“You only get one of those memories,” I tell him with a shake of my head.
“A day, or ever?”
“Depends how well we’re getting along.”
“If you tell me about the times you wanted to kiss me, we’ll get along fine.”
“No, because that reminds me of the times wedidn’tkiss.” My smile slowly fades. “And I might kind of blame you for those.”
Stop picking fights with him.
Again, not sure if that’s my mother’s imaginary voice or mine.
I give myself a kick. This is a new Spencer that I’m trying to get to know, but we always fall back into our old ways. Bicker, bicker, argue. Stab, slash, and parry like one of Odin’s sword fights. There is so much past between us that words sharpen when they don’t need to, and barbs are thrown unintentionally.
It still hurts. I shouldn’t want to hurt him.
Spencer straightens, his eyes full of regret and something else I can’t read. “I don’t think I’m the only one to blame. You’re astrong, independent woman. You could have kissed me any time you wanted to.”
“You’re right,” I say lightly, draining a third of my beer because it’s getting a little warm in here with all the talk about kissing. “I could.”
Present tense. Does he notice?
Oh, I think he does.
“Did you have fun at the beach?” he asks politely, his gaze fixed on my lips.
“I did.” My tone is equally polite. “And you?”
Spencer wrenches his gaze up to look me in the eye. “It had to be volleyball.” He rubs a hand at the back of his neck.
“I like volleyball. I’m good at it.”
“You are.”
“And you… not too much?”
“It’s hard to be good at something when I feel like I lose my cool when you’re around,” he admits.
“Sure, if you had some cool to begin with,” I tease, desperate for us to get back to the easy banter. One of the other men will interrupt us any minute now, and I want to leave this on a positive note.
I don’t want to leave him at all.
“I have cool,” he protests, clutching his chest. “You wound me.”
“I thought you were wounded when you took that ball to the side of your head. You need to learn to duck, Spence.”
“You were too much of a distraction, Lyra.”
My breath catches. His words pull a string in my belly, and in a minute, Spencer will be able to unravel me like a wool sweater.
Is that a bad thing?
“You’ve seen me every day of my life when I’m home.” I tread carefully, keeping it light. Keeping it easy. Not wanting to say the wrong thing. “When were you losing your cool then?”
“I thought you wouldn’t think I was cool if I kept losing it.”
I move my hand on the table just enough so that it’s brushed up against his.
