“Not to interrupt the adorableness of you two,” Knox said as he walked by with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and wearing a zip-up hoodie and sweats, “But there is only one way out of this place.”
“Ha,” Spence said, and punctuated it with a light shove against my shoulder.
Was that flirting? Or was he proving to Knox that we were just friends with a good ‘ol jab to the buddy sitting beside him?
“Also, you two are disgusting,” Knox said, and shut the door behind him.
“He has no idea what he’s talking about,” Spence said, and we shared a moment of eye contact before he turned to his books and papers. “How ‘bout we start with Beatrice today and get back to that modern love story tie. Do you have some pages for me to read?”
“Sure do,” I said, and riffled through my bag for my laptop. After propping it open, I reluctantly slid it over to him. “Please be kind.”
“Harbinger of suffering is my middle name,” he said, then dived into my words.
Spence had slipped on his glasses when I wasn’t looking, and seeing him bent over my laptop, his tightened brows framing the lenses and his lips thinned in thought awakened a different feeling in me than seeing his roommate, Knox, in nothing but shorts. It was a billowing swell, the kind that rises slowly but balloons with warmth until your entire stomach, then your throat, is coated with a sweet, sugary affection.
When he finished, he spoke to me about my strengths and where there was room for improvement. I listened intently, but the sugar rush wouldn’t go away and could be seen in my tight lips, my too-long glances his way. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, not when our arms accidentally brushed or when our shoulders touched as we leaned over the same screen.
I covered my disappointment by licking my lips and focusing harder, as well as reminding myself that this guy was sitting beside me only because I asked him to.
When the pizza arrived, we took a much needed break. I slid my stool a few inches away both for room to eat and to give myself a few degrees of space. Spence may not be feeling heated and flushed, but I sure was. It was amazing, watching him and witnessing a type of confidence that came from intelligence and quick-thinking, and not through cockiness and straight good looks. Trev hooked me with a charisma that spoke of always getting the girls he wanted. But Spence was communicating to me with another spectrum entirely, with an undercurrent of rainbow color that had me considering attraction to another person in an unknown, deeper way.
Frankly, Spencer Rolfe turned me on.
“You know, I keep wanting to ask you something,” I said between bites, already on my second slice. The pizza box was half-empty between us on the kitchen island. “How do you do it?”
“What do you mean?” he asked after wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. Spence had taken his glasses off, leaving a pinkish smudge on the ridge of his nose that I found irresistibly endearing. He’d also pushed his sleeves up to expose his forearms.
“All this,” I said, indicating the notebooks and computers surrounding us. “How does it all come so easy? The studying and the A’s, and the—the confidence. All this information you impart seems to come with no effort. The way you speak, it’s like you never have to worry about being proven wrong.”
Spence set down his fourth slice, and I could tell my question affected him in some way. I hoped I hadn’t pissed him off.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a lip-quirk that was all too rehearsed.
“I mean it,” I said, unwilling to accept a line he probably gave to all those who questioned where his study ethic came from. “Where do you find the drive?” Then, to add lightness, I said, “Teach me, Master.”
For a moment, he said nothing.
“It was the best way to escape,” he said into his laptop.
“Escape?” I repeated, unsure if I heard correctly.
“Yeah.” He stood, readying to clear the counter. “You about done?”
No. “Sure,” I said, since he’d already swiped my paper plate from under me, and the half-eaten pizza on top of it. Spence had to pass by me to reach the trash can, and I swore I felt icicles prickle my back as he brushed by.
“Um, so we should get back to it then,” I said through the pit in my stomach. I’d crossed a line, but I wasn’t sure how. I hoped it hadn’t ruined—
“Actually, I’m pretty beat. Do you mind if we take this up another day?”
“Well…” I started to say, but he’d shut his laptop in the span of my one syllable and was stacking his books. “I mean, the paper’s due tomorrow afternoon…”
“Right.” He paused with his hands resting on his notebooks. “Well, you’re prepared. With a few more tweaks, you can hand a final draft in. Maybe another couple of hours on your own and you’ll have it.”
