Page 88 of Caught Up In You

CHAPTER 33

OWEN

June 29

Francie

I still cannot believe you had a bathroom quickie at my engagement party!

In my future in-laws’ house!

I don’t know if anyone’s ever had sex in that house

Owen

Haven’t you and Josh?

Francie

Fuck no. His mother scares the shit out of me. We sneak out to the pool house like respectable adults

I like Wyatt, by the way

Owen

Me too

I don’t tell anybody about the panic attack. Not Wyatt, not Francie, not Felix. I tell myself that if it happens again, I’ll call the therapist I saw when I was in residency, maybe set up a Telehealth appointment or get a referral to someone closer to Cardinal Springs.

But I don’t. Betsy is fine, things are smooth at work, and gradually the aftershocks fade.

And anytime I feel the tight fist of anxiety start to squeeze my chest, I call up the image of Wyatt’s reflection in that gaudy gold mirror, her cheeks flushed with pleasure, her lips swollen and pink, pressed together to suppress a moan as she came on my cock.

With her eyes open. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

So I’m fine.

And when I spot her across my dad’s backyard, her curls brushing the ink on her bare shoulders, tipping her head back to laugh at some joke my twin brother is telling, I feel better than fine.

I feel fucking fantastic.

The can of pineapple with our hastily scrawled contract sits on the mantel in my living room. If Felix has seen it, he hasn’t said anything. Neither has Wyatt, which is interesting, because the “rules” have been evaporated into a mist at this point.

She’s melted into my life such that I’m not sure I could extract her if I tried. And she doesn’t seem to mind. Most nights when she gets off at work, if she’s not needed back at her house to help Hazel with Eden, she lets herself into mine and slides into the bed beside me, folding herself into my body anddragging my arm across her waist. Sometimes I peel down her panties and set about making her moan, but sometimes I just pull her in tight, nestle my nose into the mess of her curls, and fall back asleep to the rhythm of her breaths.

This was supposed to be no strings attached, but there are strings everywhere. And they’re getting tangled.

I keep waiting for her to notice, to rear up, to pull back, to drag that pineapple can off the mantel and shake it at me, reminding me of our agreement.

I can’t tell if she’s forgotten or if she’s changed her mind.

I don’t dare ask.

Instead, I let myself enjoy the way she lights up when she catches me looking at her. I watch the curl of her lips as her smile turns into a naughty smirk. I relish the sassy sway of her hips as she crosses the yard.

I feel myself fall in love with her when, despite being surrounded by our families and closest friends, she slips her hand into mine.

I am so very much in breach of contract with this woman.

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