"Yeah, I know." It's a small town. We all know who she is.
"It's the damn phone tree, isn't it?" she grumbles. "Anyway, I heard you were in trouble."
In trouble. Am I? "Maybe."
"Well, Spencer will take care of you. Trust him."
A quiet falls over the line. Spencer leans on my breakfast bar, waving his hands to tell me to hurry it up. Maybe he thinks I’ve settled in for a long-winded best friend talk, but before this, I’m not sure I’ve actually exchanged words with Tabitha.
“On second thought," Tabitha continues, "ask him if he's put up any cameras."
I rest the receiver on my shoulder and ask Spencer as he continues waving his hands to get my attention. "Did you put cameras in my house?"
"No." He’s startled like the question comes from completely out of thin air, but then when another moment passes, one side of his lips tip into a smile.
"He said no," I report back to Tabitha on the phone.
"That means yes." There's a clatter of metal behind her. "Have you ever left him at your place alone? Never mind,” she responds before giving me time to answer. “I'll come help you look later."
"…Okay."
In the background, someone yells Tabitha. "I’ve got to go, but come to the bakery when you're free. We'll chat."
The line goes dead before I agree or disagree to plans with Ridge’s new girlfriend. Spencer stands at the entrance to my kitchen, waiting. He carries the rolling bag by the handle and practically pushes me out the door.
"Where are we going?"
He opens the door to his big black truck, tossing my suitcase in the extended cab portion. "My place."
I pull myself into the truck, hesitating before shutting the door. "Your place?"
Good Lord. How will I survive another night in Spencer's bed?
CHAPTER EIGHT
“So how are we going to do this?” I ask, standing beside Spencer’s imposing bed but making no moves to get myself under the ruffled covers.
“Like last time.” Spencer’s eyes rake me up and down, but not because he’s checking me out. It’s definitely more him making sure I’m not suffering from shock or an alien abduction.
Whatever the reason, his leering gaze forces my arms over my chest. My lips pinch together, and I look sheepishly at the top of the bed. I’m wearing on one of his long T-shirts—NAVY written in big, bold font across the front—underwear, and a pair of shorts. It’s way more clothing than he’s sporting with his black boxers covered in small four-leaf clovers.
As if the universe needed to give me more signs of him getting lucky tonight.
“We haven’t done this before.” I’m not one of those simpering-virgin types, but a few alcoholic beverages might help. Plus, why did I eat a second helping of fries at dinner? It was stress eating—there’s no other explanation.
Spencer grabs the edge of the covers and throws them back, exposing his black sheets. “Woman, what are you talking about?”
“The sex.”
“The what?” He stops messing with the covers, his hand stalled in midair.
“Sex!”
“Sex?”
“It’s what you do in a bed.” My hand waves frantically back and forth over the king-sized bed like the lunatic he surely believes I am now.
“It’s been a stressful night. I didn’t know that was on the table.”