Spence was correct, in that he’d given me all the wisdom he could. I was technically ready an hour ago but was unwilling to end our session, so I threw in a few additional, unnecessary questions to keep him talking. Yet, even now, I didn’t want to go.
“Have I done something?” I asked, and slid off the stool.
“What? No,” he said, but it was clearly a big fat lie. “It’s been a long day, is all.”
I glanced at the clock at the stove. It really had been a long day. It was already midnight. Yet still, I couldn’t leave, not this way, not knowing I’d tripped something in Spence that had him running.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and tucked my stuff into my bag. “I didn’t mean to press.”
Spence stopped me with a hand on my forearm. I looked up in surprise, but he was focused on his touch against my skin, and the warmth of it seeped through my flesh and straight into my bloodstream.
“It’s nothing you said,” he assured in a voice that was so close to my lips I felt I could kiss it.
Spence’s hair tickled my forehead, our noses nearly touching, yet he still wouldn’t look at me.
“I don’t…” I swallowed against the heat of him, so close to me. “I don’t understand.”
“My past wasn’t easy,” he said. “And it’s hard to talk about.”
At last, he met my eyes, and I noticed the specks of emerald floating within the lighter green, chips of stained glass.
“Oh.”
I was caught by him, in his gaze, his touch, the oxygen seeming to reduce with every shallowed breath I took. Was Spence in the same space I was? He wasn’t looking away. Maybe he was, maybe he felt stars behind his eyes like I did, or how his calloused fingers created a velvet texture on my skin, or…
Spence squeezed my forearm, then let go.
“Are you okay to get home?” he asked, and turned away.
“Uh.” I had to clear my throat, blink away the sparkle. Land heavily on my ass. “Yeah. I’ll get a car.”
“So, that’s it I think.” In an instant, he’d spun around, a familiar grin on his face. “My services are no longer needed. You’re good to go.”
I inhaled. “I guess I am. I…thank you. So much. I couldn’t have redone this paper without you.”
“I know.”
Seemed Spence rediscovered his cocky repertoire.
Book bag in hand, I covered my disappointment…and strange sadness…with a big smile and handed him cash. “Will I see you around?”
“Sure you will,” he said. “Unless you’re planning on dropping Harper’s class after acing your paper?”
“Har, har,” I said, then pretended focus in summoning a car on my phone. Five minutes away. Perfect. I could wait downstairs and avoid any more anvil-in-my-gut type moments.
“Okay, well…” I said, then sidled past him.
“Get home safe. And text me when you’re there, so I know you did,” he said.
I opened the door, nodding.
The moment gave every indication that this was the last time I’d see him one-on-one. No more sessions together, no more conversations with just he and I. From now on it would be in class, with impersonal waves and quick hel
lo’s. Whatever connection we had would be diluted with every polite encounter, until the semester ended and chance sightings would be the only way I’d find myself near him again.
I froze. Bit the inside of my cheek. Breathed.
“See ya ‘round, Emme with an E at the end,” he said.
“Spence—”
I did it without thought. I spun around and pulled him in.
Every scorch of his fingers on my skin was nothing compared to the sear of his lips. They parted, became supple, before he tipped my head and fire became the inferno.
My hands weaved around his neck and pulled him deeper. His arms circled my waist, our bodies crushing together as we fused. I parted our lips for a gasp, then crashed down again. Spence’s throat made sounds that had me in overdrive, and when his hand slipped under my jacket and shirt, massaged my back and had my heart booming, I pulled away.
Spence’s chest rose and fell like I’d just dared him to a cross-fit race. His lips sheened from mine, his eyes alight with a starved passion that nearly had me jumping into his arms and tumbling groins-first onto the couch.
“‘Bye, Spence,” I said instead. With fucking effort.
He remained frozen as I stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind me. My lips had already swelled from his delicious pressure, and my tongue begged for more of him.
But I couldn’t. Because, as my heart had communicated to me all night, Spence was not a one night stand. He was different.
And with that in mind, I had to wait and see if he thought I was different, too.
