I'm done with go no-where guys. I'm not looking for another short term boyfriend who just wants to "have fun" and "chill" for a little while.
Maybe I wasn't as ready to get married and start a family right out of high school as I thought I was back then, but I am now.
My friends might think I'm kinda boujee, but I like having nice things. I like looking and feel good and the people I do business with have certain expectations of the person who's in charge of making sure their special event is going to be just as impressive happening in Landsburg as if they'd had it someplace with clout.
When I do find my happily ever after, I don't want to wait to start a family until we can "afford" it.
I want a house, we'll need a car that can hold a car seat-- or two, I want to do the full Pinterest-worthy mom thing, and I don't want to give up my hair and nails to do it.
My job pays well enough. I don't need a man to support me, but I do need a man who brings more the table than good dick...but good dick is definitely a priority.
I'm looking for a man who wants to be a partner in every way that a strong home needs. Someone with a solid career and a commitment to his family.
This is my future I'm talking about, and there's no future with a guy like Spencer.
Still. Something about him just gets to me.
I know my friends like to tease me for crushing on him, but it's more than that. If Spence was more stable maybe. If he knew what he wanted in life-- if what he wanted in life was me. Then I might be willing to take a chance with him.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I try to get back to mapping out my vision for the Jansen anniversary party.
Fifty years.
Carl and Wanda's celebration deserves my undivided attention.
While I try to focus on picking decorations and reserving catering and entertainment, however, I find myself daydreaming about what I hope my own 50th wedding anniversary will be like.
Is it wrong that I keep picturing Spencer beside me?
Spencer
"Hey."
It's lame. I know it.
What I want to say is "marry me," or at least "let me make you dinner," but judging from the look on Paige's face, going with "hey" was probably my best opener after all.
"Hey," she says it cautiously after a pause, as if it's a trick question.
She does a double take and squints at me.
"What--?" Her hand goes to her face and her fingers slide over her chin.
I'm too distracted by her soft pink nail polish on the fake nails to catch on to what she means.
I've dated chicks that get their nails done before. I love it. I love how creative some people can be with such a small canvas.
Paige doesn't wear hers very long and she doesn't get into the art aspect, she keeps hers real professional looking.
Right now I'm thinking about how they'd feel dancing over my skin. Sure, those nails make for great backscratchers-- but I want to feel them in a lot more places than just my back.
Thinking about Paige's fingers wrapped around me has my dick paying way more attention than is convenient at the moment.
I have to shift my focus quick to keep from embarrassing myself.
"Oh," I realize what she's getting at and my hand mirrors hers as my fingers touch my clean shaven face, "yeah. Gone."
"Looks good," she tells me, "grown up."
She's standing outside her office with her bag hanging on her shoulder and a stack of brochures and magazines in her arms, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
Can't blame her, I guess. I did sort of ambush her, knowing she'd be getting off work right about now.
"Let me help." I move quickly, taking the stack of paperwork from her before she can protest.
"Thanks," she tells me quietly.
She turns to lock up her office and I wait.
I feel like a kid in middle school, trying to carry some girl's books to her class to impress her. I remember trying that once, thinking I was being chivalrous and romantic and shit.
Turns out Cindy Lewin thought I was creepy and chauvinistic.
I don't think that's a problem with Paige though.
"So you're back in town?" Paige asks as she heads down the steps of the little house that's been converted to an office where her office is with me close behind her.
"Yup."
I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to say? Everything sucks without you? Not just cheesy but probably coming on too strong too.
"I didn't think you'd be back before Reagan and Molly's wedding," she tells me as she unlocks her car and grabs the stuff I'm carrying for her.
Our hands touch as she takes the stack of brochures from me.
To me, it feels like aloe vera on a sunburn; cool, soothing, a total relief.
Paige's eyes lock on mine as her hands freeze against me. Her pupils are dilated and I can see the flush spreading up her neck and into her cheeks.
She's breathing fast and her lips fall open just a tad.
For a second time stands still around us, just like it did the last time I was this close to her.
I think about kissing her.
I swear she wants me to, but just when I start to lean forward, she ducks.
Just like the last time I was this close to her.
"Well it was nice seeing you, Spencer," she tells me with her words all rushed together as she shuts the back door of her car and grabs the handle to the driver's door, "I'm sure I'll see you around, are you going back to work at the Boat Dock?"
While she talks, she practically jumps into the car, buckles her seatbelt, and starts the engine. She's already got her hand on the door to pull it shut without giving me time to answer.
"Hey, hold up Paige," I step forward and crouch down, keeping her from being able to drive off before I get to say anything relevant. "I was hoping we could talk."
She's wearing a short skirt and some tall boots. When she sat down, the skirt rode up her thighs and now that I'm down at practically eye level with those thighs, it's hard not to rest my hand on her knee. Maybe let my fingers creep upward.
I've known Paige is mine since I first saw her-- it's hard not to touch her. Not to kiss her. Not to treat her like she's already my woman.
