Chapter 24

24

Ellie

Monica and Jason's party at The Grog is more fun than I've had in months. Possibly years. There are pirate jokes and impromptu sword fights and a limerick contest with a bunch of implied words to protect the innocent ears in the room. Tucker makes friends with Monica's cousin's daughter, who's a year younger than he is, and the two of them spend the evening playing pirate and talking about Pokémon cards and video games.

Nobody talks about work or where we'll be next week, except Monica and Jason, who will be on a cruise in the Bahamas.

My parents want to know about when Wyatt and I hooked up though.

"A psychic set us up," he says, which makes my mom spit her ale.

"I watched him lift a burning car off a baby and decided he was okay," I say, which is lame after his answer, but Mom stops the third degree, and I find I can breathe again.

I don't mean to rub my leg, but it's aching after coming down off my post-orgasm high, and suddenly Monica's next to us. "If you don't take her home and get her a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine right now , I'm going to ask the Rocks to blacklist you from Crow's Nest and Anchovies," she informs Wyatt.

"It's your wed—" I start, but she clamps her arm around my head and her hand across my mouth and gives Wyatt the I'm watching you hand gesture, then points to the door.

"We both have cars here," I say, but it comes out as "ee owe aah rrr rr" with Monica's hand still over my mouth.

If it weren't her wedding day, I'd lick her hand, but honestly, I don't know where it's been, and I like Jason, but I don't want to accidentally lick his penis sweat.

"We'll drive your car back, sweetie," Mom says.

"It's like she doesn't know you at all," Wyatt whispers. "Sweetie?"

Monica snorts with laughter.

So does my father.

"I'll go get Tucker," Wyatt says to Monica.

"Oh, we'll bring him home," my mom says quickly. "He's having so much fun."

He's drinking root beer and completely missing all of his dart throws, which is about the cutest thing I've seen all day.

"Out! Out !" somebody suddenly crows. One of the wandering goats has wandered into the bar.

"Goats a normal part of the festival?" Wyatt asks.

Grady Rock pauses on his way to the animal and shakes his head. "Never. Don't know where the damn—darn things came from."

"They're homeless goats?" Dad asks.

Grady leans down and gets it by its horns. "Or somebody over in Sarcasm sent them," he mutters.

"Wouldn't they have unicorn horns if Sarcasm sent them?" I ask.

He glares at me. "You're lucky you're cute, or you'd be really annoying."

"They could be wild goats," Wyatt points out. "Nomadic mountain goats. Psychic nomadic mountain goats come down to make sure you don't call very nice women annoying ."

Mom coughs to cover a laugh when Grady pins him with a look. "So let's move the goats to your bedroom and see how you feel."

"Aren't they the cutest, Chris? We should take one home," Mom says to Dad.

"Nomadic mountain goats wouldn't take well to domestication," he replies.

"Dad! Dad! Can we keep a goat?" Tucker barrels over, wedding cake frosting on his cheek. I wipe it off while Wyatt shakes his head.

"Your mother would kill me. You ready to go, or do you want to stay a while? I have to take Miss Ellie home."

Tucker frowns at me. "Does your leg hurt, Miss Captain Ellie?"

"Just a little," I tell him.

"I got a cut on my finger." He shoves the digit an inch from my nose, and I draw back to peer at the pinprick-size dot of red on his middle finger.

"Did you get in a sword fight with toothpicks?" I ask.

His eyes go wide. "How did you know?"

"That's how I get all my best cuts."

"Tucker?" Wyatt asks.

"I wanna stay. Me and Sophia's gonna play darts some more and pet the goats."

Grady groans as he wrestles one goat out, but two more come in.

"You be good for Mr. and Mrs. Ryder, understand?"

"Yeah, Dad!"

He catches the little boy by the hips before he can dart away. "And when they say it's time to go, it's time to go. Yes, sir?"

"Yes, sir. Can I go play darts now?"

"Hug first."

Tucker launches himself at Wyatt and squeezes. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, bud."

He scampers off, and Wyatt shoots a look at my parents. "He's a little sugared up."

"Psh. I raised Beck. I can handle Tucker on a little sugar." She and Wyatt trade keys so we don't have to swap Tucker's booster seat.

"I'm becoming displeased," Monica says.

"Want me to toss them, babe?" Jason asks.

"Yes."

"We're going," Wyatt tells them, pulling me to my feet. He frowns, and shakes his head as he looks at me. "Nope. Not that way."

"What—" I start, but before I can finish, he's hefted me over his shoulder again like a sack of potatoes.

"Leg okay?" he asks.

"This is really annoying."

"I'm so tempted to slap your ass, but that would be a bad example for my kid."

"And my parents are watching."

"I know. Your dad's glaring at me."

I manage to shuffle around until I can see my dad's upside-down face.

And Dad's not glaring.

Nope.

If anything, he's watching me like he's realized his baby girl is all grown up. "Drive careful," he says gruffly to Wyatt.

"Always," Wyatt replies.

And despite that lingering fear that something terrible is waiting around the corner, because holy hell , that was quite the orgasm Wyatt gave me before the reception, I'm not the least bit concerned about making it back up to the house safe and sound.

It's Wyatt.

Dependable, reliable, smokin' hot, likes me Wyatt.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you back," I tell him as we leave The Grog.

He doesn't ask when .

Nope.

"You needed your energy to kick recovery's ass," he replies.

I could argue that I owed him an hour of my time. That it wasn't nice of me to let him worry. Or any other argument in the world.

Instead, I murmur, "Speaking of asses…." and take advantage of being carried over his shoulder, which puts me in a great spot to not only ogle his, but also squeeze it.

His pace speeds up, and there I go again, laughing.

I haven't laughed this much in ages.

And all it took was learning not to hate Wyatt.

Who knew?