Page 154 of A Little Tempting

Seriously, though. There are some major pros to having a very perceptive boyfriend, but right now? I kind of wish he wasn’t quite so attuned to my emotions and my current inner meltdown.

“Okay, what’s going on, Dylan?” he demands once everyone’s a few paces ahead of us.

Oh, boy. What a loaded question.

I twist my hands in front of me, unable to look him in the eye. “Maybe we should wait until we get home.”

With a gentle but firm grasp on my wrist, he pulls me to a halt as our friends continue walking through the crowded parking lot. Oliver caught a ride with Everett and Griffin to the game, I drove his car with Finley, and Ophelia went separately with Maverick, but since we all parked relatively close to each other, we’re all headed in the same direction. “Dylan, you’ve got me worried here.”

“Okay, here’s the deal,” I blurt out. “I need you to promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Not exactly a good way to start a conversation, Pickles.”

“Promise me,” I push.

“Fine, I promise.”

“Good.” I fist my hands, forcing myself to stop fidgeting as I look up at him. The concern in his eyes makes me want to bite my tongue and pretend like my run-in with his dad never happened. But if I do, and he finds out I lied to him… Well, neither of us is a fan of miscommunication, so where does it lead me? It leads me here. To an awkward conversation that may or may not push him over the edge and ruin the high from tonight’s win, no matter how much he deserves it. The high, that is. Not the being pushed over the edge part. For shit’s sake, I’m not a monster.

“Start talking, Dylan.” He crowds me against a parked car until I’m drowning in all things Oliver. I’d give anything to ignore my tussle with his dad and pretend it never happened, but I can’t do it. I can’t lie to him. Can’t sweep it under the rug.

“Fine.” My tongue darts out between my lips as I reach for the edge of his shirt beneath his jacket, dragging my fingers along the thin material. “Your dad cornered me in the girls’ restroom during the first period.”

His jaw tics, but I can tell he’s fighting it. His growing anger. “He what?”

“Your dad?—”

Like a beast, Reeves shoves himself away from me, but I pull him in again, fisting his t-shirt in my hand as the cold from the metal bumper seeps through my jeans and hits the back of my legs.

“Listen to me,” I snap.

“Did he touch you?” His eyes are dark and wild. Fear. Rage. Determination. They all swirl together like a hurricane of hurt and regret. Like, somehow, this is his fault, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. “I knew he would come after you. I knew he’d be pissed you embarrassed him. I fuckingknewit.”

My eyelids flutter as the memory of my confrontation with his father sparks, causing his upper lip to curl.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Ollie—”

Wrenching himself away from me, he storms further into the parking lot as if knowing exactly who’s waiting in the distance. I rush to keep up, but his long legs close the space faster than mine ever could.

“Ollie!” I repeat.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Maverick asks as Reeves rushes past him. Mav had been walking slowly with the rest of the group, giving us space for our conversation while knowing we’d all leave together once we finished talking despite each of us driving in separate vehicles. When I catch up to him, I give him a panicked look and continue my pursuit of his very pissed-off best friend.

The parking lot is still full. Well, mostly full. Some fans have already left, but most still mill around, figuring out what to do with the rest of their night with the game now over. I slip between a red Corolla and a black F-150 when Reeves’ car comes into view. Sure enough, leaning against the driver's side door is his father. And beside him? It’s his partner, Officer McDonnell.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Oliver demands. He storms toward his own flesh and blood, completely ignoring the armed officer beside him and the plethora of witnesses scattered in the lot.

Why is McDonnell here? Oliver’s dad, sure. But McDonnell? It doesn’t make any sense. And why does this feel like a setup? People gawk from all sides. Most of them are wearing LAU’s black and red, and even though they know it isn’t polite to stare, watching one of the star players from tonight’s game storm through the parking lot toward police officers is pretty hard to look away from.

The question is, is this what his dad wants? To cause a scene? To shine a light on Oliver’s frustration while only giving them half the story? He’s painted Oliver as a loose canon for so long it makes sense. And it also pisses me off. The way he manipulates the situation even now. With so many witnesses. So many cell phones poised and ready to document the moment and to record Oliver’s potential explosion. It makes me wish I’d recorded my conversation with his dad in the restroom, too, but now isn’t the time to reflect on wasted opportunities.

“Oliver, stop!” I call out. My tone is thick with desperation, but he’s too furious to acknowledge it.

His dad glares at me, but it only lasts a second until his calm, collected persona slides back into place. With folded arms, he demands, “Sir, I need to look in your vehicle.”

“Don’t fuckingsirme,” Oliver snaps.

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