Page 56 of A Little Tempting

Nice one, Dylan.

When my chest brushes against his, I freeze. The same pulsing heat passes between us, along with his scent. Is it him? Is this just the way he smells? Or is it cologne? Something used to lure in innocent little virgins like me? Regardless, it’s working. It shouldn’t be, but it is. I stare at his chest as a quiet rumble of amusement escapes him.

“Want me to walk you through it?” he murmurs. My gaze snaps to his, and he clarifies, “Theroom.”

Oh. Right. Because being walked through my tangled emotions and libido is probably a bad idea.

Clearing my throat, I slip past him the rest of the way into the room, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my red-stained cheeks when the bastard already has a knack for reading me way too easily.

The blinds are shut on the large window, making the room as dark as the main floor when we entered. Reeves flicks on the light like he did downstairs. The place still looks pretty bare. A large bed with rumpled sheets takes up the center of the room, along with a black dresser, a matching nightstand, and a walk-in closet. It’s like Griffin has yet to make the full move from his shared room with Everett on the main floor. Considering the circumstances and the fact he’s letting us kick him out for the foreseeable future, I guess his procrastination paid off.

Despite my headache, I feel Reeves’ stare from behind me, so I head toward the bed and start stripping the sheets. The sooner I’m situated, the sooner he can go away, and I can go to bed.

“I’ll grab some clean ones from the closet,” Reeves offers. “And if those are crusty, blame Griff.”

My nose scrunches, and I drop the edge of the top sheet. “Ew. I did not need to hear that.”

“Just calling it like it is,” he yells from the hallway, returning with a set of crisply folded sheets in his arms.

Forcing the thought of Griffin hooking up with anyone in the queen-sized bed in front of me, I start stripping the sheets again while Reeves moves to the opposite side and helps me.

“I should be grateful he’s letting me kick him out of his room in the first place,” I point out.

“Griff shared a room with Everett for years until Jax moved out,” he reminds me. "He'll be fine. And if he decides to bitch about it, he can always sleep in Archer’s.”

My body tightens, and my shoulders fall as I peek at Reeves across the bed.

“Aw, not you, too,” he adds.

It’s like he’s almost disappointed or something, but it only leaves me more confused. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone’s walking on eggshells since Archer’s death. Don’t get me wrong, I get it, but…not you, too.”

“Maybe not all of us are as casual about death as you are.”

“Who says I’m casual about death?” he asks.

“I don’t know? You say his name like…”

“Like he’s still here?” Reeves finishes for me. He wads the used sheets into a ball and tosses it across the room. With a quietphft, it lands next to the door, and Reeves reaches for the fresh sheets on the dresser, unfolding them and spreading them across the mattress. “Let me ask you this. If you died right now, would you want the rest of us to act like you never existed? To be scared to say your name or talk about you all because it would make us miss you? In my opinion, that’s the real death. The real tragedy. Archer? I fuckin’ love the guy. He didn’t care if I was acting like a dick. Didn’t care if I fucked up like I always do. He still talked to me. Would still hang out with me. Would still treat me like I’m a teammate. A roommate. Afriend. Why wouldn’t I want to talk about him or say I miss him?”

The words burn more than I expect. I let go of one of the sheets to wipe beneath my nose as I reply, “Because it hurts?”

“Well, yeah, but life fuckin’ hurts, Thorne. Isn’t that the beauty of it, though? When life beats the shit out of you, you still have something to look back on and appreciate. To remember. To…I dunno,”—he shrugs—“cherish.”

Pulling my lips between my teeth, I stand dumbfounded as he finishes making the bed. The weird part is he’s right. I can see where he’s coming from. The fresh perspective I hadn’t considered. Like maybe…maybe the pain isn’t a bad thing. Maybe it’s a reminder of all I have. No one wants to be numb, right? But readily embracing the pain? Acknowledging it’s there without pushing it away? I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like something we come by naturally. Not me, anyway. Then I remember his comment about his mom earlier tonight, and it all makes sense.

Once the last corner is tucked, he turns to me, and my breath hitches.

“Did I render you speechless, Pickles?” he asks.

“No, it’s…” I nibble the edge of my lip, unsure whether or not talking about a dead mom is a subject I should broach.

“Tell me,” he pushes.

“You sound like you know this from personal experience.”

“Ah, yeah.” His hands find the back of his neck, and he threads his fingers together, resting them there as he stares at me. “Forgot I dropped thedead mom bombon you at the restaurant. I’d apologize, but, uh, it is what it is.”

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