He doesn’t flinch. “Because the people demand that we kiss for them?”
“They demand a lot more than that.”
Spencer leans forward, too, putting our faces a couple inches away from each other. “I don’t know which is less believable,” he says. “Me kissing my date in view of the public or you restraining yourself to tasteful pecks.”
I cross the last of the distance, my mouth so close to his, I can feel his warm breath on my lips. My heart rate accelerates, blood pumping to my dick, but I keep my cool.
“Maybe they’ll think you finally made a gentleman out of me. That would sell some newspapers.”
I start to pull back, but Spencer swallows as he tilts his head to the side, staying close instead of retreating like I expected. “Or maybe they’ll just decide you’re a bad influence,” he says.
My body wants to lunge forward, take him in a proper kiss. Heat radiates off his body, and I can swear I can feel his desire coiling. Before I lose control, though, I pull back.
With a glance to the window, I chuckle. “I guess that did the trick.”
Spencer looks over his shoulder. The crowd is practically plastered to the glass, and everyone else in the restaurant is pretending not to watch us.
“Shit,” he says. “This is what life is like from now on, isn’t it?”
I shrug. “Just until the divorce,” I offer casually, but my heart is still pounding.
Before I can say anything else, the door to the back of the café swings open. A guy with a blue apron comes walking out confidently, and it’s only when he’s at our table that I recognize him as the man who declared his love for Spencer earlier.
For a second, my danger signals jump alive, and I’m ready to launch to my feet. Immediately, though, the man gets down on one knee before us with his phone out recording.
“Spencer, I’m so sorry to interrupt your brunch, but I have to say something today for me and for every #NeverGabriel out there.”
“Excuse me?” Spencer asks evenly.
“Oh wow,” I say, leaning back in the booth with a chuckle. “This is special, isn’t it?”
“I love you, Spencer Wilchins. And I will be your husband forever if you’ll have me. You don’t have to stay married to Gabriel. I am one of countless men who aren’t Gabriel who would love you.”
“Come on now,” I say with a scoff. “I’m right here.”
Spencer frowns. “Yeah,” he says, catching up to what’s going on. “My husband is sitting right here.”
“You can do better!”
That pushes Spencer, and his brow furrows. “He is my husband,” he says, voice firm and loud. “And you will not insult our marriage.”
The guy looks surprised by this and glances at his phone. Before he can make another move, though, someone from the café grabs him and hustles him away.
Spencer clamps his mouth shut. He faces me, and his eyes get a little wide.
“Shit. I nearly yelled at him. Was that a mistake?”
“Absolutely not,” I assure him, grinning because damn, did it feel nice to watch him rear up on my behalf. “You probably just did our relationship story more good than a hundred brunch dates.”
He lets out a puff of air. “Fuck. It’s just…” He tense again and gives me a determined stare. “That was rude. He doesn’t know this is a fake marriage.” Spencer frowns. “I’m offended.”
“I agree,” I say, smiling to myself as I go back to eating. “The #NeverGabriels are rude. Should I have smacked him with the wedding dildo?”
Spencer scoffs. “It wasn’t big enough.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
SPENCER
