Dirty Deeds (Mechanics of Love #3)

by Megan Erickson

  Chapter Eight

  NOTHING BETWEEN US.

  Spencer had been telling himself those three words since he left Tory the first time but out loud, they sounded wrong and sour. Now, Alex sat on the other side of the backyard, picking at her plate, surrounded by her friends and family. Spencer wanted to go over there, pull her to her feet, and force her to admit she was wrong. That there was something between them.

  She was under his skin with every look of those big blue eyes, every word that escaped those red lips.

  He took a deep breath, knowing he needed to clear his head, to quit focusing on her and what they’d done. He’d been invited and he had damn well better act like he was grateful. The weather was lovely and the food had been delicious. The beer was cold. Laughter sounded from all corners of the backyard, and it was a little infectious.

  Spencer turned to Penny, who was staring at him. Nick was off filling his plate for the second time.

  “What?” Spencer asked.

  “What’s with you and that woman?” Penny’s directness served her well in business, but it was irritating to Spencer on a friendship level.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me.”

  “I’m not playing dumb—”

  “I’ve known you since you were a skinny, sneering teenage transplant from Manchester. So knock it off. Did you meet her when you were in town last?”

  He didn’t want to kiss and tell, but this was Penny. She knew everything about him. He walked to a rubbish bin and tossed his empty plate inside, then returned to Penny’s side. “Yes, we spent . . . an evening together.”

  Penny’s eyebrows rose into her hairline. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

  “You’re actually speechless for once?”

  She smacked him. “Look, I . . . don’t mean to judge, but that’s usually not the type of woman you go for. And if I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure you’re not her type either.”

  “Yes, well, that didn’t stop us, apparently.” Twice.

  “And were there hard feelings when you left?”

  He shook his head. “Because that’s just it. I left. I never thought I’d be back, and she didn’t either until she saw me at that restaurant.”

  “Ooooh.”

  “Yeah, Oh.”

  Penny looked at Alex, her head tilted. “She is very pretty. A little rough around the edges. Kind of reminds me of how you were when we met.”

  “I’m not that boy anymore.”

  Penny didn’t respond and when he looked at her, she was chewing on her lip. “Right?”

  When she looked at him, her eyes were soft. “I think . . . you have more in common with that boy than you think.”

  He swallowed. “Penny—”

  “What’re you guys talking about?” Nick asked as he approached them with a plate brimming with food. “Man, these people really know how to cook, right?”

  “Yes, delicious,” Spencer muttered. “Excuse me, I need to grab a beer.”

  As he walked away, Penny and Nick were guessing the ingredients of the broccoli salad and Spencer was happy for the reprieve from the conversation.

  Along the outside of the house were several coolers. He lifted the lid on each one until he found beer bottles peeking out among crescent-shaped ice. He grabbed one, twisted the cap off, and stayed along the wall, wishing he could blend in.

  Alex had finished her dinner now and was playing a game that Spencer had never seen before toward the edge of the backyard with Asher, another boy he was told was Asher’s boyfriend, Julian, and Violet.

  Two large, flat wooden boxes were connected with a chain. The boxes were rectangular in shape and only about five inches high. On the top surface of each box were three holes, about a foot apart. Alex stood on top of the end of one of the boxes, metal disks in her hands. She tossed one at the other box and whooped when a disk fell into the second hole.

  He watched as she stuck her fists in the air and danced in her big boots, her dark ponytail bouncing.

  His face hurt and when he touched his cheeks, he realized he was . . . grinning.

  Good God.

  “Mr. Spencer?”

  He looked down to see Violet standing beside him, blue eyes gazing up into his face. “Yes?”

  “Would you want to play washers with us?”

  “Play . . . what?”

  “Washers. That’s what we’re throwing. Big metal washers.”

  He didn’t understand what she was saying at all. “Washers.”

  She giggled. “You say the word funny.”

  He smiled. “I do?”

  “Yeah. Waaaashas,” she said, trying in vain to imitate his accent. It was cute the way she screwed up her face.

  “Are you teasing me?” he asked.

  She shook her head, smiling. “So, you wanna play?”

  “Well, I—”

  She took his hand and pulled him toward the game, and he thought to himself that he really needed to work on better hiding places. Or looking inconspicuous.

  When they stood next to the box, Alex looked up at them, the smile still on her face, but it dropped off quickly when she . . . well, when she looked at him. His chest tightened.

  She hopped down off the box. “What’s up, Vi?”

  “I want Mr. Spencer to play with us. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll just bow out—”

  “No, I want him to be on our team. That’s okay with you, right, Asher?”

  The teenager nodded. “ ’Course, Violet.”

  He could pretty much see the words damn kid in Alex’s expression. She blew out a breath. “All right, then, let’s teach Posh how to play.”

  FRANKLY, HE WAS awful at the game. Turned out the holes were labeled. The farthest one earned three points, then two, then the closest earned one.

  Spencer had . . . zero points.

  Violet thought it was hilarious to watch him throw. She said his forehead wrinkled and his lips got white. Yeah, well, he was trying bloody hard to get this fucking metal disk in a hole. If he wasn’t in mixed company, he would have made a crude joke.

