A little tempting, p.1
A Little Tempting, page 1
A LITTLE TEMPTING
KELSIE RAE
CONTENTS
Prologue
1. Dylan
2. Reeves
3. Dylan
4. Dylan
5. Dylan
6. Dylan
7. Dylan
8. Reeves
9. Reeves
10. Dylan
11. Dylan
12. Dylan
13. Dylan
14. Reeves
15. Dylan
16. Dylan
17. Reeves
18. Dylan
19. Dylan
20. Reeves
21. Dylan
22. Dylan
23. Reeves
24. Dylan
25. Reeves
26. Dylan
27. Reeves
28. Dylan
29. Dylan
30. Dylan
31. Reeves
32. Dylan
33. Dylan
34. Dylan
35. Dylan
36. Reeves
37. Dylan
38. Reeves
39. Dylan
40. Dylan
41. Reeves
42. Reeves
43. Reeves
Epilogue
Hijacked Epilogue
Also by Kelsie Rae
Dear Reader
About the Author
PROLOGUE
REEVES
Funerals are a bitch. I’ve been to more than I can count. Okay, I could technically count if I wanted to pull up a spreadsheet, but who has time for that shit? It’s surprising how many single women will pay for someone to be their plus-one instead of showing up to a funeral alone. With fake tears and a fake boyfriend half their age on their arm, the combination has only amplified my apathy for the whole thing. When I die, they can donate my body to science and throw a kick-ass party with alcohol, ladies, and food.
Good food.
And no one’s allowed to wear black, either. I hate black. Black is like a virus. It spreads. It devours. It swallows every other color and transforms it into more of the same. Black. Black. Black. I hate black.
The service was nice, I guess. Maverick, my best friend, and his family spoke. They shared some pretty funny stories and had the guests laughing, which is no easy feat considering the circumstances. At least they weren’t fake. To be fair, I’ve known the Buchanans for a while now. None of them are fake. Ever. I appreciate it about them. The food’s decent, too. Not my style. I’d take a big juicy burger or a slice of chocolate cake over a chicken salad sandwich and fruit any day of the week, but I’m not complaining.
We just gotta make it through today.
Don’t get me wrong. My best friend lost his twin. His parents lost a son. I lost a roommate, teammate, and friend. So did the rest of the guys. Yeah, accepting Archer’s absence will be a bitch for all of us, but we’re gonna be okay. Gonna get through this. I should know. I’m a pro. Been getting over family deaths since I could walk. Fuck, I had family dying before my first breath. My mom passed while giving birth to me, and my dad? Well, let’s say he won’t let me forget it.
Yeah. Everyone moves on. Everyone has to. Disney had it right. It’s the circle of life, even when we don’t want to accept it.
I snatch a grape from the banquet table and pop it into my mouth, scanning the large room for entertainment. I like watching people. Seeing how they interact. How they handle their grief when no one’s looking. And even if they catch me watching them, it’s not like they care. I’m Reeves. The shallow asshole with his head up his ass. It’s not like I’m paying attention anyway, right?
I watch Mav and Ophelia, his girlfriend, talk to their parents with their hands interlocked. He’s right out of the hospital after a two-week stay. Apparently, recovering from a heart transplant isn’t for the faint of heart.
Ha! No pun intended.
Maverick’s staying with his parents for the next little while, and I doubt I’ll see much of Ophelia until he’s back in our house. It’s a shame. I kind of like her. I wonder if her roommates will be just as scarce, but I doubt it. Finley’s a social butterfly and isn’t afraid to force Dylan to be her wingwoman.
Good.
Dylan needs someone to push her.
I tear my attention from Mav and Ophelia, browsing the room like I would Netflix.
Griffin, Everett, and Jaxon are throwing back a few beers with some of Archer’s internship buddies. I bet a hundred bucks they’re replaying some of Archer’s finest moments on the ice since they all huddle around Everett’s phone. I might be wrong, but I doubt it. And Rory’s in the corner, her eyes swollen and puffy as she stares at Jaxon from across the room. Fuck, the longing in those baby blues is gonna land her in trouble one day.
It’s a good thing Jax is oblivious, or I’d break his hand for touching someone underage. To be fair, he wouldn’t cross the line even if he did know the girl’s in love with him. Jax doesn’t have a dishonorable bone in his body. It’s one of the main reasons I respect the bastard. But as soon as Rory turns eighteen, I have a hunch all bets will be off, and she’ll get sick of waiting for him to see her as anyone other than a little kid.
And when the day comes, I'll pop some popcorn because that shit will be entertaining as fuck.
With a smirk, I steal another grape and continue perusing today’s crowd.
Aaaand there it is.
Finley, Finley, Finley, I tsk.
She curses at someone on her phone. I bet it’s her boyfriend. I heard they’re having problems despite Finley's insistence it’s all rainbows and butterflies between her and Drew. Two hundred bucks says he’s already sleeping with some sorority girl in one of his classes. Finley’s smart, though. She’ll figure it out. She might have to take off her rose-colored glasses and overcompensating optimism to get there, but I have faith in her.
