Page 41 of Caught Up In You

“I’m only staying until ten,” she says, fanning herself with a sequin-gloved hand. “After that I turn into a pumpkin. But Icouldn’t resist the chance to rock this costume. Betsy says I have ‘rizz,’ which from context clues seems like it’s pretty good!”

“You have mad rizz, Mrs. Tingle,” I assure her—I learned the word from the kids at the practice. They keep me young, even if they look at me like I’m a hundred and five.

“Well, don’t waste your time standing here with an old lady. Tonight is a perfect night to make your move on your favorite bartender.” Mrs. Tingle gives me her sauciest grin.

“Way ahead of you on that one,” I assure her. “I just need to find her.”

“Good luck, my dear!” she replies, and then “When Doves Cry” echoes through the gym. “They’re playing my song!” And then she’s gone into the crowd.

I take another lap, but I still don’t find Wyatt. I do find Decker and Grace, though. It’s hard to miss them in their green spandex, giant cardboard turtle shells strapped to their backs.

“Nice costume, man,” Decker says. “Wish I’d thought of it. These tights are really riding up.”

“Hey, I wanted to be Barbie and Ken, but you nixed that,” Grace says.

“Too obvious,” Decker says, and Grace opens her mouth to object—it’s obvious they’ve already had this little fight a few times—but Decker charges on. “If we weren’t Ninja Turtles, you wouldn’t have gotten to show off your mad crafting skills. You know, she made these costumes from scratch.”

I realize he’s talking to me a beat too late because I’m busy scanning the crowd for Wyatt.

“She’s running late,” Grace says. “She got stuck at the bar.”

“Who?” I ask, as if it’s not obvious. Even I can hear how pathetic I sound.

Grace rolls her eyes. “Don’t even try it, Owen. She told me you kissed her.”

I smirk, calling up the memory of her fingers digging into my back as her tongue tangled with mine. “I think she did some of the kissing too.”

Grace squeals, loud enough that I hear it over the crowd shouting along to “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

I shake my finger in her face, which I know she hates, but I also know it will get her attention. “Nope. Nuh-uh. None of that. Wyatt doesn’t want it, and I’m not going to push her.”

“She told me that too,” Grace says with a smug smile. “I’m onyourside.”

“No meddling, Cherry,” Decker warns. I don’t know what that nickname means, and given the way my sister blushes, I won’t be asking.

“I need a drink,” I mutter. I underestimated how loud and social this event would be without Wyatt to distract me, and while I’m very good at extroverting, there comes a point at which it exhausts me. And I’m starting to hit my limit with the loud eighties playlist ringing in my ears.

“It’s a dry gym, unfortunately,” Decker says, and my heart sinks, but then he reaches beneath his cardboard turtle shell and pulls out a flask. He passes it to me with a wink. “Just like old times.”

“Back in high school, I’m pretty sure you and Archer filled your flask with flat ginger ale and jalapeños and tried to convince Felix and me it was moonshine,” I remind him.

Decker laughs. “You guys acted like you were wasted for a good hour before you figured it out.”

“Yeah, and Felix still barfed because that shit was disgusting.” I shake my head, laughing. I’m definitely going to have to remind Felix of that memory later.

I head off through the crowd, the flask tucked in the pocket of my flight suit. I drop my aviators over my eyes like I’m on a covert mission, and when I get to the refreshment table, Iquickly fill a cup with pink punch from the enormous crystal bowl at the end. Then I tuck myself into a corner, glancing around like Principal Paterno is going to appear and give me detention at thirty-one years old, and top off the punch with what I think is gin.

The cup smells like every one of my high school indiscretions, and it nearly goes tumbling right out of my hand when I see her.

Because Wyatt steps through the doors of the gym, backlit by the lobby lights, wearing only a black leotard, a soft gray sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, and a pair of short black leg warmers.

I’ve never seenFlashdance, but that doesn’t mean the movie poster didn’t imprint itself on my teenage brain.

She looks delicious.

As if she can feel my eyes on her, her gaze finds mine right away. She raises her hand in a little wave, the other tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt in a way that is demure and sexy and scandalous all at once.

I toss the cup into the nearest trash can and feel myself moving before I even realize I’m doing it. I think I hear Mrs. Tingle say, “Go get ’er, tiger,” but I can’t be sure. All I know is that I need that woman in my arms.Now.

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