Page 93 of Caught Up In You

I let out a surprised breath. “Dang, where did all this piss and vinegar come from?” I ask my sweet little kindergarten teacher best friend.

Carson takes the bottle of champagne by the neck and sloshes more into her glass.

“Well, this champagne is certainly hitting me fast,” she says, her cheeks rosy. “But mostly I’m just tired of watching my friends tie their shoelaces together and then act confused about why they keep falling down. Romantically speaking.”

“Why do I feel like that’s directed at me too?” Grace says.

“Because it is. Or it was, anyway, before you figured out that Decker was the perfect man. And thank god for that, because otherwise we’d be spending tonight in that scuzzy karaoke bar in Broad Ripple again, and I love you, Grace, but holding your hair back while you yarf tequila does not a happy birthday make.”

“I love you.” Grace lunges at Carson, champagne sloshing onto the floor.

“You too,” Carson says into Grace’s hair. Then she turns to me. “Just…be in love. Don’t try to analyze it or handicap it or hide from it. Don’t call it something else. Justbe in love.”

CHAPTER 36

OWEN

I’m trying to come up with the perfect dirty text to send Wyatt to convince her to sneak over sooner rather than later.

For a while there, it felt like Wyatt was the thing that calmed the loud voices in my head. She stilled the low-level vibration that thrummed through me at all times.

But lately it’s starting to feel like she’s her own vibration, and the level is high. I want her all the time. Ineedher.

And I need to stop pretending this is some casual hookup, because the nights she crawls into my bed, I sleep better than I ever have. I love hearing about her day, watching her toss back the most hideous junk food and sip fountain Cokes the size of her head, listening as she tells me what amazing new thing Eden’s done.

I need it.

I needher.

The knock at my door drags me out of my attempts at creative smut. The room service I ordered must have arrived.

“Coming!” I call as I delete yet another text draft, wondering if I should just give up and typeI need youinto the little box.

But it’s not my burger, fries, and Caesar salad at the door.

It’s Wyatt.

And her suitcase.

She’s breathing hard like she ran here, but that doesn’t make sense because the room she’s sharing with Carson is just across the hall.

She opens her mouth, then closes it, pressing her pretty pink lips into a firm line. Her gaze drops to the floor, and everything from the flex of her jaw to the set of her shoulders says she’s having a very intense conversation with herself.

I want to take her in my arms, pull her into this room, never let her go. I want her to know that I can be whatever she wants, meet her wherever she is. This doesn’t need to be hard.

But she looks so determined, my beautiful, brash, sassy girl. She looks fierce, and something tells me that the debate she’s having with herself is important.

So I wait.

I watch her breathe. I watch her close her eyes. I watch her clutch the handle of her suitcase.

I watch her.

And when she gives the smallest nod of her head, like she’s finished giving herself a pep talk, she looks up to meet my eyes.

I brace for impact.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” she asks.

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