Page 58 of A Little Tempting

Mirth coats the inside of my chest as I slip on my glasses, then lift a pair of gray sweats into the air and inspect them. “You have a twisted sense of humor.”

With a wink, he drops the rest of the clothes onto the foot of the bed. “You have no idea. How’s the headache?”

It’s still there, but it’s duller. More manageable.

“I’ll be fine,” I answer.

I can tell he wants to push me on it. To ask me questions and demand answers. Instead, he sighs. “Okay, then. I left a toothbrush on the bathroom counter since we’re sharing now, and, uh…” He rocks back on his heels. “I think that’s it?”

“I guess so.”

“Well…” The same familiar scent washes over me as he steps closer, reaches up, and tucks my hair behind my ear. “‘Night, Dylan.”

“Goodnight, Reeves.”

He walks back to the door but stops and faces me again. “Oh, and, uh, if you have any bad dreams or find out Finley’s a shitty roommate, my bed’s always open.”

I smile. “How thoughtful of you.”

“Now,that’sa term I rarely hear when being described, but I’ll take it.” With a final tap of his knuckles against the doorjamb, he disappears down the hall. I stare at the empty doorway for a solid thirty seconds. Finally, I stand from the bed and shut the door, still reeling from the turn of events as I close my eyes and replay our conversation.

Who are you, Oliver Reeves?

And why do I care?

14

REEVES

Maverick’s living with his parents while recovering from heart surgery, and even though the bastard has a good excuse for not being around lately, I miss him. We all do. It’s why the guys and I drove out here after a particularly brutal practice. It’s my mom’s birthday, which doesn’t help, either.

I wasn’t lying when I told Dylan I don’t celebrate or anything. Fuck, I didn’t even find out the specific date until I was eighteen and found my birth certificate. But it still messes with my head. Her absence. The only family who ever wanted me, and I never even got to meet her. I shouldn’t have driven past my dad’s trailer before practice, but after my conversation with Dylan, I couldn’t help it. The strange twinge of desire to pay my respects to a woman I never met on her birthday while apologizing for killing her.

Unfortunately, the quick detour only fucked with my head more.

Shaking off my annoyance, I lift my hand and tap my knuckles against Maverick’s parents’ door, with Everett and Griffin flanking my sides. This afternoon, I want to hug the one person I consider family. It’s strange admitting it to myself. He’s surrounded by dozens of people who care about and love him. Then, there’s me. With only one person who actually fits the bill, and even then, he doesn’t recognize how much his friendship means to me or how our roommates are a distant second to him. One of which refuses to pass to me on the ice, all because he’s pissed over the fact I gave Dylan some sweats and a T-shirt to sleep in last night.

Yeah, nice one, Ev.

The hinges are smooth as butter as Maverick’s silhouette greets me through the glass, and he pulls the door open.

He’s starting to look better. There’s more color in his cheeks, and the scar peeking out from the collar of his white LAU T-shirt isn’t as raw and fresh as the last time I saw him. His movements are still a little slow and forced, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d assume he’s sore from a brutal workout or something, not healing from a heart transplant. Part of me wonders if he ever tries to convince himself of the same thing. That with enough time, he’ll be like he was, when we both know it’s a lie. Nah, even with his transplant, the doctor told him to kiss his NHL career goodbye, and if that isn’t a hard pill to swallow, I don’t know what is.

“Hey, guys.” Mav leans against the doorjamb and grins. “What are you doing here?”

“We missed you, brother,” Griffin answers for all of us. He pulls Mav into a hug, careful not to jostle him too much. Then, he walks into the house like he owns it. Everett follows suit, hugging Maverick and joining Griffin in the family room, leaving me on the porch with my best friend.

“Hey, man. Looking good,” I tell him.

“Liar.” Mav opens his arms, patting my back in a brotherly hug, and I return it, slapping my hand against him with a little more force than the other guys, just to be a dick. To stand out.

He chuckles and shoves me back. “Ass.”

“Come on, you know you miss me.”

With a roll of his eyes, he shakes his head. “Yeah, whatever.”

Maverick’s always been my best friend. He’s the guy who saw through my bullshit persona and welcomed me with open arms. Literally. He’s also the one who convinced his friends to take me in during our freshman year when I’m pretty sure they would’ve rather stabbed me with their skates. Shit, they probably still prefer to do so. Everett would, for sure.

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