Page 73 of A Little Tempting

Perfect.

My backpack is right inside the door, so I grab it, leaving them to their own shenanigans, grateful I was at least able to snag my personal belongings instead of being locked out for the rest of the night without them. The question is, where do I go? If I go downstairs, I’ll have to brave the party—and Reeves—and I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m exhausted.

Scanning the second floor for a good hiding spot, my eyes wander to Reeves’ door. Before I can talk myself out of it, I hold my breath and press my ear to the solid piece of wood, waiting for the moans and groans of someone hooking up inside.

Silence.

Sweet, sweet silence.

With a twist of my wrist, I open the door and close it behind me, refusing to acknowledge how stupid this idea is. At this moment? I don’t care. Besides, he’s downstairs with his job. I’ll be fine. Right?

Sure. Sure, I will.

Unless he decides to hook up with her or something, but hey? Why not add fuel to the fire. After finding my contacts container in my backpack, I take them out and breathe a sigh of relief as I close my eyes. I learned to keep my contacts container and an extra pair of glasses in my backpack after a particularly brutal day in middle school left me curled up in a dark room for days afterward. On nights like tonight, I’m even more grateful for the habit.

Stupid bad eyesight.

And stupid headaches.

At least I don't have one today. That’s something, at least.

Once my glasses are in place, I slip off my shoes and shove off the rest of my clothes, adding them to a small pile at the base of the bed. Whoever invented sweats and leggings is officially my hero. I’m pretty sure I have a pair somewhere in my bag from the last time I went to hang out with Ophelia. If I could only find them. Standing in my bra and underwear, I search my bag for some comfy clothes when the door opens behind me.

With a pathetic screech, I cover my body with my hands and turn around, finding a shocked Reeves.

He slips inside and closes the door, resting his back against it. “If I knew you were in here, I would’ve come up sooner.”

“Uh, excuse me. Go away.”

“My room, my rules, and I think I’ll stay.” His eyes roll over my body, leaving my skin heated and my breathing shallow.

“Can you not look?” I snap. Remembering my manners, I add, “Please?”

He closes his eyes but doesn’t bother hiding his smirk as he waits for me to get dressed with his back against the door, his feet spread wide, and his thumbs tucked in the front pockets of his fitted jeans. I still don’t get it. How he can look so freaking attractive yet casual and confident and annoyingly perfect all at the same time. The jeans? The henley? The slight lift of his lips and tilt of his head. Like…who looks like this?

Annoyance simmers in my veins, and I grind out, “It isn’t funny,” as I search my bag—again—for my sweats. Unfortunately, all I find is the hoodie Reeves gave me in class a couple weeks ago.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

I wear it anytime he isn’t around. It’s so soft and comfortable and warm. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it.

Okay, maybe I can. But admitting my weird obsession with a hand-me-down hoodie to myself is one thing. Giving Reeves a front-row seat to said obsession is entirely different, especially when he willingly passed the puck to Everett during tonight’s game instead of taking the shot himself. It shouldn’t have stung, and it didn’t, but it definitely proved where his priorities lie, and they aren’t with me. I wouldn’t want him to throw away the game to prove his interest or whatever, but—gah!

Stop. Being. Irrational.

Besides, I’m nothing more than his friend’s little sister and fellow classmate. Hockey is his future. His everything, if he’s anything like my brothers and Ev.

So, why do I care?

“You know, usually when I’m around a half-naked girl, I like to keep my eyes open, but this is fun. Kinky.” Reeves’ smile grows, and I fumble with his maroon sweatshirt. Finally sliding it over my body, I cover my ass with a quick tug on the hem, then fold my arms. “You, uh, you can open your eyes.”

When he does, they find me instantly. A heady dose of amusement and interest swirls in their depths, but concern replaces it right away. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” I try to lean against the bed, but the back of my thighs misses the edge entirely. I lose my balance, almost landing flat on my ass, when a pair of strong hands latch onto my biceps, keeping me in place.

“Whoa, there.” Reeves’ brows crease. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Yup, just peachy.”

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