Page 50 of A Little Tempting

The callus on his thumb tickles the underside of my chin, but I don’t pull away as my tongue darts out, moistening my lips. “I’m not looking at you like you kicked my puppy.”

His mouth quirks. “You kind of are.”

“Well…what do you even mean, anyway?” I lean away from his touch and rest my head against the wall behind me, desperate for space. “I don’t have a puppy, so?—”

“It means you seeing me with another woman hurt your feelings, and trust me, Dylan. Hurting you is the last thing I want.” He lets me go and takes a small step back. “I didn’t even know you work here.”

“And if you did know I work here?”

“I would’ve found a different place to take her.”

“So, hiding it is better?” I challenge.

He shrugs. “I like to keep my business separate from personal relationships.”

“We don’t have a relationship,” I remind him.

“Yet.”

Or ever.

I puff out a deep breath and square my shoulders. “Look, if you wanted to hide this, there’s no need. Everett already told me what you…do.” I wave my hand around, surprised by how much the extra space between us bothers me, making my head foggier instead of clearer like it should be. “I mean, technically, he called you an escort when, apparently, you’re more of a G-rated gigolo, but?—”

A quiet snort escapes him, and he shakes his head. “I’ll be sure to add the title to my business card.”

“You do that,” I mutter. “Besides, it’s none of my business anyway, and neither is how you, apparently, also have a habit of being selfish and only thinking of yourself, so…” I grit my teeth to keep from spewing out any more bullshit, hurtful things. I’m not a mean person. And I’m not one to try and hit below the belt. So what the hell was that?

Unflustered, Reeves asks, “Is that what Everett said to you?”

My lips press into a thin line, but I stay quiet.

“Did he give you specifics?” he prods.

I shake my head as shame threatens to suffocate me.

“Of course, he didn’t,” he mutters. And I can’t decide if he’s pissed or amused at how he can read me and Everett so easily. “Do you wanna know? What happened?”

I shrug but don’t say anything else.

“Yeah, I'll tell you,” he decides. “Because, like I said, I’m not a fan of miscommunication.”

“I’m not trying to pry.”

“Yeah, you are,”—his mouth ticks up—“but it’s all right. I’ll forgive you this time.” Again, he steps closer, but I have a feeling it isn’t an excuse to touch me this time. No, he’s crowding me because he doesn’t like this information being spread as much as he’d like me to believe. Like this is private. Personal. Delicate. It makes me more curious.

“Bluntly put, I fucked up.” He says it like we’re discussing the weather. Like he isn’t connected to the conversation at all. Like black is black and white is white, and there is no in-between. “I got a DUI the night before LAU’s playoff game last season,” he continues. “The team counted on me, and I was too busy hanging out in jail, waiting to make bail instead of being on the ice where I should’ve been. We lost the game. Because of me. It’s why your buddy, and probably your brothers, thinks I’m a selfish, unreliable, arrogant prick who’s only loyal to himself.”

He steps back, giving me space as his confession hangs in the air while a few of the other waitresses skirt around us. I should get back to work, but honestly? I’m so taken aback I’m frozen. By his brutal honesty. His emotionless assessment. The way it’s unbiased and so…blatant. It leaves me speechless, but clearly, he’s waiting for my response because he won’t stop staring down at me. Does he actually care what I think, or am I delusional?

Licking my bottom lip, I murmur, “Yikes.”

With a smirk, he tucks his hands in his pockets and lifts his shoulders. “Yeah.”

“Why did you drink before a game?”

“I was on a job, had a drink, then ran into my dad, and, uh, let’s just say things spiraled from there. Even then, it was a shitty thing to do, and I fucked up, but there it is. The real reason why your friend hates me. The question is…do you?”

My eyes drop to his mouth. The slight curve. The full lips. It’s almost believable, his carefreepersona, but I don’t buy it for a second. That this doesn’t affect him. The way his friends don’t trust him. How they haven’t forgiven him for making a mistake, even if it was a big one. He’s been carrying it. Hiding it behind sarcasm and a give-no-shit attitude when, clearly, he does. Give a shit.

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