“I would, but—”
I held up my hand in a stopping gesture and said, “It’s okay, no need for an explanation. I just wanted to get you a drink in case you were thirsty and extend the invitation for you to join us if you wanted. I’ll leave you in peace.” I backed up a step but stopped when Spencer spoke again.
“Despite what you might think, I’m not the most extroverted person. I don’t really like anything more than one-on-one conversation. Texas wanted me here tonight, and I wanted to come and support him, but I could happily have stayed home and ordered takeaway.”
His confession hit home, and a pang of sympathy shot through me. I doubted whether he’d ever experience “normal” again, and that was a tragedy for him. I should leave him alone, but his half shrug, half smile had me pausing. Instead of leaving, I leaned against the glass balustrade and looked out at the view.
The city sprawled below us, thousands of lights spread out in a carpet all the way to the Pacific. Above us, the sky had turned overcast, pockets of diamond-like lights breaking through gaps in the cloud cover. I’d been here before on a clear night, and it was stunning. It took my breath away every time.
“What’s your pick?” I asked after a moment of silence. He cocked his head in question, and I clarified, “For delivery. What would you have ordered?”
“The only food I’ve had so far here is Thai and room service from the hotel our apartment is in, so, basically anything? But I’d kill for a decent meat pie.”
I blinked, my brows hiked up. “Have the two of you been surviving on room service this whole time?” Miller needed to eat better food than takeout and club sandwiches from the hotel kitchen. Surely he knew that.
“Nah, Texas has his meals planned and catered. He offered to order the same for me—I’ve been winging it since I got here—but if I never eat, smell, or see grilled chicken and broccoli again, it’ll be too soon. There’s no way I’m eating that shit.”
I chuckled. “Ew. I don’t blame you. Reheated broccoli is disgusting. Actually, broccoli is disgusting full stop.”
“Right? It’s fuckin’ gross.” He shuddered and grimaced in disgust, and I grinned at the sight.
“I’ll have you over for some empanadas. No broccoli in sight,” I offered, then realized Spencer had come here for some peace and quiet, and I was hitting him up for dinner. That was just me—growing up, my house was always filled with people visiting. Mom was a social butterfly and even though we didn’t have much, we oftentimes had friends and neighbors over. Looking back, they probably brought more food than Mom cooked, helping to feed the both of us. But sharing a meal with our friends and neighbors had become second nature to me. Spencer didn’t know that, though. Food was something I freely offered and was as much of a welcome as a friendly hello, but inviting them over was probably crossing the line. It seemed almost intimate. Oh God, was I flirting with him? No, definitely not. He was married. There was no way.
“I, ah… I mean…”
He stepped closer, standing so our shoulders were touching, and grinned. My words died. It wasn’t one of those sweet, cheeky smiles. No, this was wicked. Every nerve ending in my body lit up, screaming at me to take notice of him. The joke was on them, though—I couldn’t look away. He was sex incarnate. He oozed pheromones that were as addictive as a drug. There was something about him that had me locked into his orbit, wanting to get near him and drop to my knees. It wasn’t that he was famous. I didn’t care about that—I worked with a bunch of famous hockey players and called an author storming bestseller lists around the world and a Hollywood A-lister my friends. But Spencer… wow. He was wow.
“I’d love that,” he rasped. Oh God, that voice. Deep and seductive. Intimate.
Spencer reached for my still-unopened can. His fingers brushed mine, and a shiver ran through me, the kind that made me all squirrely and squirmy inside. I sucked in a breath and watched as those long fingers popped the top with ease. He handed it back to me, and his touch lingered. Our connection was electric. Sparks snapped between us, and my body lit up. I wanted to kiss him.
I wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that too.
But I wasn’t flirting.
He wasn’t either.
He was just being a gentleman. He didn’t want me to break a nail.
No, seriously.
Idefinitelywasn’t flirting.
Not even a little bit.
Just then Coach clanged the cowbell and called out, “All right, y’all. Food’s up.”
The thread connecting us snapped. I sucked in a breath. Disappointment and relief crashed into me.
“You should—” I gestured to the line already forming and looked over my shoulder toward the blanket we’d been sitting on. Cleo sat there alone with Hannah. “—and I’d better rescue Cleo so she can eat.”
“You’re not having anything?”
“I’ll get a plate once Cleo has hers. She’s watching my daughter for me.”
“Okay.” He touched the small of my back and gestured for me to go first.
When he didn’t move his hand as we started walking, I wanted to melt into him. He was only a few inches taller than my five foot nine, but he was larger than life. I loved the way he seemed to tower over me, making me feel petite.