And then there’s Dylan.
My gaze falls on the little wallflower despite myself. Black glasses are perched on her button nose, and I tilt my head in surprise. I’ve never seen her wear glasses.
We’ve hung out a couple of times. Not one-on-one. The girl would probably have a heart attack if we did, but since one of her brothers is my roommate, and my best friend is dating her cousin, we’ve crossed paths a time or two. She reminds me of Daenerys Targaryen. Not the seventh-season badass, but the baby deer from season one with wide eyes and a hint of naivety that’s hot as fuck.
Pretty sure her brothers would kill me if I started messing with her. Pretty sure Everett would, too. Everett’s another of my roommates. I can’t figure out if his fascination with her is due to her being a family friend or if his feelings run any deeper.
I’m not sure I want to find out.
Or maybe I do.
I’ve always been a sucker for poking the bear, especially when the stick up his ass is practically welded there.
Snatching another grape from the banquet table, I toss it into my mouth, stride toward Dylan, and tuck my hands into the front pockets of my slacks.
When she catches me approaching, she shrinks in on herself and folds her arms.
“You know,” I start. “I heard a rumor that if a dude takes Viagra and dies, his dick stays hard indefinitely.”
She covers her snort with her hand and shakes her head. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“Definitely joking. You think I’d Google that shit?” I shiver. “I might look like an idiot and have even convinced Maverick to Google a thing or two, but I learned my lesson in sixth grade when I had to write a book report on Harry Potter.” I drop my voice a little lower. “Fell down the rabbit hole of Dramione, and let me tell you, there is some fanfic art you cannot unsee, my dear Dylan.”
“What’s Dramione?”
Brows raised, I explain, “Draco and Hermione? Dramione?”
She frowns. “Doesn’t she end up with Ron?”
With a scoff, I throw my arm over her shoulders. “Aw, my sweet, innocent little Dylan. She might end up with Ron in the real books, but everyone’s a sucker for a good opposites-attract, enemies-to-lovers story, don’t you think?”
“I, uh,” she hesitates. “I never really thought about it, so…I’m not sure?”
“Is that a question?” The edge of my mouth curves up.
She lifts a shoulder, and her blue-green eyes fall to the ground. Even with her glasses shielding her, I notice how puffy they are. And damp and free of makeup. Like she didn’t give a shit about getting ready for the outside world today. No. This is Dylan Thorne. The original girl next door.
She’s a pretty little wallflower. I’ll give her that much.
“Since when do you wear glasses?” I prod.
She touches the edge of her black frames. “Oh. I, uh…always, I guess?”
“I’ve never seen you in them.”
“I usually wear contacts, but sometimes they give me a headache, especially when I’ve been crying a lot and—”
“Dylan!” Everett snaps from across the room. “Come over here.”
Peeking up at me, Dylan slips from beneath my arm and scoots her glasses along the bridge of her nose. “Nice chatting with you, Reeves. I’ll, uh, see you around.”
She darts across the funeral home into Everett’s waiting arms like the baby deer I pegged her for.
Yeah, I fucking called it.
Everett wants in Dylan’s pants.
The question is, does she want him there?
Only one way to find out…
1
DYLAN
It’s of
Yeah.
Talk about turning a girl’s world upside down.
This year’s going to be a real treat, I can tell.
Tucking my thumbs beneath my backpack straps on my shoulders, I take a deep breath and head inside the massive brick building in front of me. The long hallway is jammed with students, each rushing toward their class like the rest of us. Keeping my eyes glued to the ground in front of me, I dodge a couple arguing on my left and run smack-dab into a very hard chest.
A pair of hands fly to my elbows to keep me from falling flat on my butt, though I’m too surprised to be grateful.
“Whoa, you okay?” a familiar masculine voice asks.
I lift my chin and draw in a breath. It’s laced with relief when I meet a pair of familiar blue eyes. “Oh. Hey, Everett.”
My best friend’s older brother ushers me to the side of the long hallway and lets me go. “You shouldn’t be looking at your feet when you walk, Dylan.”
“Yeah, but if I look up, I have to make eye contact with people, and if I make eye contact with people, they might try to talk to me, and talking to people gives me hives, so…”
“You’re talking to me,” he points out dryly.
“You don’t count. You’re family,” I remind him.
Okay, technically, we aren’t related. Still, all of our parents went to college together and raised their kids to be one big, happy family of cousins. So, blood or not, he means way more to me than anyone else in this building. He’s actually seen me in my not-so-awkward glory, which is kind of a miracle since awkward is my go-to whether I like it or not.
With a wrinkled brow, Everett pulls the backpack strap a little higher onto my shoulder, his cool blue eyes rolling over every inch of me as if he’s searching for said hives and whether or not he has time to grab some cream from the nearest pharmacy when a girl calls his name behind me.
“Hey, Everett!”
His gaze flicks away from me toward the culprit while he pastes on a smirk most girls would swoon over. “Hey, Morgan.”
“You gonna walk me to class?” She bats her long, dark lashes at him, and I bite back my snort.
Subtle, girlfriend. Really subtle.
