Spencer sighs. I look over, and he’s leaning back in his chair, legs spread out. Head tipped back and eyes closed.
I’d told him in the waiting room, before the nurse wheeled me away to be examined, that he could leave. That I didn’t need him here. I hadn’t wanted him here. Since at that point, I still might have been convinced he broke me.
But he stayed.
Which had been sweet.
Less sweet when he pointed out I was his only way of getting back home. His motorcycle is safely stored in a shed behind Main Desire for the winter. All our friends with vehicles are either out of the city or getting drunk at the bar. And neither of us had wanted to tell them why we needed a ride to the emergency clinic. So he’d had to carry me all the way back to Tipsy Turvy’s driveway for my car. The path that seemed like such a quick journey in my rush to get to him had been long and perilous on the return as I cried in his arms.
If I’d been thinking more clearly, I’d have grabbed my purse from inside the house. Then I could have avoided calling my mom. But as it was, I’d panicked from the possible destruction of my baby-making organs. I’m lucky enough I was able to dress myself after my initial freak out.
All right, fine—Spencer dressed me. Because I’d been crying. Hiccupping with tears as he pulled all my clothes back on and whispered reassuring nothings in my ear. I don’t even remember what he said. Only that his voice had been deep and quiet and calming. He’d been careful tugging up my pajama bottoms. Stuffing my underwear in my pocket—since there was no way I was getting those back on in my present state. Buttoning my winter jacket. He even let me borrow a pair of socks when I tried to put my feet in my boots without them.
I wiggle my toes, warm and snuggly in thick wool twice the size of my feet. Slide my gaze to him again. With his eyes closed and his steady breathing, I think he might be asleep. So I drag my eyes over him. From his relaxed face to the mouth that had kissed me until it felt like my knees melted. To those broad shoulders and firm muscles, hidden beneath his shirt. Hard planes I had touched with my own two hands.
Speaking of… my eyes drop to his arms, pronounced by his rolled up sleeves. To the hands dwarfing the coffee cup he holds. The same hands that had caressed my body. That had brought me to the brink of pleasure and pushed me right over the edge.
My cheeks burn.
Spencer Armstrong made me climax. I’d almost had full blown sex with him. It had been going so perfectly. Until it wasn’t.
My one night with him… ruined by my own traitorous body.
This is what you get for winging it. I settle back again, drinking another sip of bad coffee. My hastily crafted plan to get over Ashton with Spencer had disastrously backfired.
This is why I overthink. To consider every potential scenario. To map it in my mind and be prepared for any outcome. So I don’t wind up in an emergency room clinic trying not to scratch my skin while asking a nurse for a frozen bag of peas to hold between my legs.
I mean, I’d been so sure this would work, so positive that I needed to get this done as soon as humanly possible. I’d forgotten my purse. I’d left my house without socks. I hadn’t even done any of the things I normally do to prepare for sex. No moisturizing or exfoliating. No makeup or clothes more appealing than flannel pajamas.
Not that Spencer seemed to mind any of that. I press my lips together, savoring the memory of his face between my thighs. His fingers inside me. His lips on mine.
He’d been a very nice biology partner.
And his staying—even if he’d been coerced by no alternative means of transportation—almost made up for our one night together being reduced to an emergency clinic room and two awful cups of coffee.
“Spencer…” I whisper.
“Hm?” He raises an eyebrow, though his eyes stay shut.
Making it easier for me to tell him, “Thank you.”
Then he does open his eyes. Lifts his head and stares at me thoughtfully. I wait for him to ask what I’m thankful for. I don’t know what I’ll say. For driving me here? For not leaving me to deal with this on my own? For taking me up on my offer to sleep together? For not kicking me out after I faked an orgasm? For giving me a real orgasm? For the coffee?
He shifts in the chair. Clears his throat. “You know, some guy down the hall fell on a cucumber.”
“Why would he come to the emergency room?”
“It landed in his ass.” His eyes meet mine. “While he just happened to be completely naked.”
There’s a wry tilt to his mouth. A faint twinkle in his usually dark expression. Yes, Spencer Armstrong is most definitely smiling.
My stomach flutters. Like that morning in my kitchen, after he’d just woken up. He’s unguarded. And it’s… pleasant. Cute, even.
Fine, I’m lying. It’s downright captivating.
“So as bad as all… this is,” he nods at my lap. “At least your Valentine’s Day can’t get any worse than that guy’s.”
I laugh under my breath. “Guess again. This isn’t even my worst Valentine’s Day.”
He quirks a brow in question. I sigh. “Last year. Ashton gave me a coupon for a salon to get extra dolled up for a date. I got to the salon, they did my hair, my makeup, I got waxed. When I was about to leave, they told me the coupon had expired.”
Spencer grunts. I hold up a finger so he doesn’t interrupt. Since that’s not all. I explain that while I paid for the salon out of my own pocket, Ashton spent the whole day at
