Spencer shrugged, as if shedding the memory. “He invited me to spend Christmas with the family, to catch up. Things weren’t the same anymore, but we patched them up to the point we could move beyond that old pack-mentality friendship and reach more equal footing.”
It was a good story. That nagging voice was back, asking if she should be drawing parallels to her current situation. Taking a break from friends for a few years and moving across the country wasn’t the same as putting up with a guy at work who didn’t like her for some reason, until her contract was up.
Working through a job with an asshole colleague was a different matter entirely.
Telling herself that didn’t get rid of the nagging insistence that she examine things closer, but it didn’t provide her any answers, either.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Spencer kept the photo of twelve-year-old him to remind himself never again. That didn’t mean he delved into the past beyond a glance, most of the time. He didn’t think he’d ever shared so much of that story, and all Trina had to do to get it out of him, was ask.
As he looked at Trina, who watched him attentively, he understood why he dove down that rabbit hole.
“You didn’t come up here for this.” He laughed. “Let’s slaughter Hoarde.”
Understanding whispered across her face. “I’m in. I should warn you, though—I taught Tristan how to play Halo.”
“He doesn’t play.” Spencer didn’t mind delving into the past as much as he’d expected, but it was still nice to climb out. Back then, he thought he had no choice other than to be the funny fat friend. Now he didn’t understand how he put up with it for so long. Hindsight and all that.
“He does,” Trina said. “I taught him. After that Achilles injury? He needed a way to pass the time, and I kept him company.”
She would have been nine at the time.
“Tell me you beat him,” Spencer said.
She smirked. “You know my brother is incapable of losing gracefully, don’t you? I’m the only person who can beat him.”
Spencer found a perverse kind of amusement in that. “I’ll consider myself warned. Unless you’d rather play co-op.”
“That’s probably best. For your masculinity’s sake.” Her tone was playful.
“I appreciate that.” He liked this. It had been a long time since he could be himself, without wondering if the person he was talking was working an angle. It was nice.
Spencer didn’t remember when he fell asleep, but he was intensely aware of Trina’s warm body pressed against his when he woke up.
The ache in his groin, from the erection trapped inside jeans, was pretty hard to ignore too.
He extracted himself from her sleeping form. She mumbled and slid into the empty space on the couch, never opening her eyes.
He wasn’t going to be the weirdo who watched someone else sleep, regardless of how peaceful and gorgeous she looked, with her hair swept across her face and her dark lashes stark against her pale cheeks.
Besides, he needed to burn some excess energy. Some of it from the lingering traces of last night’s stroll down memory lane, and the rest from his attraction to her. Was he getting attached to someone he barely knew? Sure, he had second-hand information about Trina’s life. He wanted to know more about her from her.
First, Spencer needed to clear his head. He left her a note and went to grab his winter wetsuit.
As he headed out the door, he glanced back at her one more time. He was getting attached. He was okay with that if it meant more of Trina.
TRINA SMILED AT THE note sitting on the coffee table, folded so it stood directly in her line of sight when she opened her eyes. She sat up and stretched. Sleeping on the couch didn’t leave a crick in her neck. That was nice. The company had been nicer.
She picked up the creased notepaper and scanned Spencer’s neat script.
Outside, in the water. Join me on the beach when you wake up.
She could do that. The sun peeked over the horizon, slowly creeping up. She stepped on the back deck, and a stiff breeze brushed over her. The scent of the ocean was soothing. The cold, not so much. He wasn’t really in the water, was he?
A small silhouette moved against the backdrop of the morning sky. Apparently, he was.
Trina grabbed a blanket from the back of a deck chair. The same one he’d picked up the other night. The awkward memory tried to stall her, but she shoved the bad bits aside, lingering on the kiss, rather than on what came after.
She wrapped the throw around her shoulders and wandered along the sand. A few meters from the water, she settled down to watch and wait.
Without Spencer here, and with the still morning embracing her, her brain snapped free of its leash.
She liked Spencer. Probably even liked liked him. She felt safe. No. That wasn’t the right word. It was true, but she felt... wanted. In more than simply a sexual way.
More flashes of the kiss blinked in her head. There was more of a physical connection, too—the night at the club and the way he held her while they danced. But it was more. Like he wanted to be around her. Enjoyed her company as much as she did his.
She wanted to open up, the way he did last night. She had no idea how lead into a conversation like that, though. My ex-boyfriend was a massive jerk and made me question a lot of things, so thank you for putting up with my wishy-washiness. That would work.
Not.
Especially if she was reading him wrong. She did that with Leo. Completely misinterpreted the situation. And there was the indecision again. How she hadn’t missed it at all.
This was different, though. Doubt wanted her to think otherwise, but Spencer wasn’t being nice because she was Tristan’s sister. Or because he was a twisted fuck who thought he’d prove he could get in the virgin girl’s panties.
It was an odd revelation, like so much of last night, and she liked it. Spencer cared.
You thought that about Leo, too.
Fuck her brain.
