Page 22 of Caught Up In You

“So about that night,” I begin, and just as I expected, a light glitters behind her eyes.

“The night you attempted to set my panties on fire during an impending ice storm?”

I laugh, nodding. “That’s the one. I just wanted to apologize, in case I pressured you?—”

She holds up a hand. “First of all, don’t prostrate yourself like you took advantage of some fair maiden. I don’t doanythingI don’t want to do. Not even your golden boy magic can sway me if I’m not into it.”

I linger on the notion that shewanted to. It seemed pretty evident from the way she parted her lips for me, writhing against me, that she was interested, but it feels pretty fucking good to hear it confirmed.

Wyatt slings the towel over her shoulder and leans over the bar. “Second, it was Friday the thirteenth. I feel like that’s Vegas rules or something. We don’t have to count it.”

I roll my eyes, then catch her gaze with mine. “I count it.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Do you, now?”

Several times while alone in the shower.

“I’m just glad we were interrupted before we could do anything stupid,” she says.

“Like what?”

“Something that might get in the way of your obvious connection with Delilah Perkins,” she says, and I can see the question mark in her eyes. She doesn’t want to ask, but she wants to know. She’s using that smart mouth of hers to try and get it out of me.

Icouldtell her that Delilah is dating someone. That the only name I wrote on my card was that of an eighty-year-old widow with a penchant for smutty books whoalsodoesn’t want a relationship.

But I don’t.

I like that Wyatt’s jealous. I like the look on her face, the way she crosses her arms over her chest and pops a hip.

When I don’t respond, Wyatt sighs. She leans back into the bar, chin in her hand, and shrugs. “It’s probably for the best. Nothing could ever happen between us anyway.”

“And why is that again?”

She points at my chest. “Relationship guy.” Then she taps the exposed black ink of her tattoo at her collarbone. “Decidedlynota relationship girl.”

Someone down the bar calls for a Coors, and Wyatt gracefully pulls the pint. But the whole time, she keeps her eyes on me.

“It’s a real shame too. Because…” She slides the pint in front of the customer, then taps her tattoo again. My eyes follow her finger as it brushes her skin, then moves across the bar to tap my chest. “This thing between us would be really fun.”

I shift on my barstool, trying not to visibly adjust my scrubs. “I’m not going to beg, but?—”

“That’s too bad, because I bet that would be hot.” Her voice dips low and sultry, sending a chill up my spine.

“I think you’re on the verge talking yourself into something,” I say.

“I think you’re dreaming.”

“Only of you,” I say.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s biting her liphardto keep from smiling.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Mrs. Tingle says as she and her cane thump up behind me. “Owen, I was going to call an Uber, but according to the app, Joe has been sitting at the bowling alley for the last half hour. I don’t think I stand much of a chance. Can I trouble you for a lift?”

“Absolutely, Mrs. Tingle,” I reply, sliding off my barstool and reaching for my keys. “I’m parked in back, so just let me pull around and I’ll pick you up at the door.”

“Boy Scout,” Wyatt quips.

“Eagle Scout, actually,” I reply. I hold up three fingers in a Scout salute and grin, enjoying the flush in her cheeks and the widening of her eyes as she takes in the size of those three fingers. Neither of us is thinking about salutes at the moment. “Until next time.”

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