Page 148 of A Little Tempting

“Nah, it’s all right,” Reeves tells Griff. He shifts in his seat and stretches his legs out. “My dad’s an abusive asshole in the Lockwood Heights police department. I’ve had run-ins with him here and there, which is what most of my records revolve around, but I was also arrested for assault when I found a girl in one of my freshman classes was being stalked by an ex-boyfriend. She asked me to walk her to and from classes because she was scared. Sure enough, the guy was following her. I got fed up, we got into a fight, and he wound up in the hospital with an eye socket fracture and a broken wrist, so he decided to press charges. Let’s see, what else? Uh, I had a DUI a couple years ago right before the Hawk’s championship, which led to the team losing, and, uh…a few citations for jaywalking, and yeah. I think that’s about everything.” He exhales, and his attention snaps to my dad. “It’s what you really want to know, right? I mean, if I had a daughter, the first thing I’d do is pull a background check on her boyfriend when she’s officially bringing him home to meet the family, even though we technically already met.”

I blanch, realizing exactly what he means.

I glare at my dad. “Tell me you didn’t.”

My dad blinks. Twice. He throws my mom an indecipherable look, sighs, and turns back to me, setting his napkin on the table. “Dylan?—”

“Dad,” I snap. “You did not?—”

A warm hand touches my thigh, and I look down to find Oliver’s massive hand squeezing my leg to get my attention.

“Like I said, it’s the first thing I would do,” he murmurs.

“We do like you,” my mom interjects. “And, even though I’m sure Colt would’ve probably looked into you a little more since you two are official now, it was a moot point. Yesterday, Officer Reeves called to tell us all about you. He wanted to give us a heads-up about the boy our daughter’s dating and living with.”

“Yeah, he’s a real saint, ” Reeves mutters under his breath as he stares down at his hand resting on my knee.

“I figured,” my dad returns. “But it’s clear the apple fell quite far from the tree.”

Reeves looks up from the table. Surprised. Stunned. Humbled. Forcing a smile, he reaches for his juice but hesitates before taking a sip. “I hope so.” Then he swallows it back and sets the glass down.

“Trust us,” my mom adds. “The older you get and the more run-ins you have with shitty people, the easier it is to tell them apart from the good ones. And you, Reeves, are a good egg, despite your dad’s shitty sperm.”

Oliver snorts, and the tension in the room dissipates as my brothers groan in unison, “Mo-om…”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” she replies. “You two are fine. Now, let’s finish breakfast.”

38

REEVES

It’s been a few weeks since brunch. Somehow, between classes, Game Nights, hockey games, and spending every waking moment together, Dylan and I managed to finish the second part of our photography assignment. When we got our grades from Dr. Broderick, both of us were pleased to find we received an A on the project. I forgot how pretty she looked in the photos I took. After seeing them again, I decided to frame them. They should be here soon. But the photos? Those were a gift for me. The jersey burning a hole in the white box on the kitchen counter is for Dylan, and I’m praying she likes it.

When the front door opens with a quiet squeak, Dylan appears in the doorway, and I scoop up the gift from the counter and announce, “I got you something.”

I should’ve waited. Should’ve been more smooth and shit, but I can’t help myself. Ever since Finley told me Dylan was jealous of all the puck bunnies in the arena wearing my name on their jerseys, I did something I never thought I would.

Slipping off her backpack and setting it on the ground, Dylan tears her attention from the large box and looks at me. “Dude.”

“What?”

“You have to stop spoiling me! This is like the third gift since school started, and?—”

Snatching her arm, I pull her into me, silencing her with a kiss. Once she’s practically panting, I smile against her mouth and lean back, soaking in the light pink tint on her cheeks. “I’m always going to spoil you, Pickles. Now, open it.”

Letting her go, I hand her the box and wait for her to lift the lid. I’ve been dying to give her the present since Dylan’s dad suggested it while she went to the bathroom at brunch. She’ll either love it or hate it, but I really hope it's the first.

With a hesitant smile, she lifts the lid, tearing at the tissue paper inside and laughing. “Where did you get this?”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s your jersey.”

“Yeah?”

“But instead of Reeves, it says Oliver.”

I nod. “You said you don’t like my last name, remember?”

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