Oliver’s was bedlam, brimming with noisy, gyrating patrons and harried, cranky bartenders. Me, along with three others, manned the bar, passing each other with frantic half-jogs in the cramped space, dodging spills on the bar mats and elbows and answering to every call of “more, more, more!” with as much speed as possible. There was zero relaxation time and every second was punctuated by the crunch of ice being shoved into glasses, the clink of liquor bottles or the fizz of fresh soda.
By my fiftieth rum and coke, I was still floating on Cloud Nine.
I shot cola into rum-filled glasses as if in a dream, a stupid smile on my face for every person that ordered the signature drink on $5 R&C night, a deal the owner loved advertising every Saturday, and every college student loved, too.
Shouts of “nice ass!” and “when do you get off tonight?” were met with a serene wave on my part as I went about my duties. Remembering THE KISS with Spence was an excellent buffer to every jackass that happened to be able to shout above the music. Not even Laurie could put a damper on my high.
“The hell’s wrong with you?” she asked as she reached behind me to grab the bottle of rum, her boob deliberately squishing into my arm and throwing me off balance.
“Absolutely nothing,” I said sweetly. There wasn’t even an urge to use the soda gun on her face.
“Whatever,” she mumbled after considerable study of me. A part of her enjoyed my upset over her and Trev, and I was pretty sure she was disappointed she wasn’t getting the rise out of me she used to.
“Hey, Ems!” Another bartender, Joey, called over to me. He was elbow deep in the ice well below the bar.
I finished pouring a row of four rum and cokes and looked over.
“Can you deliver five specials to the table in the corner?”
“What?” I shouted over the music. “I’m not a delivery service, Joe!”
“Please?” he begged, still hunched over the ice well. “I gotta refill this ice before the whole place riots, and that table needs to stay happy!”
I threw the rum bottle over to Carlo, the fourth bartender, who yelled for it. “Why are you keeping them happy?” I asked.
“Why do you think?” he called back. Laurie stepped between us, cutting off any further explanation, but I didn’t need any.
Chances were, the table was brimming with hot girls and Joey wanted to make an impression. He was one of the most sought after employees at Oliver’s, with his Italian good looks and the biceps of an Olympian. Normally he never worked hard, instead waiting for women to come to him. Which they did, almost every shift he worked.
Which meant this crowd must be special.
“Dare I believe you’re falling in love?” I teased while lining up five glasses on the bar.
Laurie rolled her eyes and departed, her hands full of drinks.
“Wait’ll you see her!” he said, grinning. He lifted a large bucket of ice, passed to him by one of the bus boys.
“Uh-huh,” I said, but didn’t need him to hear me. I lifted and then spun a rum bottle upside down, enjoying my brief Cocktail moment (as it was one of—okay, the only—maneuver I could do), and dragged it across the glasses, splashing healthy doses of liquor on the way. I went the other direction with the soda gun, and soon had five fresh R&Cs, which I spread across a carry tray—dusty, because we never carried drinks over to anyone unless specifically motivated.
“I’m splitting your tip!” I said to Joey as I walked behind him, tray balanced delicately with one hand. I had enough of a grip to give him a light tap with my boot on his butt as I passed.
“Deal!” came his muffled reply under the bar.
With the ease of a figure skater, I glided through the masses, drink tray held high. In order to do so, I harkened back to my days in Wyoming where I part-timed as a waitress at a diner near my dad’s work.
Yes, I wore roller skates.
The table of ladies wasn’t hard to miss. People parted like rolling waves as I made my way through to the back, to the high-top that housed five women, all in varying degrees of stunning. Ebony, blonde, brunette, and auburn were all properly represented, with flushed faces of a night of drinking, yet not so much that they held glazed-over blankness than sparkly silliness.
“Excuse me, ladies,” I said as I set each drink on the stained, graffitied wooden table. “Courtesy of Joey behind the bar, these are for—”
Daya.
The shot glass of limes nearly tipped onto her lap as soon as I noticed her, perched with perfect posture on her stool, her half-grin spreading miles across my spine.
