Page 136 of A Little Tempting

“You sure?”

“You’re cute when you’re unsure.”

“She’s cute all the time,” Finley points out.

Tapping his finger against his chin, Reeves says, “You know, I think you’re right, Fin. Sheiscute all the time.”

“And you guys are weird. All the time,” I counter. “Goodbye, people.”

“Don’t use all the hot water!” Everett calls.

“No deal,” I say over my shoulder. When I turn the heat to full blast in the bathroom and step under the spray, I’m blown away by how I gave Oliver Reeves a veryrealkiss in front of everyone, and no one even batted an eye.

What a strange world.

34

DYLAN

The place is hopping. Seriously. It’s packed. I shouldn’t be surprised. The arena is always packed when the guys play. Especially after last week’s win. The energy missing since Archer’s death has returned. The memory hurts, but instead of shoving it away, I let it sink in as I look up toward the rafters. It’s silly. I don’t necessarily believe in Heaven and Hell, but I say a silent prayer anyway, hoping Archer can hear me.

Miss you.

The announcer’s deafening voice shakes me out of my thoughts as the players take the ice. My dad sits next to me, and I cup my hands over my mouth, cheering the guys on.

“Woo-hoo! Go, Reeves!” a group of girls shouts from a few rows behind me.

I turn around, my nose wrinkling as I take them in. There are at least a dozen of them. Girls in short skirts and LAU jerseys knotted right underneath their massive boobs, showcasing their tan, toned abdomens. Each of the guys has their own fan group. Some of the players have no problem claiming their little groupies. Pointing to them. Blowing kisses. Putting on a show. Others are more subtle. More strategic. Like they’re in it for the long game and have no problem being lusted after from afar. It’s annoying. I’ve been coming to these games long enough to know which category Reeves fits into, and the knowledge makes my stomach tighten.

I shouldn’t be jealous. I have no reason to be. Sure, most of them probably slept with Reeves at one point or another. But I knew what I was getting into with him before we started dating. Doesn’t mean I enjoy the reminder, though. Of his past. His experience. And my lack thereof.

Ignoring them, I try to focus on the game, and before I know it, the first period passes by in a blur, but neither team scores.

As they head into the locker room for their short break, my dad bumps his shoulder with mine. “Been meaning to talk to you.”

Finley leans forward and gives him a look. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

The fine lines around his dark eyes deepen as he chuckles. “Just checking in.”

“On what, exactly?” I ask.

“You. You’re my baby girl, Dyl. How are you?”

I lift a shoulder. “Fine, I guess.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you need to be more specific, Uncle Colt,” Finley chimes in. “Are you asking about school or her dating life?”

“Both, I guess,” my dad answers. “Although, I’m not sure this conversation involves you, Finley Taylor.”

“Every conversation involves me,” she volleys back with a cheeky grin and turns to me. “The question is, would our dear Dylan like me to answer for her, or are you going to catch him up on your life willingly?”

“I, uh?—”

“Well, for starters,” Finley interrupts, diving right into my life like it’s her one true calling, “she probably isn’t a fan of the homemade jerseys sporting her new boyfriend’s last name plastered all over the puck bunny section.”

“Boyfriend?” My dad quirks his brow at me.

“I’m not sure we’re official?—”

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