It’s the first time I’ve initiated contact since he got here. It’s the first time I’ve touched him, and it’s a heady sensation.
Spencer covers my hand with his, and I try to keep breathing normally.
“I’ve always thought you were cool, Spencer,” I say in a soft voice, staring at our hands. They look good together. Spencer has some colour after being outside yesterday and again today. His forearm is now the colour of nicely toasted bread. “Talking about being cool is really lame, by the way,” I add.
He laughs. “I think I held my own. With the volleyball. Was that the plan? For you to try to embarrass me?”
I shrug. “Maybe I just wanted to see you without a shirt.”
Spencer widens his eyes, his smile touching every part of his face. “Ah, now we’re really being honest. What else did you want?”
I’m all for honesty and for flirting and suggestive comments, but he’s asking me to admit things I might not be ready to say aloud.
What are you waiting for?
It’s not easy. Give me a break.
I look into my glass like it should have the answers, and when nothing comes, I take a long drink.
“Lyra,” Spencer begins, moving closer to the table, his expression intent. I’ve seen that expression before, when he’s negotiating a deal, or trying to sway an opinion.
Or trying to win an argument.
“I’ve been here a week. We need to talk.”
“We could have talked years ago, but you decided that you needed to explore your relationship.”
There I go. It’s like the waitress has dropped an entire pitcher of beer on the table between us and there’s no way we’re going to be able to sop it all up before everything is sticky and smells of yeast.
Spencer straightens, his smile leaving his eyes without even a quick goodbye. “Which is exactly whatyou’vebeen doing for years as well. And this,” he says in a sharp voice, with a frustrated flick of his fingers toward the table of men patiently waiting for me. “We should have talked before you decided to do this.”
“I didn’t think that was necessary. Besides, when do you think that should have happened? Before you declared yourself madly in love with Abigail, or after?”
“I didn’t declare anything,” he mutters.
“Well, you didn’t exactly say you weren’t. This was a spontaneous decision. I didn’t take the time to talk to anyone.”
“Really? You didn’t tell anyone that you decided to become the Suitorette to get back at me and Abigail?”
Again, there it is. Spencer has always been able to see through me, more than my brothers. He understands what I say and don’t say, my behaviour. While others see me as impulsive and thoughtless, Spencer knows every action is rooted in a reason.
I was hurt that he picked Abigail. I thought I lost him. And this was the best way I could come up with to lash out at him.
But I’m not about to tell him he’s right. “You nearly gave me a heart attack showing up here,” I say lightly. “I thought something was wrong. My dad…”
“I could see it on your face, and I’m sorry about that, but there wasn’t a way I could warn you.”
“A warning would’ve been nice.”
Spencer lifts his glass. “Pot calling kettle black. It was a spontaneous thing.”
“You don’t do spontaneous.”
“Oh, I know, but I just did. Lyra, I don’t want to keep talking in circles with you.”
“Neither do I, so tell me the truth about why you’re here.”
“Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do on a date?” He gestures to the men at the other table, now staring at us with varying expressions. “A date without an audience.”
