Page 12 of A Little Tempting

“Yeah.” I sniff. It really did.

“Come on,” she adds. “Let’s get you a drink. At least one of us can drown our sorrows, right?” She guides me down the hall leading to the kitchen. The granite countertops are littered with glass bottles, red Solo cups, and different kinds of soda and juices. Finley pours herself a cranberry and Sprite, then sets it aside and makes another replica, adding a hefty splash of vodka. My nose wrinkles as I imagine how strong that bad boy must be.

With a knowing smirk, Fin hands it to me. “Drink up, Dyl.”

“I’m under twenty-one, remember?”

“And you’re at a college party.”

“Because you made me come.”

“Stop being a sourpuss and drink,” she pushes. “It’ll settle your nerves.”

The girl knows me too well. Keeping my sour expression, I swallow half the cup’s contents and hand the drink back to her for a refill. She doesn’t even bat an eye as she adds more liquid to the cup and picks up her own alcohol-free beverage.

Sometimes it’s nice. Having a consistent designated driver as a best friend. Other times, I’d kill for Finley to be able to drink so she could let go of the reins every once in a while and keep her nose out of my business. Unfortunately for both of us, Finley’s epilepsy isn’t a fan of alcohol. Her mom, Kate, has been great at showing Fin the ropes of what not to do with her condition.

“Hey,” someone says.

I glance to my left, finding a pair of large hands cradling a cup. Slowly, my eyes trail up the very tall frame, and my neck cranes until they land on a pair of baby blues. They’re bright and expectant and—I can’t do this.

Tongue-tied, I turn around and face Finley completely, praying she notices my bulging eyes as I mouth, “Help me!”

She chuckles under her breath, well aware I’m seconds from having a full-blown meltdown, then takes the lead, slipping closer to me and the stranger behind me and cutting through the awkward silence I created by my lack of response.

Greeting the guy behind me, Finley says, “Hi.”

“Hey,” he repeats. “I’m Todd.”

“Hello, Todd.” She offers her hand. “I’m Finley, and this is Dylan.”

I glare at my best friend but don’t bother turning around to face Todd, choosing to hook my arm through Finley’s and tug us both to safety and as far away from Todd as possible.

Practically jogging backward to keep up with my escape, she waves her hand, calling out, “Bye, Todd!”

We’re swallowed whole by the crowd almost instantly, and I breathe deep in an attempt to keep my anxiety at bay once we find an empty corner of the room.

“Dude,” she says through another laugh. “You’re the worst wingwoman ever.”

“Never claimed to be anything different, Fin,” I mutter. “Is he gone?”

She rises onto her tiptoes, glancing over the crowd. “Pretty sure.”

The fight drains from my muscles, and I sag against the wall behind me. “Good.”

“What’s good?” Everett asks. He approaches us while pinching the neck of a beer bottle with his fingers.

“Dylan dodged a cute guy who tried talking to her,” Finley quips.

Everett nods. “Still afraid of the opposite sex, Dyl?”

I roll my eyes but don’t bother responding.

Turning to his sister, Everett points out, “Your shorts are too short.”

“That’s why they’re calledshorts,” Finley replies.

Gritting his teeth, he motions to her cup. “Any alcohol in there?”

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