Page 85 of A Little Tempting

“I know, and you’re right. It doesn’t really matter, but not knowing has driven me crazy, and ever since the party, you’ve acted strange around me. So it’s left me trying to pinpoint whether or not I’mactuallygoing crazy.”

When he stays quiet, my anxiety eats at my stomach lining, leaving me more than a little uncomfortable as I hold his stare. Or at least try to. The guy looks like he’d rather study the beams along the ceiling than the girl he asked to Homecoming.

“So you’re not interested,” I mutter. “Or am I so dense I can’t tell the difference?”

“Dylan…” He says my name again, dragging it out, leaving me hanging until I want to claw at my ears to erase the weight accompanying it.

“Did you, or did you not, kiss me at the party?” I demand.

“If I say it wasn’t me, are you gonna run to Reeves?” he counters.

“Would you care if I did?”

“I don’t know?” He shakes his head, frustrated. “Yes. Yes, I’d care.”

“Why?”

“We’ve already had this conversation, and I don’t want to have it again.”

“Did. You. Kiss me?” I grit out.

“Yes,” Everett snaps. “Yes, I kissed you, but it didn’t mean anything, so will you let it go?”

We aren’t dancing anymore. We’re just…standing here. In the middle of the dance floor. The strobe lights shining down on us make me feel like I’m under interrogation. Or maybe he is. Honestly, I don’t even know anymore. I feel…blindsided. And incredibly stupid.

“If it didn’t mean anything, why did you ask me to Homecoming?”

Nostrils flaring, he grinds out, “I asked you to come as a friend.”

“Yeah, and I would’ve assumed so if you hadn’t interrupted Reeves mid-sentence when he was trying to ask me to be his date.”

“Dylan…”

“Stop saying my name like that,” I order. “Like I’m your little sister’s awkward friend, and you’re trying to let me down easy.”

His eyes close for a brief second, his lips nothing but a slash of white on his sharp features.

“So youaretrying to let me down easy,” I realize. “Let me get this straight. You kissed me, then asked me to a dance. Not because you actually wanted to be my date, but because if you didn’t, you were afraid your friend would. And it’s a problem because…?”

“Don’t do this,” he murmurs, and I can’t decide if it’s a plea or an order. “Not here.”

“Don’t do what? Force you to have a conversation instead of letting you hide behind bullshit excuses like guilt?” I spit.

“This has nothing to do with guilt.”

“This has everything to do with guilt,” I realize, too numb to pull away when he reaches for me. “You don’t want me caught up with Reeves because you think I’m too fragile to handle the potential fallout. Am I right?”

His expression twists with unease. “Dylan?—”

“And you think I’m fragile because you saw me at my weakest, and you’re convinced I never recovered.” I nod, hating how easily the pieces finally fall into place since I’m facing them head-on instead of shoving them under the rug like everyone else. “Yeah, you hit me in the head when we were kids, Everett. And yeah, it fucked up my eyesight and any future I had of being a professional hockey player, but guess what? I accepted it. I moved past it. Whatever screwed-up obligation you have when it comes to…whatever the hell this is, because let’s be honest, it sure as shit isn’t a friendship to you. Well? You can let it go. You owe me nothing. And I’m tired of accommodating you and your bullshit, overprotective actions hoping to ease whatever guilt you still carry. It’s not on me to let it go. I already have. This is on you. Goodnight, Everett.” I slip out of his hold. My body feels like it’s attached to a car battery, and I’ll be electrocuted at any second. I need to get out of here. I need to clear my head and swallow the shame filling every inch of my body for honestly believing the connection I felt with Cinderfella was anything more than physical. And even then, it must’ve been one-sided because this? This is so embarrassing I legitimately might puke.

Everett’s attention darts around the dance floor like he’s afraid I’m making a scene. When he steps closer, he keeps his voice low, gritting out, “Where are you going, Dylan?”

“I’m not sure it’s any of your business.” He grabs my arm again, attempting to keep me from bolting, but I jerk away. “Don’t follow me.”

I head to the empty table, grab my clutch, and rush out the door.

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