Page 64 of A Little Tempting

“No, you don’t,” I argue.

Pushing to his feet, he scoots out the recently vacated chair and waves his hand toward it. “Take a seat, Pickles. I want to make sure I have your full attention while I prove how well I know the opposite sex.”

Part of me wants to tuck my tail between my legs and run out the back door with everyone looking at me. The other part? Well, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of backing down. Not when I already did last night.

With a huff, I steel my courage and march toward him, collapsing into the vacant seat and folding my arms. The scent of sweat and cologne envelops me as Griffin and Everett scoot closer, clearly invested in Reeves’ demonstration or…whatever this is.

Leaning over the back of my chair, Reeves cages me in with his long arms as he displays the phone in front of me. He’s so close I can feel him. His breath. His warmth. His smooth skin. The stubble on his freaking jaw as it brushes against my temple. I tried convincing myself I’m overhyping my physical response to the guy. But when I find myself in positions like this, I remember how screwed I really am.

Maybe if I could find my Cinderfella—theonlyother guy who’s made me feel this way—I wouldn’t be so intrigued by Reeves. Especially when, if I want a healthy relationship with someone, he’s literally the exact opposite of who I should be interested in.

And this conversation will prove it,I remind myself.So, focus.

“All right, let’s do a quick recap, shall we?” Reeves announces. “I’m guessing, out of the next ten photos, there’s food, a boat, travel, and a club. Oh, and probably a selfie in the car, too.” He bends lower, his warm breath kissing the shell of my ear. “There’s always a selfie in the car.” I peek up at him from the corner of my eye, finding a devilish smirk I swear is directly connected to my core.

“You ready?” he challenges.

“Just pull up the photos,” Everett grits out.

“Exhibit A,” Reeves states. He slides his thumb across the screen. “A picture of her at a restaurant. Food.” He slides to the next photo, showcasing gorgeous blue water and her arms spread wide as she stands on the bow of a white boat in an orange string bikini. “Boat,” he murmurs. Sliding to the next photo, I find Griffin’s love interest standing in a vineyard. “Travel?” Reeves questions.

“We don’t know,” I argue.

He snorts. “Yeah, okay. Did you see the caption? #ItalyBaby,” he practically moans, doing a valley girl impression to make any California girl proud. When I don’t disagree, he adds, “Let’s see what’s next.” Another image shines back at me. “Would you look at that? Another restaurant picture.” He slides his thumb across the screen again. The girl has a martini glass in her hand, and she’s wrapped in a skimpy red dress with the caption reading, “Drink up, bitches!”

“Hmm,” Reeves hums into my ear, causing goosebumps to climb up my neck. “I believe there’s our bar or club photo. Am I right, Dyl?”

My teeth dig into the inside of my cheek, but I don’t bother confirming what he already knows.Duh.Instead, I snap, “Next picture.”

His thumb glides across the screen. It’s a close-up of her in front of another fancy dish. Food.

“And, uh, what are we still waiting for?” Reeves questions.

Griffin slaps his hands against the wooden table, creating a drum roll as Reeves changes it to the next photo where the girl is sitting in the front seat of a car, her lips squished together as she makes a peace sign with her fingers.

“Aaaand, there it is,” Reeves announces. “A selfie in the car.” He sets the phone in front of me and leans closer, his lips skating across the edge of my ear. “I rest my case.” Then, with his hands raised in the air, he steps away, his chest puffed with pride. “So, as you can see, Griff, she isn’t anything special. And she definitely isn’t worth asking to Homecoming. She’s exactly like the rest of the puck bunnies who want to get in your pants as soon as they find out you play for the LAU Hawks and is, therefore, a walking. Red. Flag.”

Puck bunnies. I hate puck bunnies. Not because they’re all walking red flags, but because I was raised with flawless Barbies hitting on my brothers and their friends before and after games as soon as they hit puberty. Oh, and let’s not forget the ones who chased after my dad and uncle when they played professionally. Yeah, a real joy. Honestly, I’m still not sure how my mom and aunts waved it off so easily.

And here’s another one…staring at me from my brother’s phone. Predictably gorgeous and annoyingly confident in a way I’ll never be able to emulate, let alone pull off. Instead, I’m sweet, innocent Dylan. The little sister who likes to tag along. Always watching and never experiencing. Never being taken seriously. Not after the accident, anyway. And if a girl like her is getting a bad rap, then what does Oliver Reeves think of me?

Leaning back in my chair, I keep my arms folded and glare at him, way more annoyed than I have any right to be, as he gloats shamelessly.

“I think you’re being a superficial asshole,” I decide.

His brows jump, but he doesn’t look offended. He looks impressed. “Did you just say asshole?”

I rest my elbows on the table, attempting to hide the heat in my cheeks as everyone stares at me.

“Glad to see someone’s calling it like it is,” Everett interjects dryly.

Reeves’ attention shifts to him for a split second but slides back to me. “What about my prediction makes me superficial?”

I should backpedal. I should stop talking altogether. I should?—

“Tell me,” he pushes.

“You act like you know everything about this girl based on a few photos.”

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