Page 142 of A Little Tempting

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I wake slowly.The morning light filters in through the blinds. Dylan’s snuggled beside me. Her head is on my chest, and a little pool of drool is on my shirt. I smile when I notice it. The reminder of the last time we were in this position. I never slept with a girl until Dylan. Never trusted one enough to be vulnerable around them. To turn off the Reeves’ charm and simply…be. Yet, with her, it’s different. It’s always been different.

As if she can feel me watching her, her brow wrinkles, and she squints her eyes open. They’re clearer than last night. Not clouded with excruciating pain. If anything, there’s barely a hint of discomfort in her pinched expression. The sharp pain in my chest softens as I take her in.

“What time is it?” she croaks.

“No idea.”

She nods and smacks her mouth. “My breath tastes like shit.”

With quiet amusement, I sit up and reach for the almost empty glass of water, offering it to her. “Here.”

She takes it. “Thanks.” After a small sip, she licks the moisture from her pouty lips. “And thank you for taking care of me. It was…a bad one, obviously.”

“You mentioned that.” I push her hair away from her face and over her shoulder. “Are you feeling better?”

“It’s still there, only not as bad. It’s more like…a crappy headache instead of the my-brain-being-is-stabbed-with-a-million-ice-picks feeling.”

“Progress, I guess,” I say with a laugh.

She joins in. “I guess.” Sitting up a little more, her blonde, wavy hair cascades over her shoulder, and she sobers, looking like she’s seen a ghost or some shit.

And just like that, whatever peace I felt this morning is replaced with a heavy unease.

“What is it?” I ask.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she looks at war with herself. Finally, she lets out a quick breath and faces me. “Look, it isn’t a big deal.”

“Because that’s the first thing a guy wants to hear in the morning.”

She rolls her eyes, taking another breath, but it’s deeper this time. “I, uh, I ran into your dad.”

My stomach plummets. “What?”

“He, uh,” she pinches the bridge of her nose but lets her hand fall to her lap with a soft thud. Dejected. Embarrassed. Annoyed. “He came into Rowdy’s with his partner and another guy. Go figure, he was seated in my section, and then he recognized me and?—”

“What did he do?” I growl.

“Nothing.”

It’s a lie. I can see it. Feel it. Fucking taste it.

“Tell me, Dylan.”

“He said you’re a criminal, and when I didn’t take the bait, he told me you, uh… He said something despicable. I can’t even repeat it.”

“Let me guess. He told you I killed my mom.”

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, but she nods softly. “I couldn’t believe he would say something like that.”

“I can.” I hesitate, shoving aside my frustration. “My dad…he lives in the gray area. He thrives on people not communicating. On him holding all the cards.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” She reaches for her glasses on the nightstand, slides them on her face, and squeezes my hand. “But I couldn’t let him get away with it, you know? Painting you like that.”

Dread spreads in the pit of my gut, and I push myself up, pressing my back to the headboard. “What did you do?”

“Well…uh, the night’s kind of a blur, but I’m pretty sure I kind of yelled at him and then told his partner your dad is an abusive asshole.”

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