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“No.”
“It’s late.”
“Yes, so I should really get going.” He acknowledged her words with a nod and a sigh. She walked to the front door, picking up her coat—which lay forgotten on the floor—along the way. She shrugged into it before he could assist her and patted her pockets in search of her keys.
“Do you have your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I don’t like the thought of you driving alone at this time of night.”
“I live five minutes away. Stop being such an old woman. I’ll text you when I get home.”
“Once you’re safely indoors with your door closed and bolted behind you,” he stipulated.
“Sure. Whatever.” He couldn’t resist it—he tugged the trapped hair at her collar free and she glared at him.
“Well, you never seem to get around to it,” he explained, hiking a shoulder.
“Maybe I like it there. Maybe it’s a neck warmer.”
So touchy.
“Sorry, darling. It won’t happen again.”
“Yeah, that can’t happen again, either.”
“What?” he asked, baffled.
“The darling thing. Don’t call me that.”
“You said you like it,” he reminded.
“It’s not appropriate. What if you slip up and call me that in front of the others?”
This whole friend thing—if she even consented to it—was going to be challenging.
“We’ll talk again soon,” she promised him, then opened the door and left before he could say anything more.
Spencer sighed and resigned himself to a night with just his palm and a bottle of scotch for company. Same shit, different day, really.
Tomorrow would sort itself out.
CHAPTER NINE
Daff didn’t know how she felt. Part of her was relieved that it was over, another was humiliated that he had called her out on all her bullshit, and another still was saddened that it had ended before it began. They hadn’t really done much more than some heavy petting, but the orgasms he had given her were streets ahead of anything she’d ever experienced before. Truculent, taciturn, socially inept Spencer Carlisle knew his stuff in the bedroom. Who knew?
Well . . . Daff now knew. And she truly wished she didn’t. How the hell was she supposed to act casual with him when they were around family and friends? And worse, he knew other things about her. He’d been way too on the mark with some of the stuff he’d said. She hadn’t been fully sold on the idea of no-strings sex with him. She didn’t like going down on a guy—at least, she hadn’t with her two previous lovers. She felt like a cold fish in bed because their games had turned her off and that had felt like her failure. Apparently BDSM wasn’t her thing, but they’d expected it to be. Both of them. Why?
Did she give off some kind of kinky vibe? Her very first sexual partner had tied her up, gagged her, and spanked her the first time they’d had sex. Not quite the initiation she’d expected. It had been frightening and intimidating, and he hadn’t even asked her if she was okay with it. Just assumed she would be. And then he’d been all kinds of smug about his performance afterward.
Thinking the fault was with her, Daff had said nothing, merely pretended to enjoy it. She’d gotten really good at faking orgasms. Jake’s bag of tricks had expanded to include nipple clamps and blindfolds, as well as other handy restraints and harnesses that had made her feel claustrophobic and nauseous every time they had sex. The relationship had lasted for three years and had only ended when he got bored with her.
She shook her head. This trip down nightmare lane wasn’t exactly fun, and she preferred never to think about Jake Kincaid ever again. Shar Bridges, a former high school friend, had introduced Daff to Jake.
Shar had introduced Lia to her douchebag ex-fiancé, Clayton Edmonton III, as well, and had promised that he was the perfect guy for Lia. Of course, with Shar being a total bitch and hindsight being twenty-twenty, none of them should ever have trusted her with their love lives. Shar had terrible taste in men and a mean streak a mile wide. And she had been a total rhymes-with-punt to Daisy for years. Why the hell the McGregor sisters hadn’t booted that bitch and her entourage of mean girls years ago, Daff would never know.
Daff somehow managed to get home without paying real attention to her surroundings; luckily the one main road in town was empty this time of night. She let herself into the house and sent Spencer a quick message that simply stated: home.
Spencer was right—she had way too many hang-ups, and it had been a stupid idea to get involved with him in the first place. She couldn’t stand sex, which was why her offer to Spencer had baffled her. A spur-of-the-moment impulse that had come from seemingly nowhere. And now look at her—the very first time she’d ever picked up the reins, the horse had thrown her and bolted. Naturally.
