Page 62 of Caught Up In You

“Ernie, Itoldyou.Iheave the kegs,” I say.

“You can chastise me later. Right now you can help me off the fucking floor.”

I squat beside him and throw his good arm over my shoulders, gingerly dragging him to his feet. It takes every ounce of my strength, and he cries out when he stumbles, jostling his arm.

“Everything okay back here?” Grace peeks her head through the door.

“This ding-dong fucked around and is now deep in the finding out stage,” I say as Ernie shoves me aside to grip his bad arm.

“Either of you know how to pop a shoulder back in?” Ernie asks, but Grace and I both shake our heads. “Your boyfriend here?”

It takes me way too long to realize he’s talking to me. “He’s not my boyfriend!” I cry.

“Ask me if I give a shit about your relationship status right now,” Ernie grumbles. “I just need a doctor.”

“He’s at the practice until six,” Grace says.

“You cannot sit around this bar and wait two and a half hours for a pediatrician to show up and pop your shoulder back in,” I say.

“Well, my truck is a stick, so I don’t have any other choice,” he fires back, then winces—even talking is enough to hurt his shoulder.

“I can take you in my truck,” I tell him.

“Someone’s gotta watch the bar,” he replies.

“I can drive you,” Grace says. She comes over and tries to get Ernie’s good arm over her shoulders, but he shakes her off.

“I can walk just fine,” he says, and when I shoot him a warning glare, he adds, “Sorry. And thank you. For the ride.”

“It’s not a problem. The urgent care by the highway opens at four, so we’ll go there,” Grace says, then shoots me a smile. “Let’s just pray for a sweet of Winnipeg so I can finally catch up with my friends.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, and follow them out into the bar.

It’s not until Ernie is gone and I’m back to prep that I remember that with Ernie gone, I’m going to have to stay until closing.

Which means I can’t meet Owen.

I tip my head back and stare at the dim neon lights on the ceiling. “Fuuuuuuuuck,” I groan, because that’s what Iwon’tbe doing tonight. Or at least not until very late. I was hoping for sexanda good night’s sleep.

I pull out my phone and fire off a text to Owen.

Wyatt

Ernie’s out tonight with a dislocated shoulder, which means I have to close the bar at midnight and then clean up. You down for a booty call in the wee hours?

He replies in seconds.

Owen

I volunteered to be medical support at the soccer fields tomorrow. Archer bullied me into it. I have to be there at 6:30 in the morning.

I let out another groan that sounds dangerously close to a growl. I know I should be mysterious and flirty, but it’s been six days since I was in Owen’s bed, and that is five days too long. I’ve never done hard drugs, but I imagine Owen’s lips on my bare skin produce the same kind of high. I’m addicted and want more.

Wyatt

Goddammit. I need you.

The three dots dance and disappear, dance and disappear, before a message finally arrives.

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