Then Harper shouts, obnoxiously loud, “Bye, Spence! Nice to meet you!”
I snort and turn the tablet back toward him. But the second I look at Spence, my stomach flutters. He's looking at them with this soft expression I almost never get to see.
Open. Warm. Beautiful.
“It was really nice to meet you both,” he says with a genuine smile. “Let's go to dinner when you're in town. My treat.”
“That would be lovely,” Cricket says. “Can't wait.”
After one more round of goodbyes, the call disconnects. Spence turns the tablet around while I go back to working on Betty's impossible coffee cake. I crack another egg into the bowl, but my thoughts are nowhere near the recipe anymore.
I don't know what I'm going to do if I can't get Spence to fully give himself over to me. My sisters mean everything to me. And he just—that man just softened himself for them. For me.
It's official, sports fans.
Game over.
I am completely fucking gone for my Mr. Perfect.
Spence sets the tablet down and looks at me. “You know they just clocked us, right?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the p.
He laughs softly, then says, “I wouldn't mind.”
I lift a brow. “You wouldn't mind what?”
Spence shrugs one shoulder. “I know we're not where you want us to be yet,” he says quietly, “but I wouldn't mind if you wanted to tell them we're not just friends.”
Murder. This is murder.
He is actively killing me with his words.
And I'd willingly spend eternity making sure he never regrets a single one.
Thirty-Three
Looking Through Patient Eyes
Ryan
After I finish baking the coffee cake and failing, yet again, to recreate Betty's masterpiece, Spence and I are relaxing on the couch after a dinner of honey bourbon glazed salmon and mushroom risotto I made for us. We're now digging into a piece of the cake. With coffee, of course.
It's a good cake, but it doesn't compare. I wish Betty would just give me the damn recipe already.
I look over at Spence and watch his sinfully full lips drag over the fork as he takes a bite. The man drives me wild, and if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to get those lips against mine.
It's frustrating as hell that he will suck and fuck me and eat my ass like it's his last meal, but God forbid he kisses me. Doesn't he know fucking is so much hotter when tongues are tangled?
My desire to pin him down and kiss him has been so much worse lately because Spence has refused to fuck me while my leg is healing. But I think it should be okay now. Ithasto be okay now. I really need to get that girthy cock inside me again soon.
Thing is,I don’t think his brain is going to allow us to be anything more until he lets me in. I need to get him to drop the veil and let me past his defenses. And now that I’ve taken steps toward my own freedom, I feel a little more justified in pushing him. Just a little. Like Betty suggested.
Using it as an excuse to pry, I go back to the question game we were playing earlier and say, “Hey Spence?”
He looks at me with those ridiculous fuck-me eyes over the rim of his coffee cup and hums a seductive, “Hm?”
Fuck, just a simple sound from those lips and I'm squirming in my seat. “We didn't finish our game of twenty questions earlier. I have a few more for you.”
