I laugh and take off.
A few seconds later, I burst through the kitchen doors and spill into the hallway. My eyes immediately find him. Spence is halfway to the ballroom entrance. Without thinking, I start running. Toward him. Toward my future. Toward the man who's somehow managed to help me become the man I was always meant to be even though he was resisting his own worth.
I catch up just before he reaches the doors. Without slowing down, I reach for his hand and lace our fingers together.
Spence jolts, and panic immediately shoots through me. Shit. Maybe this is too much. Maybe he's not ready for public displays.
Then he looks up at me. And smiles. Unrestrained. The biggest smile I've ever seen on Spencer Stark's face.
My heart absolutely eats shit.
I grin right back. “Hey, boyfriend.”
He rolls his eyes, but his smile gets even wider. “Back for more already?”
I shrug. “I'll never get enough.”
He doesn't say anything. Just squeezes my hand and tugs me closer as we walk through the ballroom doors together.
“Chef kicked me out,” I tell him. “Said I should come watch the show.”
The ballroom is buzzing now, guests settling into their seats. I squeeze his hand. “I'm glad, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I would've missed your reaction. Tyler worked so hard on this, Spence.”
His fingers tighten around mine. Hard. “I need you to stop talking.”
I laugh. “Why?”
“I can't cry again today.”
I bump my shoulder against his.
Then movement catches my eye. Tyler is barreling toward us. And he looks fucking fierce.
He's wearing what appears to be a kilt that he cut into a mini skirt. Purple fishnet stockings disappear beneath it, torn in places and stitched back together with bright pink safety pins. A Victorian-looking white men’s blouse with flared sleeves covers his upper body, and he’s got all but the bottom few buttons undone. There are—I count them—seven belts in varying styles wrapped around his waist, and… are those silver moon boots?
His silver lipstick matches them perfectly. Heavy black eye makeup frames his gray eyes. He's rushing toward us looking like a punk-rock superstar. And he's dragging a muscular guido-looking man by the suit jacket.
Tyler skids to a stop in front of us. His eyes drop to our linked hands. “Aw, the two old men made it past first base. Fucking finally. Jesus.”
“Language, Tyler,” Spence says, fighting a smile.
Tyler rolls his eyes, then points at the olive-skinned man beside him. “Guys, this is Nick.” His cheeks turn pink. Then even pinker. “OfficerNick Lazos.” His rookie cop crush.
Officer Lazos shoots us a toothy grin. Tyler quickly starts talking again. “Everyone calls him Laz, though. Well, I don't know if everyone does. Maybe just people he allows to. You can call him Nick, I guess.”
He's rambling. Actually rambling.
I stare. Spence stares. Watching a usually cocky Tyler stumble over words is adorable. Apparently, Officer Nick agrees because he's smiling at Tyler like he hung the moon.
My protective instincts are activated.
“Nick or Laz,” he says in a deep gravelly voice. “Either is fine.” He extends a hand. Spence shakes it first. “Spencer Stark. We met briefly when you first came to volunteer.”
Nick nods. “I remember.”
