Eliott sits on my other side, his arm close enough to touch my shoulder. His face is red from the heat, and he looks like he’s ready for a break, but too stubborn to give up his spot beside me.
“Tema is my niece. I’m not apologizing for not being Abigail, the perfect wannabe-mother,” I snap. Both of us are surprised by the vehemence in my tone.
“I’m not comparing you to her.” Spencer looks over at Eliott. “I’m sorry, but would you mind giving us a minute?”
“Your cheeks look a little red,” I add with a smile. “I’m getting out soon, too.”
Eliott nods and climbs out without a word to either of us. I wait until he’s out of earshot. “You really think you don’t compare me to Abigail?” Sarcasm is not a good look for me, but it serves its purpose.
“I never meant to hurt you with her.” It’s a different voice for him—deep and emotional. Spencer is very good at what he does because he’s able to keep his emotions separate and invisible. It’s one of the reasons why I never knew how he felt about me—if he felt anything—because most of the time, his face is devoid of emotion.
I’m very emotional, just a ball of them that makes me hard to deal with at times.
I know this about myself.
Spencer inches closer and suddenly I feel the touch of his hand under the water. I pull away, but he grasps my fingers before I can get away, and then his hand is holding mine.
The simple touch of my hand in his brings heat to my eyes.
I’ve held hands with men before, so why should this make me cry?
But this is Spencer. It’s Spencer, and he’s here with me, and I’m so confused and afraid of saying too much that it’s hard to breathe.
“You didn’t hurt me,” I lie and try to move my hand out of his.
“I don’t believe you.” There’s a battle going on between our fingers under the water that no one can see.
It’s just like our relationship—if you can call it that. No one sees the letters I write to him, the texts he sends me. The memes and reels and silly pictures that fly between us.
The way he makes me laugh over the stupidest things.
“I don’t care.” I set my jaw and refuse to look at him because he’d be able to tell I’m lying in a heartbeat.
“Lyra,” he urges. “I’m trying here.”
“Rebound much?” I give up the battle of the fingers and let him take my hand again. It does feel good to let him hold it. I watch Tema in the pool with Tanner and Leo, notice how Ashton seems to follow Sophie around, and laugh at how Basher was put in charge of the music, but everyone keeps complaining because all he plays is Denzel Duke.
I watch everyone and everything except Spencer beside me.
“It’s not what you think between me and Abigail,” he says, his thumb making circles on my wrist; a touch that would be much more of a distraction if I didn’t want to hear what he is saying so badly.
“I didn’t give much thought to the two of you at all,” I declare.
“I don’t believe you,” he repeats.
“Again—I don’t care. And I think I’ve proven that by deciding to be the Suitorette.”
“I think that proves that you do care,” he says ruefully. “Look, we don’t have to talk about why you wanted to come on the show, but I need you to know that I’m here for you.”
“So you said.”
“And you don’t believe me?”
I finally turn and study his face, the silvery grey eyes that I know as well as I know my own. “The only thing I’m sure about is that I’ve known you literally my entire life. And in that time, you’ve never once treated me as anything other than your best friends’ little sister. I find it hard to believe—and yes, a little suspicious—that you suddenly show up now, when I’m in the process of moving on.”
“Why do you need to move on if you’ve never had feelings for me?” Spencer interrupts.
“I never said I didn’t,” I point out. “Youdid.”