“Am I the drunk one, or are you?” she asked, and plucked a lime wedge from the glass and squeezed it into the drink I’d placed in front of her. If it was a playful tone, I didn’t catch it above the pounding music.
“Sorry, long shift,” I said lamely, then added, super brightly, “Enjoy!”
“Wait.” Her hand caught my arm, ice cold and wet from gripping her drink. “I know you.”
“Uh, sure,” I said vaguely, refusing to turn all the way back around. “Probably from class. But I have to get back to—”
“Emily, is it?”
“Right,” I said. Who cared what she knew me as.
“Guys, I want you all to meet Emily!”
The way my non-name pealed out of her mouth had me turning back to the group.
“Emily, this is Krista, Amberly, Cara and Steph.” She pointed at each one, and I nodded politely. “Spence introduced me to her.”
“Did you guys want me to get Joey over here?” I asked. “I’m sure he’d love to—”
“Wait, this is the girl?” the one across from Daya asked. Krista, I thought. She was of Asian descent and had the flawless expression of someone who’d never experienced anything bad in her life, ever.
“The girl?” I asked.
“Right, the one who’s big time crushing on your boyfriend,” another one—Cara, with flat-ironed blonde hair—said.
Spence’s mouth, his tongue clashing with mine, floated into my head. Slowly, with a painful spread, I felt my cloud dispersing.
“Spence is your boyfriend?” I asked Daya.
Daya squinted at me like she was about to say yes, bitch, but her gaze took a dive to the left, and she played with the straw in her drink when she said, “He certainly is. So I suggest you keep your study sessions platonic.”
“Somehow,” I said, “I’ve failed to be convinced.”
<
br /> Another of Daya’s friends, the one closest to me, hissed in a breath. I’d forgotten which one she was.
“You don’t have to worry, anyway,” I said. “His tutoring is over.”
“Oh?” Daya perked up, playing idly with her straw. “How wonderful. I hope he gave you that A.”
“I don’t know yet,” I said. Most of me was urging an escape, but a teensy, jabbing, Spence-fugued part of me wanted to see how much information I could get from her. “I handed my paper in yesterday, so hopefully we’ll see next week. But he definitely made a difference.”
“I’m sure he did,” another sidekick said.
I see. Better to nip and scratch. “Look, Spence told me you two weren’t dating, so if you have a problem, how about you blurt it out instead of having me try to decipher your minions’ snide comments.”
“Ghetto chicks are always so goddamned rude.”
I reared back, but I couldn’t have possibly heard what I thought I did. I said to Krista, “Excuse me?”
“Seriously, you come with no filter. We’re not the ones in the wrong here and sleeping with someone’s boyfriend. What happened to girl code, huh? You think you get a pass because you come from hard times and don’t have to follow the rules?”
“What the—” Anger boiled up into my throat, but I wouldn’t let the burn take away my voice. “Who do you think you are? Spence was tutoring me, and even if he wasn’t, how dare you talk about me like that? You know nothing about my life, or where I come from, or what even happened between he and I—”
“Oh no?” The one beside Krista piped up, a redhead with porcelain skin. “I can pin you in ten seconds. You come from a small town and you try to hide that with heavy makeup and tight black clothing, but the real you shines through your long, untended hair and freckled, sun-damaged arms. Farm girl, I’d say. Grew up in Daddy’s business with big dreams, thinking you could escape because the bright lights of New York called your name.”
“Ponder all you want—”
“So you work hard for that academic scholarship,” she continued, “making valedictorian at your fifty-person high school school, and good for you! So smart. You get on a bus after kissing your momma and poppa good-bye, polka-dot suitcase in hand. But then you come here and realize how dirty it is, how polluted with smoke and assholes. Rent is higher than you thought, so you take the job a valedictorian from Podunk, Kansas is qualified for. Barkeep. College is tougher than you thought, too. Your grades slip. There are so many people, so much competitiveness, and your parents aren’t there anymore to tell you you’re their smartest darling, how proud they are that their child can get the college education they never got. You panic because that dream career starts slipping through your fingers.”
From This Day Forward Page 8