Page 30 of A Little Tempting
“Don’t get me wrong,” a familiar voice interrupts. I nearly jump out of my skin as I turn to find Reeves staring down at me. “You’re cute when you’re hot and bothered, but should I be jealous?”
Without a word, I turn in my seat, untuck my hair from behind my ear so I can use it as a shield, and start doodling on the edge of my notebook, attempting to appear unaffected by my classmate’s presence while my stomach flip-flops over and over again.
“Aw, so I take it Ishouldbe jealous,” Reeves notes as the familiar scrape of his chair vibrates down my spine, and he sits beside me. “I’ll keep it in mind.” A quiet tap follows. I look to my left, finding a Bean Scene cup scooting toward me. “Pumpkin spice, right?” He offers me the cup, then brings a matching one to his lips and takes a swig.
“You bought me coffee?” I ask.
He nods.
“Why?”
“Guess I was craving something sweet and figured you might be, too.”
My lips gnash together, and I stare at the cup like it’s laced with poison, but I remember my manners and how freaking cold it is in this classroom.
“Don’t worry,” he adds, “You won’t spill it on me.”
Praying he didn’t jinx me, I lift the cup and taste. “Thanks.” Sweet warmth coats my throat and heats my belly as I bring it closer, practically hugging the cup to my chest.
With a quiet rumble of amusement, he asks, “You cold?”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
His eyes thin, and he slips off his maroon LAU hoodie, offering it to me. “Here.”
“I’m okay,” I start, but the bastard ignores me, scrunches up the fabric, finds the neck hole, and slips it over my head without waiting for my approval. It’s soft and worn like it’s been washed a thousand times, making the thick material more pliable and cozy, proving it’s one of his favorites.
“Reeves,” I mumble into the toasty fabric, but the words die on my tongue as his woodsy cologne and comfortable warmth wash over me in unison. Seriously. Why does he have to smell so good?
Fingers brush against mine as he steals my cup, helping me thread my arms through.
With a quick tug, he pulls the hood from the top of my head and leans back in his chair, grabbing his coffee and drinking some more. “Better?”
I feel like I’m wrapped in a warm hug. A super good-smelling, warm hug.
I nod softly, whispering, “Thank you.”
“No problem. So.” He scoots a little closer and leans his forearms on the desk. “Why were you blatantly checking out the guys in the back?”
My face flames, and I clear my throat. “No reason.”
“Liar.”
“I thought I maybe recognized one of them.”
He checks out the group behind us, then turns to me again. “From where?”
Shit.
Opening up the can of worms with the bold label “Costume party featuring Cinderfella” is the last thing I want to do.
“Uh, nowhere?” I lie.
“Liar,” he repeats wryly. “Tell me.”
“Seriously, it isn’t a big deal.”
“If it wasn’t, you’d tell me.”