Page 49 of Caught Up In You

“I can’t, Hazel. I can’t deal with the fake mother shit,” I say, feeling the anger boil up inside me anew.

“I know. And we need to deal with it. With…well, everything. But that’s not going to happen right now. Not after you’ve been up all night doing unspeakable things with Owen McBride,” she says, her lips curving into a Cheshire Cat grin.

“That obvious?” I ask, huffing out a rueful laugh.

“You blushed head to toe when I asked about the dance marathon,” my sister says. “Nobody has that much fun doing the Electric Slide.”

I bite my lip and fall back onto the bed beside her, my eyes on the water-spotted ceiling. “I like him.”

“I can tell,” Hazel says. “I think the whole town can tell.”

I groan.

“Hey, it’s your business, and I support whatever boundaries you want to put up. Lord knows we’re in need of some around here,” she says, then flops back to lie beside me.

I sigh. “I’ll try not to…” I trail off, trying to figure out what I can reasonably promise.

“Just don’t go all Khaleesi on her,” Hazel pleads. “At least not until we can get ourselves to a therapist.”

“Oh god, anything but that,” I beg.

Hazel sits up. “Steel yourself, because it’s happening. It’s the only way Eden is going to grow up in a happy home. I’ll do anything to protect that kid, and that includes busting through your walls and making you confront all your shit.”

“How doyounot have shit? She abandoned you too.”

Hazel rolls her eyes. “I have shit. And I handle it in my own very unproductive ways. The difference is, I want to change that. And I’m going to make you change with me, okay?”

I sigh. “Fine.”

“Good girl,” she says, patting my head like I’m the little sister. “Now get some sleep. I’ve seen what a nightmare you become when you don’t get a solid eight hours. You after an all-nighter might just be lethal.”

I let out a leonine yawn that I feel all the way down to my toes. “Okay,” I say, my eyes already fluttering shut. I roll onto my side and hug my pillow.

Hazel lets herself out, the door clicking quietly behind her—she’s developed ninja-level stealth skills since having a baby—and I’m seconds away from sleep when my phone vibrates in my back pocket.

The pull of Owen is the only thing that keeps me from dreamland. I slide the phone out and read the text that I knew would be from him.

Owen

I hope you’re in bed, maybe even asleep already. I need you well rested for later.

The grin starts at the corners of my mouth, and soon I feel the thrill of his message radiating out through my body. I start to tap at the screen, but another message appears.

Owen

I see you typing

Stop

Go to sleep

Text me when you wake up. 8 hours minimum please

The please is a nice touch, considering the orders he’s dishing out. And while my reflex is to send him a smart-ass little message, to push against the control just for fun, I find myself happy to let him boss me around.

That doesn’t mean I won’t have a little lip for him after eight hours of sleep, though.

Good thing he likes it.

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