Page 116 of A Little Tempting

“On what, exactly?”

“You.”

“What about me?” I ask.

“Well…I don’t get a ton of nights off. Between hockey and Game Nights, it can be kind of busy.”

“And school work,” I muse. “Right?”

He chuckles. “Sure.”

“What? You don’t have homework?”

“I’ll have a degree when I graduate. Not much else matters.”

“You have all your eggs in the hockey basket, I assume?”

“Nah, it’s more like when I find what I want, I go for it. I’m all in, you know?”

I nod, surprised by his perception and how fitting it really is since I’ve gotten to know him. Honestly, I’m kind of jealous. The way he rolls with the punches no matter what life throws at him. How he adapts while still being passionate about what he wants. I think the balance is hard to accomplish, but Reeves pulls it off in spades.

“I think that’s…really cool, actually,” I admit.

“Thanks. Speaking of being all in, can I hang out with you tonight?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “You’re kind of hard to pin down, Dylan Thorne. Between your family, your friends, Rowdy’s, and all your school work, I’m trying to be patient.”

“You’ve been very patient,” I murmur.

“Tryingwas the key word,” he argues. His voice is thick with amusement as his eyes fall to my lips. Clearing his throat, he pulls back and adds, “I can help you study if you aren’t finished yet, or we can grab some food, we can go to SeaBird, we can hang out here and grab takeout. Whatever you want.”

“You really want to hang out?”

“Have I not made my feelings clear to you yet?” he challenges.

“You have, it’s… Well, you don’t seem like the type of guy who’s a fan of boring nights in.”

“Nothing’s boring when you’re around.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling as I take in his sincerity.

“Okay,” I decide. “I’d love to hang out.”

“Yeah?” His brows raise as if he’s surprised by how easily I gave in.

With a laugh, I push my laptop to the center of the table. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

His wide grin makes my stomach clench with anticipation. “Is this our first date, Pickles?”

“Maybe.” I stand up, then look down at the hoodie hanging off my body and covering my pajama shorts beneath. Reaching up, I touch my crooked, messy bun. “I should probably shower.”

“Nah. I think you look perfect.”

Again, I take in my appearance and scoff. “I look like a crazy person.”

“A cute crazy person,” he argues.

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