“Is it nice where you are?” Spencer’s question startled her.
She looked up, to find him crouched in front of her. He wore a wetsuit, his cheeks were red from the cold, and his hair was wet and sticking up every which way. Seemed as though he was attractive regardless of the situation.
“It’s much better here,” she said.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He dropped on the sand next to her, resting his arm against hers. “I like it better with you here, too.”
She glanced sideways at the shift in his tone, to find him watching her with that familiar expression that made her pulse skip.
Spencer shivered.
She opened the blanket and offered him a side. “How are you not freezing? I’m dry and cold.”
“I don’t notice when I’m in the water. The chill sinks in fast when I hit dry land.” He stood. “I’d join you, but then we’d both be wet.”
Was the pause intentional? She mentally slammed her palm against the side of her head. Shut up, you.
“I’m heading inside.” He extended his hand. “Unless you’re still thinking.”
“I’m really not.” She accepted the help up.
His grip was firm, and instead of letting go when she was on her feet, he intertwined his fingers with hers. “I need to shower, and then I’ll make us breakfast,” he said as they walked back to the house.
“You cook?”
His laugh was warm, chasing away the chill. “I was a chubby kid who found comfort in food. I cook.”
She’d never had someone offer to make her a meal before. Other than Mom. “Can I help?”
“If you were willing to make coffee while I rinse away the salt water, I’d be eternally grateful.”
“Eternally? That’s a long time.”
He paused on the deck and unzipped his suit, then stripped out of the sleeves and let the torso fall around his waist. The tattoo she’d been catching hints of was on display. So was a tantalizing trail of pale hair, running down from his navel and vani
shing into his suit.
She forced her gaze up but didn’t realize she was reaching for the ink flame on his chest until her fingers brushed his skin. His hiss drilled into her core, temping and tantalizing. He grabbed her wrist before she could pull away, holding her palm captive against him.
“What does it mean?” she asked. The orange-yellow lines were stylized fire, with something that might have been the eye of Sauron in the middle.
“It’s supposed to represent will and determination, but also carry the warning that running too hot, without moderation, means getting burned.”
“Wow.” That was actually deep. She was pretty sure Mischa’s tattoos meant things like skulls are cool.
Spencer’s smile twisted into something playful. “And when I saw it on the wall at the shop, it had a kind of Lord of the Rings vibe.”
“I knew it.” She laughed.
He tugged her closer, and her breath caught. “I like seeing you this way.” His tone had dropped an octave.
She wanted to ask what way, but her vocal chords didn’t work. When he brushed his lips over hers, everything in her skull went silent. The kiss was simple and undemanding and sincere.
And it clenched like a fist around her chest.
He pulled away. “I really need to warm up.” Gravel lined his words.
She was plenty heated, but that wasn’t what he meant. “Go shower,” she said. “I’ll make coffee.”
He vanished into the bathroom, and she made her way to the kitchen.
What was that, outside? Incredible, for sure. And real. Sincere. Not a gimmick or a trick. Because she could trust Spencer. He was real.
Then again, she thought Leo loved her, and she never realized her brother could be treat a close friend with indifference.
She found coffee in a jar on the counter, and filters in the cupboard above the coffee maker. Exactly where it all made sense to be. She started the drink brewing and went to change into something besides yesterday’s clothes.
She should have done this before she went out on the beach. Then she could have showered too. As she drew clothes from her bag, the lacy red set caught her gaze. When did she think she’d put that on? Why did she bring only white shirts, that wouldn’t hide the bra if she wore it?
And what if she was reading all of Spencer’s signals wrong? Or she chickened out, like New Year’s Eve?
Great. Her thoughts were off to the races again.
She forced herself to breathe and rattled her doubt to the corners of her mind, as she pulled on new clothes.
When she wandered back into the kitchen, the coffee maker was sputtering its last drops into the pot. She grabbed two mugs, filled them, and topped hers off with milk. Then she paused. How did he take his coffee?
That was a question she didn’t mind asking or finding out the answer to.
His hands settled on her hips, startling her, but in a good way.
“Cream, no sugar.” His breath caressed her cheek. “Feel free to insert a corny line about you being sweet enough to make up for it.”
She smiled and made his drink the same way she had hers. Picking up both mugs, she turned to hand him one.
His hair was still wet and a mess. She wanted to reach up and run her fingers through it, but indecision held her back. Instead, she stepped around him and took a seat at the breakfast bar.
A flicker of a frown crossed his face, but it vanished again. “Eggs and bacon?” he asked.
“Sure.
He opened the refrigerator.
“You’re not the only one with a never again in your past.” The words tumbled out without her permission, and with no prompting.
He closed the door without grabbing anything, and turned to face her. “Why did you phrase it that way?”
She didn’t know. She wasn’t even sure why she said it.
That wasn’t true; she wanted him to hear this story, not only so she could explain herself, but because she felt like she could open up to him.
And on the slim chance she was completely off-base about how things stood between them, it would be a warning that she wasn’t going to fall for a bullshit game. “Because that was what it was. One of those moments in life that made me say never again.”