“Give me a sec,” Everett replies. He turns to me again, his brows bunching. “Where’s your class?”
I lift a shoulder, take my phone from my back pocket, and pull up my already-memorized schedule. “Photography. Room 301.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“Dude, I’m fine.”
“Do you know where you’re going?” he challenges.
No.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t believe me, so he motions to the stairs on my right anyway. “Two floors up. First room on the left. You got it?”
“Yup.”
“You sure?” he pushes.
“One hundred percent.” With a mock salute, I repeat, “Two floors up. First room on the right.”
“Left,” he corrects me.
“Right. Left.” I pat his chest and step away, wiggling my fingers in a half-assed wave. “See you around, Everett.”
“Not if you’re staring at your feet,” he counters.
I roll my eyes but don’t reply as I make my way toward the stairs. Everett’s always been this way. Overprotective. Bossy. And with a side of holier-than-thou. It makes me want to smack him more often than not. Then again, he’s also thoughtful, sharp as a tack, and drop-dead gorgeous thanks to his dark, straight hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a wide smile with straight white teeth he uses to lure in the ladies. The combination allows him to get away with almost anything, including the less-than-adorable traits I already mentioned.
Yeah. Good ol’ Everett. Can’t live with him. Can’t live without him. But at least I know where I’m going now. Thanks to my less-than-stellar sense of direction, it’s a freaking miracle. I tug my backpack straps a little tighter and take a deep breath.
Photography, here I come.
The classroom is exactly like I expected. Smaller, maybe, but otherwise? Yup. It’s exactly like high school. Tan walls. A whiteboard at the front of the room. Rows of black, rectangular desks set up with two chairs tucked beneath them. And scratchy, dark carpet to camouflage any spills.
Yummy.
I make my way to the back of the room, slip off my backpack, tuck it beneath the vacant, two-person desk, and sit down on the far end. Maybe if I’m lucky, the chair beside mine will stay empty. A girl can dream, can’t she? When the cool plastic seeps into my bare thighs, I shiver, making a mental note to wear jeans for the rest of my classes since, apparently, the school enjoys blasting the air conditioning way too much for me to be comfortable in shorts and a tank top.
After pulling out a notepad and pen, I check the clock on the wall. There are still a few more minutes until class starts. The room slowly fills with people, but the chair to my right remains empty. I thank my lucky stars, playing with my cell and counting down the seconds. Maybe this class won’t be so bad after all.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the teacher announces. Dr. Broderick. Or at least it’s the name on my schedule. His navy button-up shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, almost camouflaging the beer belly hidden underneath. There’s a slight stain on his khakis, and his hair is a disheveled mess of brown and silver. He’s probably in his…forties? Honestly, I’m not sure. He isn’t smiling, though, and I can’t decide whether or not we’ll vibe well or if my clumsiness will get on his nerves.
I’ve tried to curb it. The way my balance catapults me into awkward scenarios. But thanks to my head injury, my equilibrium isn’t always one hundred percent. While some find it endearing, others find it annoying. And annoying your teacher isn’t exactly a goal one should have if they want to pass the class. Trust me, I know from personal experience.
Leaning his butt against the desk at the front of the room, he continues. “Welcome to Photography 101. My name is—”
The door slaps against the tan-painted cinder block wall, and my head snaps toward the room’s entrance. The girls in front of me giggle quietly when they recognize the culprit. Reeves lifts his head when he hears it, catching them as they blatantly check out one of LAU’s favorite hockey players. With a shameless smirk, he lifts his chin at them in a silent hello. It’s casual and innocent and so freaking smooth I’m full-blown jealous. Not of the girls in front of me, but at how the bastard’s so damn comfortable in his own skin, it’s borderline annoying.
Then again, I guess he’s earned his right to be confident and comfortable.
Our school is known for quite a few sports, but hockey? Around here, it’s king, and the fans are all loyal subjects. Everyone knows the players, including my older brother, Griffin. Griff is the new captain this year after replacing my other older brother who graduated at the end of last season. Everett is Griffin’s right-hand man on and off the ice, and…then there’s Reeves. The man smirking at the girls in front of me, knowing with a single look he could have any of them at his beck and call. Hell, he probably already does.
Yeah, I’m well aware of who the infamous Reeves is. He’s so high and mighty the guy doesn’t even need a full name. He’s like Cher or Madonna or…I dunno? Who else is famous and only uses one name? Pop culture is the last thing on my radar, but it’s not the point. The point is, it's hard not to notice a guy like him. One who’s cocky and sarcastic and has every right to wear his confidence the way he does. He’s attractive. Talented. And even nice in an I’m an asshole, but don’t let it get to you kind of way. I blame the warm chocolate eyes, perfectly messy chestnut hair, olive skin, and devilish smirk I’m pretty sure is tattooed onto his face. The sharp jaw, tall stature, and broad shoulders don’t hurt either. He isn’t known for being tied down, but from what I heard, he’s more than willing to show a girl a good time. And if my best friend, Finley, is correct, he’s shown a lot of girls a good time during his three years at LAU.
