I see Spence shift in his seat and then he leans forward and places both elbows on his knees and firmly says, “No.”
I raise a brow. “No?”
He levels me with a look and says, “I will never share you with another man, Ryan.”
I swallow and think to myself that Ishouldbe pissed because Spence keeps me at arm's distance, yet he gets to be possessive? But after today, I understand him better. And okay, it’s hot as fuck. I think I like being possessed by Spencer Stark.
As if reading my mind, he adds, “I know I don't have the right, but that's how I feel. If I had to watch you with another man, I would tear the room apart then beat him until his mother couldn't even recognize him.”
I swallow slowly and Spence finishes, saying, “So, no. It can't happen. With me anyway.”
I sit back and quietly murmur, “That's so fucking hot.”
A quiet moment passes between us until there’s only one thing left to do. “Spence?”
“Yeah, Ry.”
“My leg is almost healed,” I borderline whine. “It's been so long. I really, really need you to fuck me, Perfect.”
He just nods then stands and walks over to me holding out his hand. He helps me up and grabs my chin and then…
“Your eyes.”
I gulp. “What?”
“The first thing I noticed about you,” he explains. Then he frames my face with his hands, his thumbs rubbing circles at the corners of my eyes and he says, “You have kind eyes.”
Thirty-Four
Better Off Alone
Spence
I wake up slowly to the feeling of being weighed down. I don't even need to look to know, but I open my eyes anyways, and sure as shit, the muscular thigh of Arizona's soon-to-be former quarterback is sprawled across my midsection, and Fucker is curled up on my lower legs.
This isn't surprising. I've been waking up to it every morning for weeks now. Every night, I go to bed alone while Ryan and Fucker go to the guest room. And every night, at some point, Ryan crawls into my bed, Fucker not far behind.
I don't hate it, but I'll never tell Ryan that. No, I'll never admit it to him, but I also can't exactly say I'm discouraging the behavior either, which is irresponsible because I know I can't have Ryan. Not really. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give him what he deserves.
I'm not exactly encouraging him to go home either. His injury is recovering well enough that he could manage on his own. But over the past few weeks, Ryan's cooking series has exploded across social media. People are gushing about the sexy football player and his fancy recipes, not to mention the ridiculous aprons he wears with dad jokes on them—completely on brand for Ryan. Last week, I walked in from work while he was on a live session and his apron said,MASTER BASTERas he showed his audience how to properly baste Cornish hens.
The show's going really well for him, and I know he hates his kitchen, so who am I to deprive him of my gourmet kitchen that I never use? I guess he could come over just to shoot content, butthis is easier for him. There may be some selfish reasons at play here as well. Sue me.
Plus, since I introduced him to Tyler, the two of them have been glued at the hip. Tyler is, of course, enamored with the big goofy jock, and Ryan—Ryan is so damn good with him. They play video games like a couple of overgrown tweens, trash talking and laughing while I work on my laptop nearby. Ryan and I took him to meet The Bettys—we both figured they'd give him a run for his money in the snark department. That failed. Tyler had them eating out of the palm of his charming hands in two minutes flat. Then they all started in on Ryan and me.
I think they've figured me and Ryan out, but he hasn't mentioned it, and I'm certainly not bringing it up. That Betty, she’s a keen one.
Ryan's even started taking him to the gym with us. Ryan can't do much in the way of working out yet, but he's doing it for Tyler. His police officer crush is all muscle, and Tyler told Ryan he feels insecure whenever he comes into the center. Tyler's not a twig-he's got a good natural build-but he didn't have the resources growing up for a gym membership, and his interest has always been in fashion and design anyway.
Within an hour, Ryan had Tyler set up with a membership, and they worked out a schedule to hit the gym. They've spent the past three Sundays meal prepping in my kitchen so Tyler has enough protein and the right balance of nutrition for the week.
If I had a heart, it would have melted into a puddle by now. But we all know I don't. Even if I did have moments of warmth flooding my chest—flickers of flames lapping at the walls of my hollow cavity—I can't have Ryan Buterbaugh. I either ruin people or they ruin me. I'm better off alone.
I look over at Ryan, who's still sound asleep, his dark blond hair cutely mussed, eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. I sigh,then turn slightly on my side and lean down and gently kiss one of his eyelids then whisper, “I wish I could give you more.”
I gently remove Ryan's thigh from my midsection, and I shift to get up. Fucker mewls, and when I get out of bed, he tucks himself in the crook of Ryan's arm, surrounded by his big bicep.
I look at them for a moment.