“Whatever you want to say, I want to hear.” The way he watched her—that look that implied she was the only thing she saw—was enticing and comforting.
The fact that she one-hundred and ten percent believed him terrified her more than almost anything.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Spencer was jarred to hear Trina use the phrase never again; he didn’t think he’d said that aloud.
Not that it was a unique term, but too often he felt like they were on the same wavelength, before the connection crumbled moments later. Walking up behind her in the kitchen was another example. He swore she felt the same spark he did, but when she scurried to put distance between them, he wondered what he’d missed.
If her never again was a key to unlocking that mystery, he’d take it. He wanted to hear her story either way, though.
He joined her on the couch and set his coffee on the table next to them.
She held onto her mug and traced her thumb along the handle, her gaze fixed on the liquid. “I dated a guy in college.”
The statement made sense, but it wasn’t enlightening. Spencer figured she had a past. “Okay.” What tugged at his distaste was that she wasn’t all right with what that involved.
“Leo was a few years older than me, working on his PhD, and a TA in one of my classes.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “I guess I kind of have a type.”
Spencer got the older-man reference, but he didn’t care for being compared to a relationship that made her quiet and withdrawn.
“Not that I think you’re anything like him.” She turned back to her coffee.
And there was that hint of synchronicity again. As though she had a direct line to his thoughts, and vice versa.
She dragged in a shaky breath, then blew it out. “We dated for five months and twenty-nine days. He was never anything but sweet to me. All right with the fact I wanted to take things slow. Never pushy. Doting.”
“All those words a girl wants to use when she talks about her boyfriend,” he said. The possessiveness was back. But that wasn’t the right word for what he felt. He didn’t have a desire to lock her away; he wanted to help her replace the memories making her fidget with new, better ones.
Her smile was sad. “Pretty much. The next part of the story is your basic he was a lying, cheating douche kind of tale. I heard through a friend of a friend that he was fucking around. When I confronted Leo, he accused me of not trusting him, then said it was a one-time thing and finished with telling me it wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t a frigid cunt who gave shitty hand-jobs.”
“All in the course of a single conversation?” Spencer tried to keep his question light, but fury spilled inside. He didn’t just want to help her replace the old memories, now he wanted to find this guy and pound his face into a brick wall, too. He didn’t care how long ago the bad relationship happened.
She shook her head. “The first one was face to face. He stormed out on me, and I was crushed. Figured he must have a point. We were in love—why didn’t I trust him? The rest came in via a series of texts, over the next several days. I thought it hurt when the last one said, We’re finished. I can’t be with someone like you.”
Her hands shook enough her coffee sloshed around. She set the mug on the table with a soft thunk. “That was only the beginning. God, this is embarrassing.”
“For him, maybe.” Spencer spoke softly, in defiance of his mounting anger at this man he’d never met.
“That’s not...” She pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows. “It was the things he told everyone else, after we broke up. It’s humiliating to repeat them. He told everyone I was a lousy lay. That he dumped me because I was a blob in bed. That wasn’t the worst part, though the stares and whispers really gnawed at me.
He told my professor that I’d threatened him. That if he didn’t sleep with me, I’d tell everyone he forced himself on me.
“It was my word against his, and the teacher trusted him. If I hadn’t had the grades and parents with money and influence, the rumors would have gotten me kicked out of school. Expulsion was discussed in great detail.”
Spencer clenched his fist, fingers burning from the grip. She covered his hand with hers, and the light touch drew his attention.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Or rather, there are a lot of things about it that aren’t, but like your memories, it’s in the past. It’s an instance of never again.”
“Except that it still makes you doubt yourself.”
Her smile was shy, but the sadness was fading. “It does. And it makes me doubt everyone else, too. I guess it’s not completely behind me. Trust is something that has to be earned.”
“That seems fair.”
“But it’s also put this huge block in my head that I hate. Like, I know logically that losing my virginity isn’t a big deal. That it’s this societal construct meant to hold me back, or something, but because it’s tied to that betrayal, even though it doesn’t define me, now it does, because of that one thing, and then you do something simple, like kiss me or invite me up here for the weekend, and my brain jumps through all sorts of what-if scenarios, and why the fuck can’t I stop talking—”
He pressed his lips to hers, not sure what else to do to slow her mounting frustration.
She moaned against his mouth and leaned in, her body relaxing.
“Better?” he murmured into the kiss.
“Mmhmm.”
He cupped her cheek and laid a kiss on her nose, then her forehead, then another on her lips. “Good.”
IT WAS LIKE BEING HIGH without the munchies, which made the threat of the crash after that much worse. When Spencer’s touch was there, Trina wasn’t worried about coming down from the high, or about anything else.
“You don’t need to put your hesitation into words,” he said. “You’re allowed to be nervous. It’s new, and it’s frightening, and there’s a lot of pressure, and everyone stresses about the first time they have sex. Hell, I did. I was terrified.”
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