  Another reason for his serious lack of game skills was Alex. She was the worst distraction. Whenever it was his turn, she stood close enough that he could smell her, with her arms crossed over her chest, an amused expression on her face. It was irritating.

  “Are you quite pleased at how bad I am at this game?” he asked her.

  Her expression didn’t change. “Quite pleased.”

  “I find your smug expression distracting.”

  Alex laughed, and he enjoyed that, watching her eyes light up. “Well, I find your ugly throwing distracting.”

  “Hey now, I’m working on my form.”

  Violet giggled and Alex ruffled her niece’s hair.

  Then she took pity on him. She stood on the ground next to the box he was on. “Now, I can’t help you with your pitiful hand-eye coordination—”

  Spencer growled.

  “But I can help you with technique. So, okay. Stand with one foot in front of the other.”

  He mimicked her stance with his right foot forward.

  She nodded in approval and he felt something warm unfurl in his gut. What the hell?

  “Okay,” she said. “Now throw underhand. You’re whipping it overhand like a kid who’s throwing a tantrum.”

  “The insults are not necessary.”

  “So take your right arm, keeping your eye on the hole in the box, and throw.”

  He took a deep breath, licked his lips, and threw.

  The washer bounced off the front corner and landed in the grass.

  They both stared at it.

  Alex started to laugh, and Spencer tried to scowl, but he could feel his lips twitching. “I think my poor marks are because of my teacher.”

  She was bent over, hands on her knees, shaking her head as she tried to catch her breath. “You are so awful at this game.”

  “I don’t think that need
ed to be said, as we’re all thinking it.”

  “Oh, poor Posh,” she said, straightening.

  “I think it might be the beer too.”

  “How many have you had?”

  “Erm.” He stared at the bottle. “Half of that one.”

  Alex licked her lips as her voice pitched lower. “I recall your tolerance being a little better than that.”

  She motioned for him to get off the box. He stepped down as she took his place and shot him a look over her shoulder. “Watch how the master does it.”

  On her first throw, she scored three points. Spencer knew he was supposed to cheer for her—he was on her team, after all—but instead he glared. “Show-off.”

  “Oh, you’re just jealous a girl is beating you,” Alex said, sticking out her tongue.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  Her guard had dropped slowly as the game went on. By the time it was over and Alex and Violet were declared the winners—Spencer too, although he hadn’t contributed a thing—Alex’s face was flushed, her smile warm and open. Spencer knew she was in her element here. This was where she felt comfortable.

  These were her family and friends, and he’d threatened that a little with his presence.

  But he wouldn’t have changed it. Not when he got to see Alex dance with her sister, singing Bob Seger at the top of her lungs. Not when he got to see her wrestle with Honeybear on the ground.

  Not when he got to see her play fighting with Brent, throwing soft punches at each other until Violet joined in, tackling Brent to the ground as he howled dramatically that he was being ganged up on.

  Alex on a normal day was radiant, but here, surrounded by people who loved her and whom she loved back, well, she was breathtaking.

  Yes, Spencer was in town for only an indefinite period, but he didn’t want to spend the whole time fighting his attraction to her.

  Of course, Alex had to agree to that. To want to see him knowing all along there would be an end date. So maybe they could spend the time he was in town casually. Together. In bed. Against the boot of his car.

  Maybe a shower.

  He glanced up in time to see Alex walk into the house, shutting the screen door behind her. He glanced around the yard. Everyone was winding down a little now. The sun was almost set. Penny and Nick were cuddling on a chaise.

  So Spencer took a deep breath and followed Alex inside.

  ALEX WET A tissue and wiped below her eyes. After all the laughing and running around she’d done, her eyeliner and mascara weren’t holding up as well as they normally did.

  She fixed her hair, eyeing herself in the bathroom mirror.

  She looked . . . happy. In a way she wasn’t sure she’d been happy in a long time. Sunday dinners were always a highlight of her week, but this one was even better.

  She didn’t want to think that the reason was the posh Brit who couldn’t throw a damn washer to save his life.

  Dropping her head between her shoulders, she chuckled, remembering his frustration and cursing under his breath.

  Turned out Posh was kinda fun. Who knew?

  She finished up in the bathroom and when she opened the door, the very man she couldn’t stop thinking about was leaning on the wall in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, feet crossed at the ankles.

  He looked up and met her gaze. “Hey, Sprite.”

  She motioned behind her. “Uh, bathroom’s open.”

  “I didn’t come in here for the restroom.”

  She blinked. “Oh.”

  He turned until he faced her, with his one shoulder braced against the wall. “I came in here to talk to you.”

  “Oh.” When did she lose the ability to talk in sentences?

  He ran a finger through his hair and glanced around. “Is there somewhere we can talk? Or . . . ”

  Alex blinked. “What’s wrong with here?”

  Spencer’s fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on his leg. “Maybe somewhere private?”

  Alex hesitated.

  He blew out a breath. “Look, I’m not trying to . . . I don’t want to . . . attack you in your boss’s house. I’d just like to talk to you is all. Without being interrupted. Is that all right?”

