Page 75 of A Little Tempting
“Uh…”
Anywhere but here?
I bite the inside of my cheek. “I can stay in Everett’s?—”
“Gonna stop you right there.” His hand envelops mine before he steals my backpack from my fingers. “You should stay.”
“Reeves, I’m fine.”
“Nah. I think I owe you at least that much, don’t you?”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
He sets the backpack on the ground, grabs one of the hoodie strings, and softly tugs on it. “I think I do.”
“Seriously, Reeves?—”
“I want to apologize.”
I’d laugh if his words weren’t so ludicrous.
Exasperated, I ask, “For what?”
“For not taking the shot.”
My brows bunch, and my pulse throbs. “What?”
“For passing to Everett instead of taking the shot,” he clarifies.
Fisting the sleeves of the stolen hoodie into my palms, I fold my arms. “It’s, uh, it’s not a big deal.”
“For me, it is.”
“If it was a big deal, why did you pass?” I shake my head. “Actually, don’t answer. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Can I ask you something?”
It’s a weighted question, and even though I know I should say no so I can end this conversation as quickly as possible and get the hell out of here, I find myself nodding.
Slowly, he leans closer, crowding me against the edge of the bed until I’ll either tumble onto it or push him away, and for some reason I can’t explain, I don’t want to do either. “Why’d you say no when I asked you to Homecoming?”
“I didn’t?—”
“You kind of did,” he counters. “The real question is, did you reject me because you didn’t want to hurt Everett’s feelings or because you actually like the bastard? Or is it because you want to hold out for your Cinderfella?”
My hand finds his chest, and I rest it over his heart, hoping to push him away, but I hesitate as his questions filter through me. The heat from his flesh seeps out from the thin fabric of his shirt, making me want to curl into him to steal his warmth. I won’t. I’m not an idiot. But a girl can dream, can’t she? Besides, talking about one or multiple other men while standing in nothing but a hoodie in a guy’s room has to be dangerous, doesn’t it?
I run my tongue along the edge of my bottom lip and whisper, “Who says Everett isn’t Cinderfella?”
His chuckle is almost dark and twisted as he lifts my chin again, but instead of finding warmth in his gaze, there’s a glint of iciness. It makes me want to retreat. To take back whatever I said because it’s clearly cut him in a way I never intended.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” he mutters. “Let’s say it’s Everett, and he actually has a chance of living up to your unrealistic expectations based on a single interaction. You aren’t pissed he’s kept it from you?”
I nibble my bottom lip, unsure what to say or even if I have a strong opinion on the matter. I mean, yeah. It’s kind of a dick thing to do. We grew up together, and he kisses me out of the blue and doesn’t say anything when there were more than a handful of girls he could’ve pursued that night instead? But it’s Everett. Kind Everett. Bossy Everett. Respectful Everett. It makes sense why he wouldn’t want to rock the boat unless his feelings meant something…more. And the fact he asked me to Homecoming? It has to mean something. Doesn’t it?
“No answer, Pickles?” Reeves prods.
“Maybe he’s waiting…”