Page 102 of A Little Tempting

“I’m thinking…” I rub my lips together, watching how his attention drifts to the movement, “you’re in the fold now, and there’s no getting rid of us.”

“I appreciate it.” His chuckle warms my stomach, but I don’t miss the way his smile falls flat.

Frowning, I point out, “You don’t look very convinced.”

“There’s an old tale about a man who went through life,” he explains. “Sometimes, he was lucky. Sometimes, he wasn’t. And every time, people around him would say, ‘You’re so lucky,’ or ‘You’re so unlucky,’ and every time, he always replied, ‘We’ll see.’”

My lips pull at the corners. “Doesn’t sound very optimistic.”

“It’s realistic,” he clarifies. “There’s a difference. It means life is always changing, you know? Archer’s death. Maverick’s transplant. This.You.” He takes a sip of his butterbeer and licks the foam from his top lip. “It isn’t positive or negative. It’s…appreciative of the now while recognizing the future can hold anything, and it’s okay because it isn’t our job to control shit. It’s our job to roll with the punches and make the best of what we get. So, for now, I’m happy to be here. And as to whether or not I’ll be invited again, all I can say is… We’ll see.”

I kind of hate it. How logical he looks at things. How matter-of-fact. But the worst part is I can’t even argue with him. He’s right. We can’t control everything. Looking back over the last few months only confirms his outlook.

“We’ll see, huh?” I repeat.

“Yeah.” He smiles, and this time, it’s more genuine. “We’ll see. Now, I’m trying to let you take the lead on whatever’s going on between us, but when I first walked in here and hugged you like I did the rest of the girls, you almost looked disappointed.”

“I wasn’t disappointed,” I lie.

“Careful.” He moves closer, and the heat in his gaze threatens to burn me from the outside in. “You’re many things, Dylan Thorne, but hard to read isn’t one of them.”

Shame flares in my stomach as I set my butterbeer on the coffee table in front of me. “Ouch.”

“Nah, it’s a good thing,” he argues. “It means you’re real, and for a guy like me, I likereala lot. So, I think the real question is, why were you so disappointed?”

I open my mouth, then close it just as quickly, unsure what to say or how to explain the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

“Let me guess.” He manages to bend even closer. “After our conversation last night and the lineup of hugs, it made you feel…dejected?”

I press my lips together.

“Unimportant?” he offers.

I must make a face or something because the guy nods his understanding. “Trust me, Pickles. The only girl I saw when I walked into the house was you.” His knee bumps against mine as he drinks more of his butterbeer, oblivious to the movie on the screen. Hell, it’s as if I’m the only person in the room. The only person who matters, and for a girl so used to blending in, it leaves me squirming.

“My pretty little wallflower.” There’s a slight rasp in his voice, and it scrapes over my skin, spreading goosebumps along every inch of me. I’m not sure if the words are meant for me or if he’s saying them to himself, but the awe? The fascination? The knowing lift of his lips? I can’t wrap my head around it, but for the first time ever, I want to. I want to wrap my head around it. I want to understand it. I want to see what he sees.

He sets his butterbeer beside mine on the coffee table and wraps his arm around the back of the couch, leaving his side wide open. “Come snuggle with me.”

Staring at his welcoming side, I counter, “Are we on snuggling terms?”

“I mean, you left a puddle of drool on my pillow the night you slept in my bed, which is pretty intimate, especially when I don’t let anyone sleep in my bed.”

I gasp. “I did not.”

“You most definitely did,” he argues.

Tugging the collar of my cape up, I cover the bottom of my face, hoping to hide my embarrassment, but it feeds his amusement and attracts a few curious looks my way. Thankfully, my friends turn back to the television without any fuss.

Once we have a semblance of privacy, I beg, “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Definitely not joking, but don’t worry.” He leans closer until his breath tickles the shell of my ear. “I like my girls wet.” He pulls away, winking as he tosses his arm around my shoulders and tugs me into him.

And for some reason I literally don’t understand, I let him.

Besides, it’s only snuggling.

Isn’t it?

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