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This is not how I wanted to tell them about Spencer. It couldn’t be farther from how I wanted to tell them, but of course, that choice has been taken out of my hands now. He will be judged before they even meet him. I have a feeling he already has been.
At least by Edward.
My mind goes to him visiting Spencer at work this week and how Spencer was annoyed that Edward didn’t make time to come and see me when he was in London.
If I’m honest, it did hurt my feelings but I would never let on to Spence that it did. It would only infuriate him, and I need to try and make the two of them get along. It will make my life so much easier.
But why didn’t Edward come and see me? I just don’t understand.
A boat is loading down in the water, and I watch the people board. Then as it slowly pulls out, I watch it disappear across the water. I wonder where they are going today? What adventure are they about to have?
I feel two large hands snake around my waist from behind and lips gently dust my temple. “Good morning, beautiful,” his deep voice purrs.
I smile and place my hand up on his face. “Morning,” I whisper. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a log.” He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight.
“God, it’s so beautiful here, Spence.”
He smiles as he looks out over the horizon. “It is, isn’t it?”
We stand in each other’s arms for a moment as we drink in our surroundings. “What are we doing today?” I ask.
“Sightseeing.” I smile broadly.
“On mopeds.”
I flick around to face him. “Mopeds?” I gasp. “I’ve… I’ve never…”
Spencer laughs at my sheer terror. “Don’t worry, I’ll be driving. You’re just being my biker bitch.”
“Biker bitch?” I frown. “What the hell does a biker bitch do?”
“Me.” He winks. “You sit on the back of my bike all day, and then you sit on my cock all night.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re an idiot.”
With a huge smile, he bites at my neck and walks me backwards inside the house.
“But first you have to earn your leathers.”
* * *
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Wyatt frowns.
I glance over at Wyatt as Spencer puts my motorbike helmet on. I don’t think this is a good idea, either, if I’m honest, but I’m trying my hardest to act braver than I really am.
Spencer frowns while he concentrates on fastening the strap under my chin.
“This makes me feel claustrophobic,” I say.
He smirks, choosing not to respond verbally.
“How much experience do you actually have on motorbikes?” I ask. I look at the nippy little machine parked in our garage.
“Heaps.” He knocks on my helmet three times. “I’ve only been to hospital three or four times. A few broken bones have been the worst of it.”
“What?” My eyes widen.
