft.”

I look at him.

“Sorry. Fear makes me figurative.”

“Can we ratchet down the drama?”

“This isn’t drama. This is sensible as shit.” His voice drops further. “Paul, this guy is rough trade with visible abs and a claim on your house. We have to get him out of here.”

“He’s not rough trade.”

The correction hangs between us. Too quick. Too protective.

I shake it away. “He’s just confused. He’s young. It’s fine.”

“It is absolutely not fine.”

Don stares at me, then gestures toward the hallway with his hat. “You hear yourself, right?”