Page 31 of A Little Tempting

I glower at him but give in anyway. “I just, uh, I thought I might recognize them from the costume party or something.”

“Ah, so that’s why you were blushing like a little virgin.” He tugs on the ends of my hair playfully. “Trying to figure out who kissed you, am I right?”

I press my lips together and ignore him.

“It must’ve been good,” he continues, “for you to be out here, days later, trying to figure out who he is. But here’s the real question. If it was such a good kiss, why hasn’t he tracked you down?” Grabbing the base of my seat, he drags me closer to him. “Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment. Or maybe he’s grotesque.” He shivers and rests his elbow on the table, cradling his chin with his massive hand while I drown in his full attention. “Or maybe he’s Everett and wanted to steal a taste without stepping out of the friend zone.” His eyes dance with mirth. “The possibilities are endless, right? Fuck, maybe you’re talking to him right now.”

My eyes snap to his. “What did you say?”

“Did I say something?”

“Are you?” I push.

“Am I what?”

“Are you Cinderfell—” My jaw locks tight, and my eyes pop as the stupid nickname makes its debut.

Reeves’ deep chuckle spreads goosebumps along my skin, and he bends even closer. “Were you about to say Cinderfella?”

I turn back to my mess of a paper and mutter, “No comment.”

“You were, weren’t you?” Another laugh rumbles past his lips. “That’s a Finley nickname, right?”

My eyes pop—again—and I turn back to him. “How did you?—”

“You’re not exactly one for classic movie references. Which reminds me, I gotta catch you up on some solid Dramione fan fiction still,” he adds, mentioning the comment he made at Archer’s funeral. Honestly, it didn’t even make sense. Hermione ends up with Ron, not Draco. So, why would people be ‘shipping them together?

“That, uh, won’t be necessary,” I tell him.

“Aw, but it’s so fun, Dylan. And if you’re all worked up from a simple kiss with your Cinderfella, imagine what some good ol’ smut could do for a girl like you.”

“Reeves,” I warn.

“Back to the question at hand.” He brushes his knuckle against the back of my hand still clutching my paper cup. It causes a zing to shoot up my arm, and it’s both exhilarating and foreign in a way I can’t even wrap my head around. Slowly, I inch away and take a nervous sip of my drink. Waiting. For what, I’m not sure.

“Are you asking if I’m the guy who kissed you, Dylan Thorne?” he prods. The words are warm and sweet, like my coffee. But laced with depth, too. A richness, maybe. I don’t know what to think or how to handle how close he is. So close I can taste his sugary coffee breath. Feel the weight in his gaze. The confidence radiating off him. It’s familiar, almost.

“Are you?” I whisper. “Are you him?”

His attention drops to my mouth.

“All right, class,” Dr. Broderick interrupts. I jerk in my seat and scoot away from Reeves, hoping the distance will help clear the fog in my head.

“Today, we’re focusing on planning your project,” the teacher explains. “Take the entire time to talk with your partner and plan your first shoot. Make sure to focus on colors, props, etcetera. If you have any questions, let me know.”

Great. I don’t even have a lecture to fall back on.

Stealing another taste of my coffee, I clear my throat and glance at an unflustered Reeves, who’s currently staring at me like I’m the most amusing thing in the world.

“So…emotions,” he prods.

“Yes. So. All right. Emotions,” I ramble.

“Which one do you want to focus on first?”

“I don’t know? Uh, let’s see. There’s sad? Angry? Happy? Horny?” My eyes bulge. “Happy. Let’s focus on happy.”

He leans closer, clutching his coffee as he crowds my space. “Did you say horny?”

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