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“Guess so.”
The teenage gigglefest came to an end when Spencer returned home. Well, it didn’t so much end as change locations. The girls, all five of Charlie’s closest friends, and Toffee filed upstairs and into Charlie’s room. The door slammed, the music went on, and the volume went up. Spencer groaned, heaved a huge sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Lia and Daff laughed at his reaction. Daff enfolded him in a hug.
“Oh, poor baby, it’s not that bad. Soon you’ll be so used to the noise you won’t even notice they’re there.” A high-pitched squeal made an instant liar out of her, and she grimaced. It was Charlie’s first sleepover, and Spencer didn’t look too comfortable having a bunch of high-pitched teens in his home.
“Why did we agree to this again?”
“Because we love her and it’s healthy for her to have close female friends. They can enjoy themselves here in a safe environment.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced.
“What did you and your man crush get up to?”
“Movies, makeovers . . . or would you call that a male over?” Lia’s eyes widened as she tried to make sense of his statement.
“Wait, what?” Daff gawked, and Spencer grinned proudly. Looking smug that he had some information that could surprise her.
“We drank, watched a movie, and I did his manscaping.” Lia choked on her spit, and Daff snorted.
“Oh, my love,” Daff murmured, her voice low and sympathetic. She had only recently started calling him that, and Lia could tell that Spencer absolutely adored it—he practically preened every time she used it. “That definitely doesn’t mean what you want it to mean.”
“What?” Spencer stared at her blankly.
“Manscaping,” Daff elaborated patiently, and Lia was starting to shake as she tried to control her laughter. Poor Spencer looked completely baffled and the tips of his ears were starting to go pink, as if he realized that he might have used the wrong pop-culture reference. Again.
Lia lifted her hand to her mouth; the laughter couldn’t be contained any longer and actually exploded through her fingers. Spencer sighed in resignation.
“It means his pubes, doesn’t it?” At his question, Lia doubled over the kitchen counter and held on for dear life.
“Mostly,” Daff said, still looking completely earnest and compassionate, her hand stroking up and down Spencer’s broad back. “But it can also mean chest hair. Back hair. Ear hair. Butt hair. I suppose it’s just general male grooming and appearance.”
“Fuck,” Spencer said, the word soft and heartfelt and just so, so funny. He glared at Lia, who was still bent over and laughing uncontrollably. “Shut up, Lia. Eighty-nine percent of the time you make the same kind of mistakes.”
“Y-yes,” Lia gasped, her voice hoarse and breathless as she tried to control her laughter. “B-but not this time.”
“This is why I prefer to keep my mouth shut,” Spencer muttered, and Daff finally lost it. She hugged him and laughed, and because the sound was so joyful, Spencer lost his look of disgruntled resignation.
“Oh, you beautiful man.” Daff laughed. “This is why I love you. You’re hilarious. And a fantastic sport.”
Spencer grinned and enfolded his arms around her.
“Are those the only reasons you love me?” he asked into her hair, and Daff settled snugly into his arms and rested her cheek against his broad chest.
“Tip of the iceberg,” Daff crooned.
“Well, then, elaborate, darling.”
Lia knew that they were on the verge of forgetting her very existence, and she sighed wistfully before bidding them both good night. They were aware enough to separate and give her a proper farewell, but Lia could tell from the dazed expressions on both of their faces that they’d be resuming the “conversation” the second she drove off.
She went as far as the end of the drive, took the left turn, and then stopped at the entrance to Mason’s driveway. The cabin wasn’t completely dark—the loft lights were still on, and Lia wondered what he was doing. She considered her life, her desire for more, and her recognition that there would be no more. This was it.
Maybe it was defeatist; maybe it was simply her way of talking herself into this fling with Brand. She needed an excuse, a way to make herself feel better for doing something so completely uncharacteristic. Telling herself that this was a rebound thing for him and a last chance for some sexual excitement for her was that excuse.
It would benefit both of them. And when it was over, they’d walk away from it without looking back. None the worse for wear.
Decision—crazy, insane, off-kilter, and totally uncharacteristic decision—made, Lia turned her car into the driveway and drove the short distance to the front door. Once there, she sat for another long while, on her phone, making a list. She needed guidelines, a set of rules to keep her in check. To remind her not to get emotionally involved and to keep her cognizant of the fact that this was nothing more than a short-term, mutually satisfying arrangement.
