Page 34 of Wildly Inappropriate

“Et tu, Kelsey?” I joke.

“Thing One and Thing Two invited me along. To be clear, I’m here for the pizza. I couldn’t care less about you and Matthew going on a date.”

Then it hits me. “I didn’t tell any of you about this date. How did you know we would be at Wild Crusts?”

All three of them send me looks that say “Really?” but then Becca takes pity on me and answers, “Janice, Izzy. I thought we warned you about the speed at which small-town gossip moves.”

“I guess I’m still trying to wrap my mind around everyone knowing my business.”

“How was the date?” Becca asks as I slide onto the bar stool next to her, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“Well, he’s great. Doesn’t wear women’s underwear or show people his collection of baby teeth, but I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“Ew,” Becca replies as Izzy just says, “No.”

Kelsey shakes her head slowly before she says, “I clearly should’ve done a psych test on you before I hired you.”

Izzy still has a look of disgust on her face when she says to me, “I’m actually worried about why you would say that. Obviously we wouldn’t let you go out with someone who collects baby teeth.”

I laugh but then climb back off my stool, unable to muster the energy to have this conversation. “I’ll tell you guys about it later. I’m beat.”

And for some reason, I really want to curl up with my book and let myself be embraced by the fictional version of JT.

Chapter seventeen

JT

I’m still out bythe firepit when I hear the door close, indicating Lila is home from her date. It’s late enough that I know the date went well, though not so late that I’d given in to obsessing about the fact that she went home withMatthew. I know she’s upset with me from our exchange last night. If her silence wasn’t enough to indicate it, her reading habits definitely do. Her bookmark has moved a few chapters, but she hasn’t left any annotations, let alone any comments meant for me. Hell, I would take a squiggly line under a quote she likes at this point.

I didn’t think avoiding each other would somehow leave a gaping hole in my chest, but not having her thoughts there next to mine as I read about finding love and making it work is…well, it’s lonely.

I’m surprised when the door to the patio opens and Lila walks out with two beers from the fridge.

“Hey, Pipsqueak,” I say in a teasing tone. “What brings you out to the ol’ firepit tonight?” God. When did I become an 80-year-old man?

“I wanted to watch the storm roll in.” She points her beer bottle toward the clouds forming in the southeast.

I’ve been sitting out here stewing in my failure for a while now, not even noticing the temperature drop or the big thunderheads start rolling in. My dad called me fifteen minutes after I hung up with my mother, and he spent a solid thirty minutes dissecting my last three putts in Phoenix and comparing them with my putting since then. Then he proceeded to ask me for more money, saying he found a fail-proof investment he wants me to get in on. When I told him I don’t have much spare cash, he lectured me on being fiscally responsible and not letting down the family. He ended the call with “If I hadn’t given up my career for you, your mother and I would have our own money to invest, so maybe think about that next time your ‘back is bothering you.’”

I called my coach, suggesting I was ready to go back for the upcoming tournament, but he convinced me to stick to our original plan. I agreed half-heartedly because I truly do believe it’s what’s best for my game, but at the same time, I hate feeling like I’m disappointing my parents.

The lightning flashes behind one of the big cloud formations, lighting it up from behind, and it’s one of the most mesmerizing things I’ve ever seen. I look over at Lila, her face lit by the firepit, and I want to tell her about my parents. I want to unburden myself, but I know I can’t. It’s not just that we fight all the time—I just don’t want to be a burden to someone else. And Lila deserves so much more than having to carry the weight of my burdens. So I crush that feeling, the one telling me to open up to her, to have a conversation with her about real things.

“Does your connection with Hell also allow you to call forth storms?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not a demon thing,” she replies, sliding the second beer over like she brought it for me.

“Sky demons?” I ask, knowing I’m way out of my depths here.

“Maybe? I’m pretty sure there are a couple different fantasy series where the bad guys control lightning. But now that I think about it, lightning-wielding is regularly associated with the heroes or heroines. There’s a very popular dragon series out right now where the heroine can wield lightning. Maybe it has something to do with Zeus’s lightning powers? So it’s like a ‘godly’ trait? But…Zeus was kinda an asshole, so maybe that’s not it.”

I don’t know anything about Greek gods (or are they Roman?), so I decide to skip over the last part of her analysis. “Should I read it?”

“I’m not sure if you’re ready to take the leap into romantasy, my guy.”

“Oh, am I your guy now?” Fuck. My chest tightens at the thought. I know it’s just a phrase people are saying these days, but it kinda makes mewantto be her guy. “And why the hell not? If I can handle alien romance, I can certainly handle romantasy.”

“You readalien romance?” She basically shouts the last part. Thank goodness none of our neighbors live close by. “Tell me everything. How? Why? Did you like it? I have never been brave enough to read one, but—gah!—you have?”

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