Page 11 of A Little Tempting

Finley’s eyes thin as she studies me carefully. “Are you lying?”

“Would I use my health issues as a way to get out of something?”

“Uh, yes. I do it all the time,” she counters with a laugh. “The question is, are you or are you not lying to me?”

Dammit. The girl is way too good at sleuthing, and I crack almost instantly.

“Fiiiine, I’ll go.”

Grudgingly, I raise my hands into the air, and Finley grabs hold, letting me use her as leverage. Once I’m on my feet, she lets me go, then pats my butt. “There’s my girl. Now, go change. It’s a costume party.”

I freeze in the hallway and look over my shoulder at her. “You’re joking, right?”

“Come on, I hear they’re super fun.”

“I don’t have a costume.”

“Youdidn’thave a costume,” she clarifies. “But don’t worry. As your self-appointed fairy godmother for the evening, I took care of it. And before you ask, no, it’s not pink, and there isn’t any glitter on it, so, you’re fine. Now, shoo.”

She waves me off with a flutter of her fingers, and my nose wrinkles in defeat.

“Fiiiine,” I repeat, knowing if I don’t give in, she’ll keep bugging me until I do.

* * *

I drewthe line at lipstick because it’s not me. Finley still managed to pin me down and wipe shimmery stuff on my cheeks and eyelids, though, as well as some thick eyeliner our Aunt Mia would be proud of. She also curled my hair and gave me messy pigtail buns on top of my head, adding a black nose and more faux freckles. I’m a deer. A helpless baby deer. The instructions for the girls tonight were to dress up as weak prey. Rude? Kind of. I’m already insecure enough as it is, thank you very much. Still, even I can admit I look pretty cute in my camel-colored shorts romper and white sneakers. Finley chose the skunk route and pulled her hair into a faux mohawk, spray painting the center white while keeping her natural dark hair on the sides and sporting a skin-tight black tank top and jean shorts. Not gonna lie. The girl looks hot, and if her boyfriend saw her like this, walking straight into a den of wolves, he’d probably be questioning his choice of attending a college across the country from us.

But that’s on him, so…suck it up, buttercup.

I’ve been to two Game Nights besides this. The first one, we played Never Have I Ever, and it ended with my best friend, Ophelia, running away in tears. The second time, we played an altered version of Cards Against Humanity. The outcome had me seriously questioning my brothers’ sanity and who they’re friends with. Reeves being the main culprit.

I haven’t seen him since photography class, and I haven’t reached out, either. If I want a good grade, I should, but who needs good grades? Well, technically, I do, but I might rescind my conclusion if I make a fool of myself tonight.

The guys’ duplex is a mirrored replica of ours, with a large family room, a set of stairs hugging the left, and a kitchen at the back of the house. A table sits in the entryway covered with envelopes, cardstock, and Sharpie markers. There’s a piece of paper taped to the wall next to it. It says, “Share a favorite memory of Archer Buchanan. Cards will be given to the Buchanan family during the Hawks’ first game of the season. RIP #22.”

I stare at the scribbled handwriting on the paper for a solid ten seconds until someone bumps me from behind.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” Finley scolds, offering me one of the Sharpies. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

Uncapping the marker, I bend down, staring at the blank piece of cardstock as tears gather in my eyes.

I have so many memories with Archer. It's hard to choose ONLY one, but the first one to come to mind is actually kind of recent.

At prom earlier this year, I made a complete fool of myself with my date, like multiple times. I felt stupid and exhausted, and after I went home, I took a shower, vowing to NEVER acknowledge my date from hell ever again. Lo and behold, as I was climbing into bed, I received a text from Archer.

He asked how I was doing, then joked about how my date was a tool and I could do so much better, even though we both knew my date was the one who made it clear he wasn’t interested in going out with me a second time and not the other way around. Honestly, part of me thinks the only reason he asked me in the first place was so he could possibly have an “in” with my brothers or something.

Regardless, Archer spent the next few minutes making me feel like I dodged a bullet. I don’t know…it meant a lot to me, and it’s one of my favorite memories. Archer was so amazing at making people feel seen. Feel comfortable. Feel like they belonged. Even when they didn’t believe it themselves.

Love you, Arch. Miss you so much.

I scribble my name at the bottom, slip the cardstock into one of the envelopes, and drop it into the large glass bowl in the center of the table.

Finley does the same, mirroring my movements and dabbing at her glassy eyes with her fingertips.

“Well, that sucked,” she says.

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