The Catch

“Put me down! My underwear is showing,” I demand as a gust of wind hits my ass cheeks. At least I’m wearing a cute lace thong.

“Rest assured, I’m not looking,” he mutters as I flail like an eel the entire ascent up the staircase. He doesn’t put me down until we’re outside my bedroom.

“I’m taking a star off your Airbnb review for manhandling,” I warn as he attempts to steady me against the wall just as Lucy passes by with a mini garbage can.

“Double bagged. Just in case. Looks like she might need it,” she says, giving Evan a troubled look as she turns to get out of my vicinity. “Sorry, I’m out. I don’t do puke. Night, guys.”

“I won’t puke. I’m feeling fan-tas-tic!” I shout after her with unfounded confidence. I push the door open the tiniest crack, revealing the disaster I left my room in. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I’m a secret slob—someone who looks neat and tidy to others but is most comfortable in my own chaos (when no one’s looking).

“I can take it from here,” I assure Evan, righting myself.

His expression is quizzical. “No. You can barely stand.”

“I’m great. You can retire to your underground candlelit lair now.” I take an eager stride into my room, which to me was pretty smooth, but apparently I’m useless.

He leads me to the bench at the foot of the bed, where I proceed to topple face-first into the mattress, legs spread like a mannequin. The compromising position isn’t lost on me.

“I feel the need to warn you, I have some pretty lethal hair spray. Just as effective as bear mace, according to Cosmo,” I say, voice muffled by the mattress.

“What are you gonna do? Blind me with it?” he asks, bending over to retrieve it from under the bed.

“If you try anything, I’ll have no choice.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Mel.” He softens his tone considerably, which is comforting. I’m pretty sure this is the first time he’s ever referred to me by name.

Any lingering appreciation is short lived when he jabs my shoulder without an ounce of delicacy. I must have drifted out of consciousness for a minute or two, because when I open my eyes again, Evan is placing a garbage bin next to me.

“It’s right beside the bed if you need it,” he says slowly, like I’m a small child. “Do you need me to ask Lucy to help you change? A glass of water?”

“No. I’m perfectly fine,” I mumble, flopping over onto my side. He’s weirdly attractive from a horizontal perspective, and I don’t like it one bit.

He watches me for a couple of peaceful breaths before abruptly pivoting on his heel. “This is going in your Airbnb guest review, by the way.”

I glare at him, blowing at the hair stuck to my lip gloss. “The intoxication? Or my veiled threat?”

“Both. Mostly the drunk part. I did warn you about the Screech,” he reminds me, hands flexing at his sides.

“It wasn’t the Screech. Your friends were the ones pouring shots down my throat. Who am I to deny Canadian hospi-taly?”

He cocks his head. “Hospitality, you mean. And you’re wasted.”

“Perfectly sober,” I mumble, sliding under the covers without taking my shoes off.

“Wears shoes in bed. Another star off,” he mutters.

“Mean host. One and a half stars off,” I retort, squeezing my eyes shut when the room starts to spin.

“Scratched the shit out of me with those claws. Minus two stars,” he says, pretending to rub a hand over his shoulder. I definitely scratched him while holding on for dear life as he hauled me up the stairs.

“Hey, I paid a lot for these nails.”

Despite my questionable eyesight in my current state, I’m pretty sure I catch his lips draw upward into the tiniest smile before my eyes close.

Excerpt from The Catch by Amy Lea Copyright © 2024 by Amy Lea. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.