Page 115 of A Little Tempting

“I’m kidding.” He turns to Dr. Broderick and shakes his head with wide eyes like he most definitely isnotkidding.

As I shove him in the chest, he laughs even harder.

Dr. Broderick loses interest, and he waves toward the door. “Get out of here, you two. And keep your sex toys at home.”

“Did you hear him?” Reeves asks. “He saidoursex toys.”

“No, he didn’t. He said your?—”

“Thepluralyour,” Reeves corrects me. He tosses his arm over my shoulder, guiding me toward the exit.

As I peek up at him, I mutter, “You’re insane.”

“You know, I think you mentioned that already.”

And it’s strange. Being under Reeves’ arm. Feeling the stares from those around us and the assumptions I have no doubt they’re making. How I’m simply another flavor of the week, and he’ll grow bored with me by Friday. But for some reason, a small part of me doesn’t buy into those assumptions. Not when I slept in his bed last night. Not when I know his past with his dad or how he still has nightmares from his childhood. Not when he’s been so open and vulnerable with me from the very beginning, making me wonder if I’m brave enough to do the same.

No. I think this is real for both of us. And even though it should terrify me, it doesn’t. Because Oliver Reeves said it himself. He likes real. And you know what? So do I.

The air is cool as we walk outside, and the slight breeze ruffles my hair, causing a chill to run up my spine. I burrow a little closer to Reeves and steal some of his body heat. If he doesn’t like our proximity, he’s a good actor because he pulls me closer, not even bothering to stop and chat with one of his friends when they call his name.

“So, what do you say?” he asks. “Want to skip class and have a movie marathon with me?”

“I can’t. I have a test,” I admit. “But, uh, thank you. For the gifts. They mean a lot, Oliver.”

His muscles freeze, and he turns to me. “Did you pull out the first name again?”

I lick my bottom lip and repeat, “Is it a problem,Oliver?”

He steps closer, and my pulse quickens. “Careful. There’s a lot of power in a name.”

“What kind of power?”

“The kind making me want to push you up against the nearest wall and bury my head between your thighs so I can hear you chant it over”—he dips forward, the heat from his breath skating across the shell of my ear—“and over again. Is that what you want, Dylan?”

“I, uh,” I gulp again, my voice failing me as my eyes fall to his lips. I’m not stupid. I know where we are right now. I know we’re surrounded by other students. I know they’re staring because it isn’t every day hockey god Oliver Reeves spends his time chatting with nerd-extraordinaire Dylan Thorne. But I can’t stop picturing it. Reeves and me. My back pressed against the wall. His knees on the ground and his hands on my thighs, spreading me. “You already know I’ve never…” The words catch in my throat as I shake my head back and forth. The idea alone is enough to make me pass out, but I am curious. For the first time ever, I want to know what it’s like. To be vulnerable with someone. To let someone in. To share something so…intimate with someone I care about, and I do care about Reeves. Way more than I’d like to admit.

His mouth twitches, and his hands find my waist as he snakes them around me. “You aren’t helping your case, Pickles.” He kisses my temple, releases me, and laces our fingers together. “Now, come on. If I don’t start walking you to class, I’ll cave, and I have a hunch you don’t want me to pop your oral cherry on the quad. Let’s go.”

30

DYLAN

“What are you doing?” a low voice asks behind me.

Everyone went to SeaBird, but I decided to stay home and catch up on homework. Turning around in my seat, I find Reeves leaning against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets and his ankles crossed, one over the other.

“What are you doing home?” I ask.

“Well, since I’m retired and all, I have more free time on my hands.”

“You could always go to SeaBird like everyone else.”

“And who would I dance with if you aren’t there?” he counters, grabbing the chair opposite mine, flipping it around, straddling it, and taking a seat. “You finished for the night?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I lift a shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to catch up with everyone at SeaBird?”

“Depends.”

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