Page 43 of A Little Tempting

“Who knew you could follow directions?”

My eyes open to find her a few inches in front of me, her camera haphazardly pointed in my direction and her finger resting on the trigger. But her hoodie does me in. Well, my hoodie. It’s the same one I let her borrow during class. My lips pull tighter in amusement. “You look good in my hoodie.”

“And you look like you like seeing me in it.”

Click. Click.

Slowly, I push off the ice, gliding forward a bit. She doesn’t back away but does keep snapping photos with a smile stretched across her pretty face. I like her like this. With her guard down. I’m not sure how I made it happen—fuck, it probably has nothing to do with me—but I like it nonetheless. With her distracted by a mission to make me smile, she isn’t so lost in her thoughts. In the anxiety hidden there. In the fear constantly holding her back. From communicating. From making jokes. From letting her true self shine through.

Hello, Wallflower.

Nice to finally meet you.

“That’s the one,” she murmurs, looking at the photos she took with the same soft smile I can’t help but admire. Giving in to my lack of restraint, I grab the edge of her camera and lower it to her side.

“You’re cute when you’re proud of yourself,” I point out.

Peeking up at me, she says, “Careful. It’s my Aunt Mia’s camera.” Those blue-green jewels shift from my left to right eye and settle on my mouth. I doubt she even notices she’s staring at my lips, but she is. My pulse thumps faster. Harder.

So sweet. So innocent.

Like a ripe peach hanging on a low branch. Easy for the picking, especially when you’re as seasoned as I am. And boy, do I want another taste.

With my opposite hand, I grab onto her waist and tug her closer, feeling her curves beneath the thick fabric of my hoodie. “Is this a habit of yours? Stealing things not belonging to you?” I tug at the fabric again, and her front presses against mine.

“Aunt Mia said I could use it.”

“And this?” Twisting my hand in the fabric, I let it pull against her curves.

Her lips part on a gasp, and her palms land on my chest as she keeps a breath of distance between us. “Pretty sure you said I could use it, too.”

“Use it, sure. Use it against me?” I tsk. “Hardly.”

“Who says I’m using it against you?”

Damn, those doe eyes.

The girl has no fucking clue what she does to me. And the crazy part? It isn’t an act with her. It’s full-blown, genuine innocence, and for a kid who hasn’t known or even experienced genuine innocence since—shit, I don’t even know when—I can’t help but want to touch it. To grasp it and hold on for dear life, even if it means ruining her in the process. I don’t want to ruin her. To ruin her innocence. Her outlook. But I’m selfish enough to not give a shit about the fallout if it means I can push this a little further. Experience her a little more deeply. I bend closer. The drive to kiss those pouty lips is almost more than I can bear, and with the signals she’s giving me? Fuck, I’m ready for another taste.

“Dylan!” a voice booms.

Dylan flinches, jerking away from me like I’m a fucking pariah. Her legs kick up as she flails, fighting for balance, and I almost lose my left nut when the blade of her skate cuts toward my crotch. I block her at the last second. As my forearm connects with her shin, I balance her aunt's camera with one hand, and my opposite stays twisted in the fabric of my hoodie in hopes of slowing her fall. With a soft thump, she lands on her ass and groans.

“Shit,” Everett mutters from the top of the steps after scaring the hell out of her. He takes the stairs two at a time, rushing toward the shitshow he caused by spying on us.

Crouching beside her, I grasp her forearm and help her sit up. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” She stares at her lap, wiping the slush from her jeans and refusing to look at me. “Just a bruised tailbone and ego, but hey? What else is new?”

“You okay?” Everett shuffles toward us on the ice, and she waves him off.

“Seriously, I’m fine.”

“You sure? You fell flat on your ass.”

“I’m aware,” she grouses between clenched teeth. Pushing to her feet, she dusts off a bit more ice from her backside, looking at me through her thick upper lashes. There’s fear there. Resignation. Embarrassment. Like she shouldn’t have expected anything less than making a fool out of herself. It pisses me off. Seeing the way she wants to go right back to being unseen. To blend in. Like a turtle who finally managed to pop their head out of their shell, only to slip back into the comfort of their home as soon as the outside world got the best of them.

But what’s worse? I want to know if she cares. Why she cares how Everett caught us together with my hands on her waist and how I was this close to tasting her again.

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