He tilts his head back and laughs. “You got it, sweetheart.”
We’re using sweetheart again, are we?
Fine by me.
“We should get inside,” I tell him. “Your mum wants to go shopping, and you know how cranky she gets when she’s held back.”
“I feel sorry for Dad’s credit card.”
“She’s going to have to get another suitcase.”
It’s weird to think that I won’t be doing the return flight with him. There will be no whispering while others sleep or eating together in one of the pods. I’ll have his parents, but nothing will be the same.
His smile drops as if he’s realising the same thing. Two more days, and I’ll be on that plane. Who knows when he’ll come home, and there is no way I’m allowing him to buy me another ticket. I’ll have to save separately for one if he can’t get home. Economy isn’t too expensive. I don’t even want to think about how much Spencer paid for first class.
Not that it wasn’t freaking amazing.
Spencer and I make our way into his posh apartment, and I kick off my shoes. My toes curl into the thick pile as I walk into the living room and look out of the glass wall to the ocean.
“Huh, they’re not back from sightseeing yet,” he says absentmindedly as he throws his keys onto the side table.
“Do you have any time?” I ask, turning around. He’s a better view, anyway. “We could watch something.”
His eyes linger on me. “I have some time. Put what you want on and I’ll grab us some water.”
We’re acting like a couple.
Stop that.
Spencer joins me on the sofa. I lay back, resting my head against his shoulder, and I fall asleep within minutes.
Eighteen
Spencer
Indie is in bed when I get home that evening. It’s only just after eight but she’s jet lagged. I send a quick text to Ella, telling her that we’re taking a rain check tonight. There’s no place I’d rather be than in bed with Indie, anyway.
“How did it go?” Dad asks.
I nod. “It was fine.”
“You look tired,” Mum says.
Her and Dad are curled under a blanket on the sofa, watching TV.
Stretching my back, I stifle a smile. “I am. How was shopping?”
Dad turns his nose up.
“Indie and I enjoyed it,” Mum says. “I bought a lot. She bought one thing. I need to take her out more often, show her how it’s done. Dad liked sightseeing but not the shopping.”
Maybe Indie can’t afford to. I hate the thought of her not having something she might want or need. She deserves the world.
“Do you want to join us?” Mum asks. Her eyes drift to my bedroom door. “Or are you going to Indie?”
The way she asks that makes me swallow.
I can’t go to her.
“I’m tired,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “Night, guys.”
“Goodnight, love,” Mum says, smiling warmly.
I close my bedroom door behind me, and Indie’s beauty slams me in the face. She’s asleep, curled on her side, with one hand under the pillow and the other gripping the edge of the quilt. Her long eyelashes cast a shadow on her smooth skin.
Move, you creep.
I force my legs to move, stepping into the bathroom for a shower. Evidence that Indie did the same not too long ago is everywhere. The mirror is still damp, a shampoo bottle is laying down in the middle of the shower, and her towel is strewn over the towel rail carelessly.
I stand in the shower longer than necessary, the hot water pounding my skin, and the steam clearing my lungs. Indie is in my bed again. We’ve never shared before here. I don’t think falling asleep on top of the quilt or on the sofa counts.
Under the cover, it’s so easy to reach out and touch her. I need tying up to stop myself. Or I need to build a wall down the middle to remove temptation.
Once I finish my shower, I dry myself slowly and make about a million mental notes on how not to fuck up the only friendship I can’t function without.
When I’m dry, I slip into bed carefully, trying not to make too much noise or movement to wake her.
Indie can study late into the night for weeks and be fine, then she’ll crash and sleep for about fourteen hours solid. I can just see her up until the early hours before she came to LA, worrying that she’ll get behind with work.
The girl has probably done enough to complete the three-year course twice over.
I lay my head on the pillow, and Indie takes a deep breath.
I groan inwardly and fist my hands. Lust curls in my stomach.
Her eyes flick open, and two pools of dark chocolate stare back at me.
I clear my throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” My voice sounds rough and horny, even to me.
She relaxes again, her body sinking into the mattress. “You’re back.”
“You’re sleepy.”
“I wanted to wait for you but I was exhausted. The time difference sucks.”
“It’s okay.” Finding her in my bed might just be the favourite part of having her here. “You took my side.”
“This is my side now.”
Now. God, she makes it sound like a permanent thing. If I asked her to stay here indefinitely, she would find the nicest way to turn me down. I’d give anything to come home to her every day. To climb into bed, have sex, and fall asleep curled up together.
“Your side. Is that so?”
She nods.
“You know I could make you move, right?”
“I do.”
Is that what she’s hoping for? I don’t think we’ve play fought in years. The idea of having her writhing around on top or under me is exciting. Every ounce of blood shoots south until my dick is throbbing and I can barely breathe.
“Are you going to move?” I rasp.
“Nope.”
“All right, you asked for it.” She gasps when I reach under the quilt and grab her waist.
“Spencer!” she squeals. There is no way my parents didn’t hear that. “No, you snooze you lose. This side
