Spencer: Please please please please.
He knew this was part of what made him insufferable—that he couldn’t leave people the fuck alone when he wanted something. He could picture it right now, the wordless communication as Ash and Ryder looked at each other over their phones, debating what to do with this needy asshole.
“Should we give in?”
“He’s too annoying to ignore.”
He was. That was Spencer’s superpower, even if it was also what made him terrible.
As evidenced by Ash texting a minute later.
Ash: Pick us up then. Ryder will be DD.
Oh, hell yes.Spencer did a little dance in the living room, rocking his hips as he waved his phone over his head, adding a little shimmy as if he had the actual ta-tas to pull it off.
He’d missed those two goons. The workload for their classes was picking up already, and he and Ryder both had jobs, which wasn’t leaving nearly enough time to hang. Ash had only had one other heat on Wednesday, there and gone and managed by Ryder in the morning before Spencer could even get over to the apartment. There hadn’t been time for Spencer to do anythingwhen he finally arrived, either, because with Ash feeling better, they’d all needed to get to class.
Which was fine. Obviously. Spencer didn’t need to be there for every single heat. He’d come like a million times on Monday, anyway, knotting his insatiable little spitfire like there was no tomorrow once they’d finally gotten him off Ryder’s cock and out of the car.
Well, notSpencer’sspitfire. Ryder’s spitfire.
Spencer abruptly stopped dancing. He tucked his phone in his pocket, then caught a flash of his reflection in the hallway mirror.
Holy fucking shit. His hair was adisaster.
It was half an hour later when he finally pulled up to Ash and Ryder’s apartment. They came out of the building as soon as he texted, and Spencer gave them an appropriately appreciative whistle as they got in the car—Ash in the passenger’s seat, Ryder in the back.
They were both wearing all black, which was both kind of cute and ridiculously hot, especially with Ryder kind of glowering in the back seat like a surly assassin, his arm tattoos on full display in his tight T-shirt.
“What took you so long?” Ash asked.
Spencer patted his stomach. “Had to down a late dinner. Don’t want to be getting hangry at the hoedown.”
Ash gave him a skeptical once-over. “It was your hair, wasn’t it?”
“Why, does it look amazing?”
Ash hummed noncommittally, then slouched back in his seat. “This party better be decent. I was beating Ryder atMario Kart.”
“You’re always beating Ryder atMario Kart. He barely pays attention.”
“Well, I could’ve been beatingyou, but we thought you were working tonight.”
Spencer grinned, not even trying to fight the warm glow in his chest at the realization of why they hadn’t texted him to hang. It was always nice to be wanted. “Nah. Switched shifts for tomorrow. There’s a game on then, tips are gonna be sick.”
“Maybe we’ll stop by and ruin your average.”
Spencer laughed, light and carefree as hell. The night was definitely looking up.
The party was exactlywhat Spencer had been looking for.
He didn’t know why, but sometimes he fucking craved it—the cacophony of too many inane conversations; the stale, hot air of too many bodies packed into one building; the weird mix of pheromones as people danced and made out and got pissed off at each other.
It just … settled something in him. Like he was getting a dose of whatever the opposite of loneliness was. Which was maybe something Spencer should bring up with his on-again, off-again therapist, but oh well.
Ash pushed at Spencer’s back, driving him toward the kitchen, Ryder following right behind them. There was a keg in the corner, and Ash made a beeline over to it to fill up a cup.
“I’m getting a soda,” Ryder told Spencer, gesturing to the sea of bodies surrounding the island where the rest of Bishop’s bar supplies were displayed. “What are you having?”
