He laughs, too. “Okay. Fine. You aren’t acting like an ornery child. You do seem bothered by your show, though. Can I ask, does that always happen?”
“Just when I know I sucked.”
He nods appreciatively. “You didn’t suck, but I get it. Same with tennis. I hate losing. But knowing I didn’t play my best is worse.”
I lean toward him. “You get a little moody?”
Spencer laughs and faces me fully. “Something like that.” He tilts his head down, still eyeing me. “Is that it?”
I lick the back of my teeth. This tricky little husband of mine has gone and related to me, and now I feel like spilling my guts.
“I’ve put a lot of pressure on this solo album,” I tell him. “But the truth is, it’s been almost five years now since my last album with a band. Most of my hits, I wrote them when I was still young and my—” I cut myself off, resisting the urge to tell him my whole sob story. I puff air between my lips. “I’m only thirty-one, but I’ve been in this business fourteen years.”
“Success that young isn’t always easy. Speaking as the Massachusetts State Class A High School Tennis Champion,” Spencer says, “and a junior pro player, too.”
“Naturally,” I say.
“But here’s the thing. You’re proven. You know how to write a song,” Spencer says confidently. “You’re the same musician you’ve always been. Just better. Get out of your head about it.”
I laugh. “Tough talk. Is that how they do it in sports?”
He shrugs, smiling funny like I caught him off guard. “Only if it works for you.”
The car pulls up to the hotel. “It works,” I say, holding his eye. “I am brilliant, and I do know what I’m doing. I like that.”
Spencer pushes open his door. “Good,” he says simply and climbs out.
I torture myself by noticing his butt before I climb out myself.
There are cameras flashing immediately, and Spencer puts his arm between my shoulders, touching but not guiding me as we walk in and head straight to the elevator. Someone tries to yell out a question, but I can’t hear it.
The doors slide shut. “You are going to win a Grand Slam, aren’t you?”
He scoffs. “A?”
I laugh. I like it when he’s cocky like that, although he’s pretty damn cute when he’s flustered, too.
“Of course,” I agree.
“I’d like to be ranked number one,” he says simply. “It’s the goal I’ve had since I was a kid. I’m going to achieve number one rank and see how long I can stay there.” He shakes his head. “When I was young, I couldn’t think about anything but that. Don’t get me wrong—I’m still obsessed. It’s just funny that now that I’m so close, I’m suddenly preoccupied with how I look in a photo with Hank Adams.”
“You look dashing,” I say as the doors open. “Duh.”
I brush by him to enter the lounge, turn and linger. He stands across from me, and there’s no way in hell the night can end this early.
“A nightcap,” I blurt out. “Or at least a cup of tea. Come through my room. We should recap.”
Spencer shrugs his jacket off his shoulders. “Sure,” he says and follows me in.
Internally, I lecture myself that this is not a date that ends in sex. No matter how much my cock is stirring and insisting that I should get my mouth all over Spencer immediately, that’s not what this is. I’m going to respect him and myself and not get confused about that.
“Bourbon?” I ask.
He nods as he loosens the top buttons on his shirt, relaxing a little more. “Sure. Two in one night is my limit.” He catches himself and chuckles. “Outside of Vegas, I guess.”
I hand him the glass. “Practical,” I say, and we both drink.
Spencer studies me. “I realized with my trainer’s schedule, I’m going to have to go straight from the gym to the airport in a couple days.”
