Page 32 of A Little Tempting

“I didn’t?—”

“You did. You definitely did.”

“And then I said happy,” I rush out. “So…let’s focus on that, shall we?”

“Aw, but horny would be so much more fun, don’t you think?”

The same swell of embarrassment spreads through my chest, leaving my cheeks burning as I stare at my paper.

“Hey,” he croons, keeping his voice quiet so no one but me can hear him. “I know I said you’re cute when you’re awkward and all, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Not around me.”

“I’m fine,” I mumble.

I can feel his gaze on the side of my face. The way he studies me leaves me even more vulnerable, but I don’t look up at him. I don’t acknowledge him and keep staring at my paper while attempting to control my breathing.

Did you really say horny, Dylan?I silently scold.You don’t even know what horny is. I mean, you do, but every time you even tried to explore it, you always tense up, and?—

“What makes you happy, Dylan?” he prods.

I stay quiet, surprised at how easily he pivoted our conversation when he could literally tease me for a solid ten minutes with the ammunition I accidentally laid in his lap. I’m grateful for it, though. Surprised but grateful. He might be all about teasing, but only if it doesn’t make others uncomfortable.

Licking my lips, I answer, “Ice cream. Family. Puppies. Fall.” His smile widens, and I frown. “What?”

“You gave me an idea.”

“What kind of idea?”

“For the shoot.”

“Ooookay? So I can stop telling you about what makes me happy?”

“I mean, I can listen to you all day,” he counters, “but I have a feeling you aren’t one for the spotlight, so if you’d like me to take a turn, I can.”

“Actually, yes,” I decide. “What makes you happy?”

“Uh…let’s see.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and stares at the cup in his hands for a moment, then finally offers, “For one, hockey.”

“Hockey?”

“And friends. And ice cream. And fall. And puppies,” he adds, mimicking me.

My gaze narrows. “You stole all my ideas.”

“I didn’t mention family,” he points out dryly, swallowing the last of his drink and tossing it in the bin across the room.

As it hits the edge of the garbage can and tumbles in, I ask, “Does your family not make you happy?”

The same lifeless grin nearly splits his face in two, and I’m surprised by how quickly I’ve learned to tell the two apart.

“My family makes me wanna hit something.”

“So,anger.” I nod. “Got it.”

He chuckles sardonically. “Guess you could say that.”

It goes quiet. Not the room. No, everyone around us is still chatting away, but the sound grates on me. The silence. His silence. He isn’t quiet. He’s chatty and confident and fascinating. But quiet Reeves makes me feel even more on edge than confident Reeves, and I don’t think I like it. As his silence seeps between us, weaving its way into the crevices and making me squirm, I click my pen a few times with my thumb while my anxiety eats a hole in my gut.

“Wanna…talk about it?” I ask. The words come out breathy and forced. I can’t help it, though. I’m curious. Especially after everything Everett hinted at a little while ago. Reeves’ rap sheet. His home life. His history.

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