Page 9 of Caught Up In You

“So I came here because this place is halfway between Cardinal Springs and Indianapolis,” I finally say. “What bringsyouall the way out here?”

“Well, Eden’s colic has finally subsided, so Hazel booted me out of the house to get laid.”

I choke on a mouthful of beer, and Wyatt laughs. I have the sense that she gets off on making me nervous. Always has.

It makes me tempted to discover all the other ways I could get her off.

“Oh man, that’s fun,” she says, raising her beer bottle along with her eyebrows.

“What is?”

“Making you blush.”

“You’re pretty good at it,” I admit, feeling the heat in my cheeks.

She grins.

She’s playing with me. And inviting me to play with her. It’s giving me that familiar flare of adrenaline I used to feel when I’d stand on the pitcher’s mound back in high school, the thrill of hearing the thud of the ball hitting the catcher’s glove. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that zing of adrenaline, the kind that doesn’t come from panic or stress. The kind that comes with a delicious release.

Wyatt Hart is playing with me.

And suddenly, I want to play too.

CHAPTER 4

WYATT

“So, I’m guessing that since you’re sitting here with me, you haven’t had any luck?” Owen asks. He runs a hand through that shiny, thick hair of his and raises his beer bottle to his pillowy lips. He’s easily the best-looking man in this bar, if not the entire county, and the fact that he’s sitting next to me just goes to show I’ve got no luck at all.

Because the hottest guy in the bar?

Yeah, he’s of absolutely no use to me.

Hooking up with Dr. Golden Boy would be fun, I bet, but he comes with a cargo hold’s worth of baggage. My best friend’s brother? Check. Beloved member of the community? Check. Such a relationship guy that he’s best friends with his ex-girlfriend? Motherfuckingcheck.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop playing with him, though. It’s not like I have any other plans for tonight.

“See that guy over there?” I point to a classic Indiana dirtbag farm boy with a huge belt buckle and a dirt-stained trucker hat. He’s currently trying to give his buddy a wedgie. “Back in March he walked up to me—stone-cold sober, I’m pretty sure—andsaid, ‘I wish you were my pinkie toe so I could bang you on every piece of furniture in my house.’”

Owen chokes on his beer. “He did not.”

“He did! And he said it with his whole chest!” I chuckle at the memory. “Frankly, the audacity wasalmosta turn-on. But it was thoroughly overpowered by the cringe.”

Owen shakes his head. “I cannot imagine saying that to a stranger. Honestly, I can’t imagine saying that to anyone I know, either.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “Not into flirting?”

“I didn’t say that.” The tops of his ears go red, and I want to chase that blush like a high.

“Okay, then flirt with me,” I say, scooting my chair closer to him until my knees brush his. I lean in so that we’re face-to-face andcross my arms over my chest. I’m rewarded when his gaze drifts down to the swell of my breasts.

Fuck, this is fun.

He pauses, his dark brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

I let a cocky grin spread across my lips. “Seriously. Flirt with me. Right now.”

He rolls his eyes, trying to play it off, but his cheeks flush the most glorious scarlet. “That’s…not how it works.”

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