  She appreciated the explanation. “Um, sure, we can just . . . ” She waved a hand toward the front door. “Maybe just sit on the porch? No one will come out front to bother us.”

  He nodded and placed a warm hand on her lower back, which he kept there until they stood leaning on the railing of the front porch. He rubbed his thumb in a circle and then dropped it at his side. Alex bit her lip to keep from asking him to keep touching her.

  This was all a little too close. A little too comfortable. Alex knew enough about herself to know that when she fell for someone, she fell deep, with all she had.

  The last person she’d fallen for had been Robby, and look where that got her.

  She couldn’t do this again. She just couldn’t, especially with a man like Posh, so unlike her in every way and from New York, for God’s sake.

  Spencer cleared his throat and looked down at his hands where they gripped the railing. “Look, I . . . don’t have anything rehearsed, but I know there’re some things I want to say. Will you let me?”

  Alex nodded.

  He turned toward her, with one hand braced on the railing, and raised a tentative hand. He brushed back some strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail and ran his knuckles over her cheek. She stared at him, willing herself not to flinch at the touch.

  His fingers skimmed her shoulder, down her arm, until he gripped her hand and held it. She stared at their intertwined fingers—her rough, tanned ones next to his long pale ones.

  “I’d like to take you out on a proper date.”

  Alex’s gaze jerked to his. “A date?”

  “A date.”

  “B-but why?”

  “Because I like you.” His blue eyes were scanning her face, his lips parted as he seemed to carefully plot out his words. “Because I want to get to know you better.”

  “I—”

  “You like casual, right?” he asked softly.

  She couldn’t look at him anymore. She turned her head and examined the cars parked without rhyme or reason in Cal’s front yard. “Yes, yes I do.”

  He squeezed her hand, but she wasn’t ready to look at him yet. “And have you always been that way?”

  His voice was still calm, soothing, and she wished he wasn’t so perceptive. Damn, smarty-pants Posh. She shook her head and dropped her eyes to the garden below, which was in serious need of weeding.

  He tugged on her hand, so she finally looked up at him, those beautiful high cheekbones, the full mouth that she knew intimately could kiss very, very well.

  “So this can be casual, right? While I’m in town?” he asked. “It can’t be more . . . because I’ll be leaving. But while I’m here, why deny this . . . spark between us?” He stepped closer and raised their clasped hands to her chest. “You feel it too, right?”

  She could do nothing but nod mutely, because her whole body was a spark right now. The heat of Spencer, the smell of his cologne, the rush of his breath along her flushed cheeks.

  She remembered his voice. Tell me what you like.

  This could work. They could burn bright until the spark died and then Spencer would return to New York and she’d go back to her life.

  She smiled a little, altering her voice into a tease. “Want to rough it a little while you’re in town, then? Before you go back to dating women who know which fork to use for their sherbet?”

  Spencer laughed. “You don’t use forks for sherbet.”

  “Whatever,” she muttered.

  He cupped her cheek and swiped a thumb over her cheekbone. “Maybe I’ve always liked it a bit rough, hmm?”

  She lifted onto her toes and kissed him, not caring about their differences right now or where they’d be next month—or anything.

  Because Spencer was here now, and he knew how to touch her and talk to her.
He tasted like beer, and she gripped his shoulders, trying to get closer, so much closer.

  Spencer groaned and gripped the back of her thighs, hauling her up his body. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he set her down on the edge of the railing. He ground his hips into her, and she made a pleading sound in her throat as he began to lick along her jaw and down her neck.

  “Bloody hell,” he panted against her skin. “We need to meet in public so we stop trying to rip each other’s clothes off.”

  “What if being in public doesn’t stop us?” she asked, clutching his shoulders tightly and rolling her hips against his hardness between her legs. She reached down and stroked him through his pants, grinning as he moaned heavily and bit down on her shoulder.

  “You drive me mad,” he said, cupping a breast through her thin shirt.

  “Feeling is mutual,” she said, squeezing the hard ridge tighter.

  He lifted his head, his mouth wet, his eyes heavy-lidded. “So you’ll let me take you out?”

  “I’ll let you take me out. If you promise to take me to bed afterward.”

  He laughed, although the sound was a little strangled since she was still teasing him through his pants. She wondered if they could get away with a quick hand job.

  “I don’t know. Taking you to bed wasn’t part of the original deal.”

  “Sorry,” she said, then licked a wet strip up the side of his neck. “That’s my stipulation.”

  There was a cracking sound, and Alex froze. Her gaze met Spencer’s, who stared back at her with his brow furrowed.

  “What was that?” he muttered.

  “I don’t—” The railing shifted under her weight, and she had a moment of recognition before she was falling backward, Spencer coming with her, since she was still clinging to him like a spider monkey.

  There was a moment of freefall before she crashed hard on a bush, the cracking of twigs and ripping of leaves echoing around her. Spencer landed on top of her and she cried out as the railing dug into her lower back.

  He swore under his breath and tried to untangle their limbs, but everything was twisted among pieces of railing and a bush and clothing, and once Alex realized exactly what had happened, she began to laugh. Hard.