Page 49 of A Little Tempting

I feel his stare again. The way it scalds me. Holds me captive. The problem is, I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.

“Okay, then,” I mutter.

“I’m a…platonic, non-physical escort,” he clarifies.

“Platonic,” I mimic.

“Yeah, platonic.”

“And non-physical.”

“Exactly.”

“Escort.” The word makes my nose scrunch as it rolls off my tongue.

“I’m more like Hitch,” Reeves offers with the same heavy dose of nonchalance from earlier.

My gaze flicks to his, veering from the safety of his very broad chest. “Hitch?”

“You know, the old movie with Will Smith?” he explains.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s a movie.”

“Ooookay?” I take a step to my right, desperate to get out of here so I can lick my proverbial wounds in private. “Have a good night.”

He blocks my way again. “Humor me, Dylan.”

Annoyed with myself, I bite the inside of my cheek, then grit out, “And why should I?”

“Because we both know if you walk away, you’ll overthink what you saw for days, so let me explain it to you and save you the sleepless nights, yeah?”

I keep my feet planted and cross my arms, hating how right he is. How I will overthink this and for a hell of a lot longer than a few days. I thought he…liked me. Was I that far off?

Taking my lack of leaving as a sign to continue, Reeves explains, “People pay me for one of three reasons. One, so I can teach them how to date and be desirable. Two, so I can be their fake boyfriend when their exes won’t leave them alone. Or three, when they have a wedding or a funeral to attend or?—”

“So youarean escort.”

“Yeah, but not like…sex and shit.”

“Not sex and shit,” I repeat. “Got it.” I start to step around him again but stop and shake my head, finally stealing the courage to look at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m not a fan of the miscommunication trope.”

I shake my head once more, convinced I slipped and fell in the bathroom or something because this? This isnotreality. “What do you mean?”

“You know…when a simple conversation will pretty easily clear up any drama. Like right now.” He steps even closer, the heat from his front burning through my clothes, leaving me aching. Reaching up, he tucks my hair behind my ear, causing every inch of my skin to prickle with awareness. “She’s a job. Fuck, she’s not even that. She’s a potential job.”

“A potential job?”

“I don’t take on every client who approaches me like I used to. Not anymore. Between hockey and school, finding time for a regular job was hard, so I had to be creative.”

Why is it so hard to breathe right now? Oh. I know. Because I can smell him. His cologne. Or maybe it’s simply Reeves I smell. His natural scent. He smells good. Almost like Christmas. Pine. It’s pine and warmth and—forcing air into my lungs through my mouth, I slowly give him a shrug, unsure what he wants me to say or how he wants me to handle this situation or the way he’s practically pinning me to a wall.

“What’s your point, Reeves?” I gulp. “You don’t owe me anything. Hell, I don’t even know your first name.”

“It’s Oliver.” He tilts my chin up. “But no one else who matters knows it. And my point is…I need you to stop looking like I kicked your puppy.”

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