Spencer
One thought loops in my head as I stalk from one end of my office to the other…
Why don’t you just ask him?
I know I can be arrogant, but this really takes the cake. Sure, I knowwhoRyan Buterbaugh is, but I never once stopped to consider what that means. That maybe he’s been serious this whole time. That he was trying to tell me something. Hinting. Prodding. Opening the door for me to walk through, tell him it’s okay, and that he can trust me enough to say the words. Because he can’t be the first. It’s too risky.
I hadn’t thought about how much he would lose. But that’s the entire problem, isn’t it? He stands to lose considerably more than Travis Hale, and if history is any indicator of the choices prominent men make when it comes to me…we already know how that plays out.
Thatis why I don’t simply ask him. I’m afraid of the answer. But now, thanks to my damn mouth, he’s thrown me for a loop. It’s been a few weeks since Ryan walked out of my apartment, and I’ve been a fucking mess.
Me. Spencer Stark. A mess.
The irony almost makes me laugh. Almost. I stop pacing. My gaze snags on the wardrobe cabinet in the corner and I scoff, knowing damn well what’s inside. My gym bag—sitting there like some pathetic little hope chest. Just in case. Just in case Ryan stops by. Sure, I’ve seen him since that day. We’ve worked out three times.
Three.
And every single one of them was…off. Awkward in a way that grates under my skin. No more slutty little shorts. No more tight tanks. Now he wears baggy sweats and an even baggier hoodie. Like he’s trying to disappear. I huff out a gust of frustration. He’s still hot as fuck. But he’s hiding. From me.
Seems Ryan has given up on me—and why wouldn’t he? I’m not someone people keep long term. This is why I don’t get attached. This is why I don’t do entanglements. I know better. But I let him toe the door open just a crack and look what happened. Still…
I miss him.
The realization lands heavy, unwelcome and sharp. Laying eyes on him three times in as many weeks is not nearly enough. Shoving my hands back into my pockets, my fingers curl into the fabric as I resume pacing as my irritation grows.
Not only have our workout sessions dwindled, but he barely texts me anymore either. I used to be annoyed by it. The constant messages. The relentless energy.Now?He only texts about setting a time to work out.
The worst part? I find myself crawling the walls of my condo with restlessness. Before the hottest ass I’ve ever seen in a pair of shorts strutted into my life, I had a routine. Normally, I would be doing work right up until Fucker and I went to bed. Now I find myself seeking out human interaction. Can you believe this shit? I started showing up at the diner to eat with Tyler. I’m pretty sure he’s sick of me already. I did ask if he’d like to work at THRIVE. He’s excited and we’ve mapped out some great programs he can run. At least something good came out of it.
Sadly, it has not scratched the itch. I claw at my thighs from inside my pockets, a restless energy buzzing under my skin. It doesn’t help that I’m horny as hell. I didn’t even realize it until Ryan backed off, but I haven’t hooked up with anyone since I first met him seven months ago.
Seven months?
No wonder I’m a mess.
Apparently, his attention—and my hand—have been enough. I kick lightly at the leg of one of my office chairs, irritation bubbling up. That’s the thing about Ryan Buterbaugh, I’m realizing. When his attention is on you, it’s like the sun—warm, consuming, impossible to ignore. But when it’s gone…
I shake my head sharply, cutting the thought off before it can settle. It’s no matter. I’m too young for sunspots anyway. I just need to get laid.
As soon as fucking possible.
An abrupt knock sounds at my door, and before I can respond, it swings open—without invitation because it’s Parker. Parker Campbell is the living definition of things I don’t need to see in the horned-up state I find myself in.
My gaze drags over the impossibly tight tan pants hugging his strong legs and a cornfed ass that should be banned in a professional setting. A white button-down oxford stretches so tight across his chest, his nipples are popping up for a ‘hello’. He’s got the two top buttons undone like an invitation to make bad decisions.
And the sucker.
Always with the fucking sucker.
The stick protrudes from the corner of his mouth; his lips wrapped around it in a way that is borderline lewd. Everything about him is flirtatiously intentional. I close my eyes briefly. Okay, I really need to do something about this. Because I’m looking at my intern like he’s a steak dinner.
My intern, for fuck’s sake.
And I’m one oxford button away from risking my entire career. All because an annoying, walking, talking blast of sunshine decided to pull back and leave me…like this. I don’teven know whatthisis. I had zero intention of ever sleeping with Ryan, so what am I worked up about?
Exhaling, I force my gaze up to my intern’s face. “I thought we talked about you starting to wear undershirts.”
Parker glances down at himself, then back up at me, slow and deliberate. He pulls the sucker out of his mouth, lips parting slightly as he speaks with his barely there Texas drawl. “Well now that would be a waste of workouts, wouldn’t it, Mr. Stark?”