"About what?"
Her voice is shaky and I can see her nips poking out even through her bra under the tight sweater she has on.
It's so obvious that I'm not the only one that feels this way, why does she insist on fighting our connection?
"About us," I tell her plainly.
"Spence, there is no us."
Her voice has some of its strength back but not a lot of conviction.
"I told you before--"
"Yeah, yeah. Paige, I know about your pact. I don't care about that, that's not what I'm talking about."
"What are you talking about then?"
"I don't know. Dinner seems like a good place to start." I crack a smile, hoping to break the tension.
"Start?" She gives me a glare, "That's exactly what I mean, Spencer. There's no point in starting. There's nothing after that."
"You're wrong about that," I tell her pointedly, "and you know it."
Paige closes her eyes and sighs deeply.
Her lashes brush against her cheeks and it kills me not to cradle her face in my palm.
"Spence, I told you--"
"You told me you want a future, Paige," my voice is firm, "you told me you want a family and a house and that you aren't going to waste any more time with losers who aren't playing on the same level."
She opens her eyes and stares at me.
"You cut your hair too?"
Apparently she hadn't noticed.
I drop my head forward and revel in the feel of her fingers on the back of my neck when she reaches out to touch where my hair used to always be pulled back in a pony tail or a loose bun.
"Dinner, Paige," I repeat when she takes her hand away, "have dinner with me. I have a lot to tell you."
Paige
I don't know why I'm doing this.
Swallowing hard, I push the car door open and get out. Then I suck in a lungful of air and straighten my skirt before heading toward the front door of the house that Spencer gave me the address to.
It's a nice little bungalow. An older home in one of Landsburg's original neighborhoods. Probably built in the 50s, it's a simple box with wood siding painted a pretty sky blue with white trim.
The yard is well-maintained and I bet most of the shrubs flower in the spring time.
Right now, most of Landsburg is caught between the bright colors of autumn and the bare branches of winter.
There's a tree in the back yard of this house that looks like it still has leaves on it, but it'd hard to tell what colors they might be since it's well after dark already at seven o'clock.
This isn't Reagan's place. That's on the other side of town.
Spence's van isn't in the driveway and it's too tall to fit in the detached garage next to the house.
I double check the address against the one Spence gave me.
This is it.
I'm in the right place.
Which means I'm so in the wrong place.
Anywhere near Spencer is the exact opposite of where I ought to be.
If I thought he was sex incarnate with the long hair and the scruffy beard, I don't stand a chance against clean shaven, grown up hair cut Spence.
"Hey."
The front door of the little house opens and there he is, silhouetted against the rectangle of light shining from inside.
"You made it."
He sounds surprised. And so damn grateful it melts my heart-- and my resolve.
"I did say I'd come," I answer.
I think I sound like a teenager, all giddy and a little goofy. I don't want to sound giddy. I want to sound dry and detached.
I need to channel my inner Bailey. Bailey never sounds goofy or desperate. She's always cool and confident. Bailey's my badass role model.
Spencer steps out of the light from inside the house and onto the front porch of the little blue house. In the softer light I can see his features more clearly; the newly cropped hair that's so much darker than his brother's, the strong jaw, the wide grin.
Square shoulders, broad chest that narrows to a trim waist, same casual jeans that are just a touch loose at the waist but still snug on the thighs.
Speaking of thighs, mine are quivering.
Have I mentioned this is a bad idea?
Agreeing to have dinner with this man was a bad enough plan, agreeing to let him cook for me was just plain stupid.
At least if we'd gone out, we'd be in public and there'd be far less chance of me ending up being dessert.
The best I can hope for is that whoever Spence is living with now is home.
Not that I have much hope for that.
"Come on in," he tells me, meeting me halfway down the walk way and then leading me back up to the door, "Let me show you the place."
It's a cute little one bedroom.
No room for a room mate.
I'm fucked.
While I walked through the small house, listening to Spencer's brief tour, I try not to think about how literally that could end up being.
"Not much for decorating, are you?" I tease.
The place is pretty sparse.
"I'm not planning on staying here long," Spencer tells me, giving me a look that makes my heart hammer like it's trying to break out of my ribcage.
And, at the same time, I feel something inside drop in disappointment.
He's not staying.
I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
He was never planning on putting down roots in Landsburg.
Every conversation we had last summer was about his van, his plan to drive it down to the tip of Baja and back, how he didn't know where he was going to end up. How his life hadn't gone as planned and now he's just drifting, in search of what he calls his lightning rod-- something that will ground him and give him a sense of home and purpose.
Realizing just how disappointed I am to hear that he's not planning on staying in Landsburg after all means I have to face the fact that I was hoping...I guess I was hoping, maybe, that this dinner and whatever he keeps saying he wants to "talk" about was going to be more about those late night summer talks than talking me into breaking the pact.
"Spencer, what's going on?" I ask, accepting the glass of wine he hands me when we reach the kitchen.
