Page 21 of A Little Tempting

“Good,” I say, not because I particularly like Drew or anything. But I have a feeling if Finley did something stupid like cheating, she’d never forgive herself. Collapsing onto the couch, I start unlacing my shoes, adding, “Can I ask you something?”

She plops down next to me and reaches for the remote on the coffee table. “Sure, what is it?”

“Do you love Drew?”

She freezes, and her hesitation leaves the air around us with an uncomfortable weight I’m not sure how to carry. Drew and Finley have been together for almost a year, but as far as I know, they spend more time fighting with each other than being a happy, healthy couple. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve met Drew once or twice, and he’s fine, I guess, but I don’t know. She clings to him in a way I don’t understand. Maybe it’s because Finley’s family moved away when we reached middle school after her mom got a job promotion. After leaving, she always felt kind of…alone. Like, without me or Ophelia in high school, she didn’t really have anyone. Not because she couldn’t make friends—the girl’s the most social person on the planet—but friends like me and Ophelia? Friends who are more like sisters? Those are hard to come by. Fin’s the one who drew the short stick and had to find her own solution for being across the country from her other musketeers. Then, Drew came along and…I don’t know. It’s like it fixed the hole for a little while. But now, she’s here, and she doesn’t have quite the same void, so I guess I’m a little lost as to why she’s still with him. It doesn’t mean I have a right to pry, though.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I rush out.

Rubbing her fingers along the edge of the remote, she murmurs, “He was my first. I think you always love your first.”

“And you’re not scared about the long distance?”

“I’m terrified of the long distance,” she admits. “But I wasn’t going to sacrifice my friendships with you and Ophelia and my relationship with my brother over my high school boyfriend, no matter how much I love him. And I’m not stupid enough to forget how young I am, and rearranging my entire life for a boy is…not necessarily the mature way to handle the situation, you know what I mean? But I’m also not ready to give up on me and Drew and everything we’ve been through and experienced together. So…here we are. Taking it one day at a time and…yeah. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“I think you’re brave,” tell her.

“Or stupid.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Now. I think it’s time for our movie, don’t you?”

“Yup.”

“Perfect. Let’s pick something gory.”

I snort. “Whatever you say, Fin.”

5

DYLAN

Seriously, I can’t turn it off. The need to scan each and every masculine face scattered in the quad as I walk with Finley toward one of the very few classes we have together this year: Math 1050.

“If you keep staring at people like this, you’ll end up with a reputation,” Finley points out.

“What do you mean I’ll end up with a reputation?”

“For being a creepy stalker,” she clarifies without bothering to look up from her phone while she continues typing away.

Honestly, I’m impressed she caught me perusing the opposite sex in the first place.

“I’m not stalking?—”

“You’re trying to figure out who kissed you at the party.”

“I’m not?—”

“You are, but it’s fine.” She pushes send on whatever message she was texting, then gives me her full attention. “I’m trying to figure it out, too, and I’d be a lot more help if I had anything to actually go off. But olive skin, possibly dark hair, and scruff, which may or may not have been shaved off this morning, is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Not to mention straight white teeth being my only other clue, and thanks to braces being a thing in the US, it narrows things down by like ten percent, maybe. Don’t worry, though. I put out some feelers with a few other girls I met who were at the party.” Her phone buzzes in her hand. Her eyes light up, and she turns back to her cell.

“Finley,” I groan. “Can we not drag every stranger at the party into your sleuthing, please?”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t mention your name, but I feel we might get somewhere if we simply give it some time.”

She goes back to tapping away on her cell as we head toward class when someone yells, “Watch out!”

I turn around and barely dodge a football coming straight for my head. Finley doesn’t even flinch. It bounces off the black pavement and rolls onto the grass a few feet behind me. I look around the grassy space and find a grimacing Everett a few feet away, aka the culprit who yelled at us.

“Nice throw,” I note, my voice practically dripping with sarcasm as I fold my arms.

“Sorry.” Jogging toward me, he asks, “You okay?”

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