Page 22 of A Little Tempting

“We’re fine,” I answer, trying to calm my racing heart.

Yup. I’m pretty sure I saw my life flash before my eyes and may or may not have peed myself. Okay, no, I didn’t pee myself. But I could have, for sure.

Everett bends at my feet and picks up the ball, tossing it to a shirtless Reeves twenty feet away. Across the space, Reeves’ muscles bunch and flex as he catches the torpedo with an annoyingly attractive ease, and it somehow suits him perfectly.

The ease. The confidence. The laid-back persona.

Seriously? The guy’s…well. Perfect. He’s perfect.

Which means there’s no way he would’ve kissed me last weekend…right?

“Hey, Drew’s calling,” Finley announces beside me. “I’ll meet you in class.”

“Sure thing,” I murmur, not bothering to look at her as I continue studying half the hockey team throwing a ball across the grass, hoping to place my Cinderfella.

“Dylan,” Everett barks.

My neck snaps toward him. “Mm-hmm? Yeah?”

“Maybe be a little more subtle when you check out my teammates, yeah?”

His jaw tics, and my cheeks flame as I look at the ground.

Good one, Dylan.

“I’m not checking them out,” I mutter.

“Yeah, and I’m the king of France.”

I peer up at him again. “Does France have a king?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” He rolls his shoulders, which is when I notice he isn’t wearing a shirt, either. As if my eyes have a mind of their own, I scan his taut chest. I can’t help but wonder if his body was pressed to mine this weekend. If those are the abs. The biceps. The hips. Everett’s stronger than the last time I saw him shirtless. His muscles look like Michelangelo himself carved them, and the joggers hanging low on his hips? It’s, uh, it’s quite the combination.

“You doing okay?” he asks.

My attention flicks to his, and I clear my throat. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You left the costume party early the other night. I haven’t seen you since.”

Probably because I’ve avoided anyone and everyone in hopes of either forgetting my encounter with my wolf altogether or finding the culprit like it’s my last dying wish.

“I guess I’m hunkering down, trying to figure out college life,” I tell him.

He nods. “You still planning to work at Rowdy’s?”

“Uh, yeah. I started last week. It’s been nice, you know? To, uh, to have a distraction.”

“I get it. We’re all looking for distractions lately.” He tucks his hands into his pockets and kicks a stray pebble.

It skitters across the pavement as I twist my hands in front of me. “Tell your dad thanks again for hooking me up with the job.”

“Yeah, no worries.” He shrugs and peers down at me. “They’re always looking for cute waitresses.”

Rowdy’s is a western steakhouse right outside of town. Macklin, Everett’s dad, invested in the company after winning the lottery a couple decades ago. It’s also where Uncle Mack and Aunt Kate went on their first real date. There’s line dancing, a mechanical bull, and the nicest manager-slash-owner you’ve ever met. My interview with Rowdy lasted about five minutes, but I’ll never forget his thick southern drawl as the old man fixed the cowboy hat on his head and offered me the job. Boy, did I need it. Not for the money. But for the distraction, like I mentioned. It’s weird. Losing a friend. Feeling guilty for having fun. Having memories of him pop up at the most random times. And the quiet? The quiet is when it hurts the most. So, yeah. I think all of us have been grateful for whatever distractions we can muster. Hockey. Homework. A new job. We’ll take what we can get.

“Well…” I continue fiddling with my short, trimmed nails. “Still, tell your dad thanks for hooking me up.”

“I will.”

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