"This is about dinner, Paige," he assures me with one of those smiles that turns me to mush inside, "Just dinner. For starters."
He raises his own glass in an almost toast.
"Go sit," he instructs, "I've got everything ready."
He ushers me to the little table set for two in the dining room while he disappears through the back door with a wooden cutting board and a set of tongs.
And now I'm stuck.
With a glass of wine that I'm drinking way too fast, a stomach that's growling at the scent of red meat, and the words "for starters" ringing in my ears like a warning bell.
Spencer
It's hard not to get distracted by how much I want her.
Paige is the kind of woman that likes nice things. She's got the hair, the nails, the makeup-- but she doesn't overdo it and she sure as hell isn't shallow or vain.
I got the chance to get to know her well enough last summer to know that anyone that thinks that is missing out on a whole lot of what's underneath.
Still, she does pretty like a fucking boss.
Long, blonde hair hanging down her back in loose curls, tight sweater and short skirt, tall boots, luscious deep pink lipstick that's begging to get kissed off-- and all that fear of getting in too deep again just waiting for the right guy to give her a reason to trust again.
While I pull the steaks and the veggies off the grill, I reminisce about the conversations we shared just a few months ago and I remind my libido that Paige isn't ready yet.
When I bring the plated food to the table I notice the way Paige eyes the steak on her plate-- so rare that it's practically still mooing-- and I can't help but envy that slab of beef.
I wish she drooled over me like that.
"You remembered how I like my steak?" She sounds genuinely surprised as she waits till I'm seated across from her before she attacks the meat.
"Yeah, it's kinda hard to forget 'raw,' " I laugh in reply.
"Well, it is a little over done," she teases as she cuts a bite-size piece off the end.
Over done my ass, a good vet could bring that steak back to life, but I know she's kidding.
I remember grilling for her and the rest of Molly's girlfriends at the end of the summer, after Moll and Reagan got together for good and before I took off on what was supposed to be my epic new nomad life.
I knew Paige was a carnivore from serving her brunch all summer, but I had no idea just how serious she took her steak till I was in charge of grilling one for her.
My woman is no vegetarian, that's for damn sure.
Right now, she has her eyes closed as she chews, she looks like she's in heaven and all I can think is how bad I want to see if that's the same look she gets when I'm eating her pussy.
"This is good," she tells me, snapping out of her ecstasy and looking a little self conscious. "Thank you for dinner, you didn't have to go through all this trouble for me."
"Paige, it's a couple of steaks and some grilled veggies, this is pretty much dinner every night for me-- except when I order pizza."
She smiles at me and I swear my toes curl.
"But you are free to think I put in a ton of work on impressing you if it makes you want to get naked and jump in my lap."
I wiggle my eyebrows at her, hoping for a laugh.
I almost get one.
The corners of Paige's lips fight not to curl and she rolls her eyes at me at the same time she does one of those little hair flips that girls like Paige do.
"Spence."<
br />
My name on her lips is all I ever need to hear-- even when she's scolding me.
"Just sayin', " I tell her.
She takes a hearty drink from her wine glass and dabs the corner of her mouth delicately with her napkin.
"We had this talk," she reminds me quietly without looking me in the eye. "If that's why you wanted me to come over tonight..."
She lets the sentence die unfinished.
"Yeah, Paige," I take a swig of liquid courage from my own wine glass, "You're right, we had this talk. We had a lot of talks, and it's time we had another one."
I watch her stop in mid chew and her eyes widen as she braves a look at me.
"Paige, it's been killing me to wait for this, but I needed to make sure I had all my ducks in a row before I popped the question."
For a second I'm worried she's about to choke on that last bite of steak.
Her pupils dilate and she grabs the wine and manages to drain the glass in two gulps before coughing out my name.
"Spencer?"
It's part question and part warning.
"Calm down," I don't exactly back-peddle.
"You know everything about me, Paige. You know all about what I thought my life was going to be and how my plans got blown to shit after getting my masters.
"You know how ungrounded I've felt for the last couple of years now and why I did the backpacking trip and why I came to Landsburg, why I built the van, why I went to Baja...but what you don't know is that the further away I got from here, the worse that ungrounded feeling got, Paige."
She fidgets in her chair and I think I'd probably better lighten up and give her a break. So I clear the table and refill her wine glass, giving her a little time to soak in what I'm telling her.
"So you missed Landsburg?"
She sounds disappointed.
"Hell yeah," I laugh, "I missed this crazy place all right. I missed the Boat Dock, I missed the Hut, I missed playing horse shoes over at the park, I missed teaching guitar down at the center. I missed mooching beer off my big brother and I didn't want to miss watching him get hitched and I sure as hell don't want to miss out on being an uncle."
Paige smiles at me but it's not her happiest smile. Not the smile I know she has. Not the smile I want to see.
The Last First Kiss (The Do-Over Pact Book 2) Page 2