Page 21 of Caught Up In You

I flinch. Yeah, get in line, Delilah.

She grimaces. “Sorry, that was meant to be self-deprecating, but I think I just sounded like an asshole.”

I wave her off. “It’s fine. I didn’t have a whole lot of faith that Mrs. Eberle’s speed dating would find me a girlfriend. I only came because Felix threatened to switch my toothpaste for Bengay if I didn’t.”

That, and because I was hoping Wyatt Hart would cut the shit, jump over the bar, and drag me out into the alley.

I look back over and lock eyes with the tiny bartender, her brow furrowed as she watches me with Delilah. Is it my imagination, or does she look almost…jealous?

“Oh, please, like you need help finding someone,” Delilah says, rolling her eyes. “I mean, have you seen you? Women all over town would cut a bitch to get in line. That jawline alone!”

I laugh and feel my cheeks going red. My embarrassment is punctuated by the sound of another shattering glass.

“Dammit, Wyatt!” Ernie yells.

“Time!” Mrs. Eberle calls, her voice slicing through my awkwardness like a hot knife. “Everybody write down your picks on your index cards and bring them to me. I’ll send out emails with your matches tonight!”

“I’m just writing down Mrs. Tingle,” Delilah says to me.

“Same,” I reply, and we laugh again. Behind the bar, Wyatt spins on her heel and pushes through the swinging door to the kitchen with a little more force than is necessary.

Maybe speed dating wasn’t a total waste of time.

I pass my card to Mrs. Eberle, who narrows her eyes when she reads it. But I don’t stick around to hear her admonishment.Instead I head straight for a stool in front of Wyatt. She’s back behind the bar, drying freshly washed pint glasses with a white towel, her toned arms flexing.

“Pick up any chicks?” she asks, her tone spicy.

“We’ll just have to wait and see what Mrs. Eberle has to say,” I reply with a grin.

“Seems like you and Delilah hit it off,” she says, then immediately presses her lips into a firm line, like she can’t believe that slipped out.

Shit, she reallyisjealous.

I love it.

I think back to that night last month, how fun it was to play with her. It was the most fun I’ve had in a while. In longer than I’d like to admit, honestly. Women are lining up for me, according to Delilah, but until recently, I never noticed. Not until Wyatt sat down at my table in that dive bar. That night, it was like something came online in my brain. Something I hadn’t felt in years. Even though I drove home frustrated and half hard, it was worth it just to wind her up. To feel her pressed between me and my truck.

I’m just about to remind her of that night when Wyatt’s mother sidles up to the bar. She opens her mouth like she’s got something to say, then pauses, her gaze ping-ponging between Wyatt and me.

“What?” Wyatt finally snaps.

Libby puts her hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say anything. Just wanted to let you know that I’m going to walk home.”

“Isn’t it thirty degrees out?” Wyatt says.

Libby shrugs. “I spent eight and a half years letting other people tell me when I could go outside. I’ve got eight and a half years of fresh air to make up for. I’m going to take a walk whenever I damn well please.”

Wyatt rolls her eyes, but Libby ignores it, shrugging on her coat. “I’ll see you at home, honey bun,” she says.

When she’s gone, I turn to Wyatt. “Honey bun?”

“Don’t you fuckingdare,” she replies with a glare.

“How’s that going?” I ask, nodding toward the door that’s shutting behind Libby’s retreating form.

Wyatt shrugs, but there’s nothing nonchalant about it. “Six months ago I lived alone, and now I’m crammed into a tiny house with my sister, a baby, and my mother the felon. It’s going peachy,” she grumbles, and I can tell she needs a change of subject.

So I give her one.

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