Page 63 of A Little Tempting

“First game of the season is next week,” Griffin offers. “How about whoever scores the most goals during the game gets to take Dylan to Homecoming?”

My brow lifts. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not?” Griffin argues. “Might as well give you something to work for, right?”

“Apparently, I’m a piece of meat.” Dylan slides further into the couch, taking up the extra space Everett vacated while probably wishing she could be swallowed whole.

Sorry, Dyl. You’re not so lucky.

“Nah.” Griffin sits beside her. “You’re an indecisive little sister I’m using to kill two birds with one stone.”

“Gee, thanks,” she mutters.

“You sure you’re okay with this, Dylan?” I ask. I hate it. Seeing her like this. Uncomfortable. Anxious. Embarrassed being in the spotlight. But it’s not like I can throw her over my shoulder and make her go with me. It’s not like I can make her stand up for herself. And if this is what she wants? Well, my hands are tied.

Her hesitation grates on me as she lifts a shoulder and nods. “Yeah. Sure. Why not? It’ll be…memorable, at least. Right?”

With a laugh, Griff wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into a side hug. “Love you, too, sister.”

Well, shit just got interesting, but I’m sure about one thing. I’m not going down without a fight.

15

DYLAN

I’ve successfully avoided Reeves since last night. To be fair, I’ve avoided him for a lot longer, but especially since last night. The look in his eyes when I told him I didn’t want to pick between him and Everett? I don’t know? Maybe I imagined it, but I swear I could feel an iciness in him. And the iciness? It was new, and I didn’t like it, which makes zero sense in the big scheme of things.

He’s a freaking escort and Everett? He could be…he could be Cinderfella, and maybe Homecoming is his chance to prove it.

“Yo,” Finley snaps from the fridge. “Go check on the bacon.”

Puffing out my cheeks, I head to the oven and open it, eyeing the sizzling bacon laid out on the cookie sheet. I’m pretty sure I was right when I guessed one of the main reasons the guys invited us to stay here while our house is repaired is so Finley could make her famous Belgian waffles. I, the girl who can’t cook for the life of her, am basically a consolation prize.

Exactly like the one my brother turned me into all because I couldn’t decide between the guy I kind of like even though it’s stupid and the guy who might like me and is a much better fit if he does.

Speaking of… Everett, Griffin, and Reeves amble in from the front door with zero shirts and zero fucks about the lack of said shirts. Not that they should. This is their house. They’re allowed to not wear clothing if they feel like it. But damn. It’s quite the sight. Well, other than my brother, because,ew.

Like a homing beacon, my eyes fall on Reeves as he comes through the doorway. Tan skin. Black basketball shorts. Despite the cold, a sheen of sweat clings to his skin from his morning run with the team.

“Aw, come on,” Griffin argues as if he’s deep in conversation with the rest of his friends. “She’s cute?—”

“Nah, she’s a walking red flag.” Reeves grabs the phone from Griffin’s hand and collapses into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Let’s see what she’s working with, shall we?”

I peek at the crowded dining area as the guys hover around Reeves, trying to steal a closer look at whatever’s on the phone.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Reeves decides. He sets Griffin’s phone face down on the dark wood table and grins at his friends. “I’m gonna call it right now. Are you ready? I say, in the ten most recent photos, there will be at least one with food, one with a boat, one where she’s traveling, and one at a club—potentially even SeaBird near campus—in a tight-ass dress. You ready?”

“Um, excuse me,” Finley chirps. She waves around the waffle batter ladle, causing a string of batter to splat on the granite countertop, but she ignores it. “I think I can speak for me and Dylan when I say this. We’re offended.”

With a low chuckle, Reeves turns around and faces us, resting his forearm along the back of his chair, showcasing the veins beneath his olive skin. “For what? For calling out a completely uninteresting girl?”

“How rude,” I blurt out.

He tilts his head, surprised by my outburst. “It’strue,”he counters. “There’s a difference.”

“You don’t know she posted all those things,” Finley chimes in.

“Ah, but I do.”

---