Page 111 of A Little Tempting

“Gathered that much.” I reach for him again and touch his bent knee. “Is everything all right?”

With a slow exhale, his hand drops to his lap, his exhaustion palpable. “Just the usual, Pickles.”

I smile at the sentiment. “Do you want to…talk about it?”

“Not much to tell. My dad’s an abusive fucker who liked locking me in the closet. Sometimes, the memories haunt me at night.”

A closet? He was locked in a closet? What kind of asshole locks their kid in a closet?

Rage flares inside me, but I force it back because he doesn’t need me to add fuel to the fire, not when he’s already heated. He needs me to stamp it out. To calm him down. To help him relax.

“I’m sorry, Reeves.”

“No need to apologize. It isn’t your fault.”

“Still,” I offer. “It doesn’t make it okay.”

“Nothing makes the shit my dad put me through okay. But waking up next to a beautiful girl helps take away the sting. Thanks for waking me up.” The night-light’s glow makes the warm brown of his eyes look like brownie batter as he settles back onto the mattress, and then it hits me.

“It’s why you use a night-light, isn’t it? Because of the closet.”

“Yeah.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Childhood trauma’s a bitch. Now, come here. Let's get some sleep.”

Settling beside him, I rest my hand on his chest, but his breathing feels…forced almost. Like he’s trying too hard to control it. Like he can’t catch his breath.

“Are you going to be able to relax?” I whisper against his chest.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Not an answer.” I try to sit back up again, but his grip tightens.

“I like this side of things.”

“What side of things?”

“The girl looking out for me instead of the other way around,” he muses. “Don’t get me wrong. I love a good damsel in distress, but having someone look out for me, willing to fight my battles? It's nice.” He drops a kiss on the crown of my head, then lays his head back on the pillow. “Like a fresh, crispy…pickle.”

With a laugh, I smack his opposite pec, pulling a rumble of amusement from him. When we both quiet down, we fall back to sleep. And by some miracle, he doesn’t move for the rest of the night, holding me tightly against him as his breathing slows and the fight dissipates from his body.

He was right about one thing. I have a feeling no matter how our relationship—or whatever this thing is—plays out, I’ll always look out for him. After everything he’s been through, everything he’s endured all by himself, he deserves it.

29

DYLAN

After Reeves’ nightmare, I slept like a baby but woke up alone. By some miracle, Finley didn’t give me any crap at the breakfast table the next morning for sleeping in Reeves’ room. I have a hunch it’s because Everett sat across from us, and she didn’t want me to spill the beans about why I wasn’t in my room in the first place.

It’s getting cooler, but I choose one of my own jackets instead of wrapping myself in one of Reeves’ hoodies scattered across his messy room. Messy. Not dirty. No. On a deeper level, the place is practically pristine. But the clothes? The unmade bed? The stack of Blu-rays on the dresser and the handful of candy wrappers littered next to them? It’s…fitting, somehow. Like the man himself. Underneath everything, he’s kind of perfect.

My lips kick up at the memory as I walk to class with Everett and Griffin. They’re up ahead, chatting about tomorrow’s game while I trail behind, lost in thought, remembering last night while fighting the butterflies attacking my stomach at the prospect of today’s photography class.

After saying goodbye to Griff and Everett, I head to my seat. My muscles relax into the chair as Dr. Broderick stands from his desk and walks to the front of the room.

When he starts talking, Reeves appears in the doorway, and the girls in front of me start whispering like they did during our first class at the beginning of the semester.

“Nice of you to join us, Reeves,” Dr. Broderick comments.

A second later, deja vu hits me as Reeves takes big steps, striding toward me and collapsing into the seat beside mine. He pushes something across the table in my direction, and my forehead wrinkles as I study the contents.

---