Page 31 of Kissing the Rival


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Quietly, Spencer and I make our way out of the building and to his car. He opens the door for me, and I offer him a small smile before sliding inside. When he slides behind the wheel and buckles up, his strong hands grip the wheel, and I have to avert my gaze. Why is everything he does suddenly sexy as hell?

Staring out the passenger-side window, I think about how the next few weeks are going to go. I’m going to have to work closely with him. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can email him what he needs, and our face-to-face interactions will be limited. A girl can dream.

We turn, and it’s not toward the road that will take us to the Bridgewater location. I angle to look at Spencer. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, I thought we could grab a shake.” He expertly maneuvers us into the parking lot of the local fast-food joint and pulls up to the window. “What do you want?” he asks.

“I’m okay. Thank you, though,” I say politely.

His lips curl up in a smile that I lose sight of when the speaker cracks to life, the person on the other end asking if he’s ready to order.

“Hi, I’ll have a medium chocolate shake and a medium strawberry shake,” he orders.

The lady behind the speaker rattles off a total, and he pulls up in the line. “Can you really drink two medium shakes?” I ask.

“One is for you.”

“What?” I ask, stunned. “I told you I didn’t want anything. Besides, what if you ordered flavors I don’t like?”

“I didn’t,” he says confidently.

I don’t really know what to say to that because he’s right. Strawberry milkshakes are my favorite, but how would he know that? Did we talk about it while we were at the resort? I let all the moments with him over the three days we were there filter through my mind, and I don’t recall that particular conversation.

He passes over some cash before taking the two shakes and placing them into the cupholder. The strawberry shake is on my side. He hands me a straw with a grin as he rolls up his window and pulls out of the lot. “That’s your favorite, right?” he asks, turning again in the opposite direction of where we should be heading.

“How did you know?”

He pulls into the lot of the automatic car wash and waits his turn to pay the attendant. Once he hands over a ten-dollar bill, he unwraps his straw, places it in his shake, and takes a hefty pull. I’ve yet to touch mine, not because I’m being stubborn. Okay, maybe I’m being a little stubborn, but more so, I can’t figure out how in the hell he knew that strawberry was my favorite.

“Spencer?”

He places his shake back into the cupholder and turns to look at me while we wait our turn. “I’ve known you for ten years, Charlie. I’m observant.”

“What’s Linc’s favorite?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. I’m floored that between the competition between us in college, him asking me out, and me always shooting him down, he was paying attention to more than just wanting to top my grades or add me as a mark to his bedpost.

He creeps ahead and puts the car in Neutral when the attendant tells him to. He settles back in his seat and turns his head to face me. I feel his gaze and angle my eyes to his. I know I should look away, but I can’t. There’s something in his stare that holds me captive.

“I can do better,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

“Better at what? Remembering my favorite shake?” I raise my brows, letting him see my confusion.

I still when he reaches up and rests his palm against my cheek. The car lurches forward, and we’re surrounded and secluded, and it’s suddenly way more intimate than what an automatic car wash should be.

“You rated me a four and a five, Charlie.” He gives me a look that tells me he’s on to my bullshit, but I hold strong with my rating and my lie.

I shrug, but his hand remains on my cheek. “Just keeping it real, Pennington.”

He turns in his seat and leans over the console. “I think you should give me a chance to redeem myself.” His attention moves to my lips.

“Redeem yourself?” I ask, because I’m kind of freaking out on the inside. Today has been weird. I’m obviously not immune to him, not with the way my body has been reacting to being near him and our kiss…. We might have been drinking, but I remember it. Every single second of time that his lips were pressed to mine, I remember. I chalked it up to the alcohol and the emotions of the weekend.

I don’t have that excuse today.

“Spencer—” I start, but the car stops moving. A buzzer sounds, and he grins.

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