Chapter 12

“One room? Are you kidding me?” I groan.

“We can always go back to the boat,” Spencer says. He walks ahead of me up the stairs, not bothering to so much as glance at me over his shoulder.

I stare daggers at his back. “You realize one room means one bed, right?”

He shrugs.

My glare intensifies, but I bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut. We’re both wet, cold, hungry, and tired. Arguing with him in the hallway of a B&B is not a good idea, especially when every room in this house is occupied. I don’t need or want anyone to hear me throw what amounts to a tantrum.

Spencer stops in front of a closed door and slides the key into the lock. “I don’t see what the big deal is. We’ve been sharing a room on the boat.”

“With separate beds,” I snap. What doesn’t he understand about that?

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor.” He shoves the door open and steps aside so I can enter first. “Happy now?” He walks in behind me and kicks the door closed.

A massive four-poster bed sits in the middle of the room, taking up most of the space. Matching nightstands are on either side of the bed, and a dresser is pushed against the wall at the foot of the bed. The closet door is open a crack, and that’s the extent of the room. At least it’s a little larger than the room on the boat, but Spencer’s brilliant idea to sleep on the floor won’t work—unless he’s willing to sleep with half his body under the bed.

He tosses the room key on top of the dresser. “I’m going back to the boat to get our stuff.” He walks out of the room before I can utter a single word.

I stand there, staring at the closed door. Water drips from the ends of my hair and splatter to the hardwood floor. Two fluffy white robes hang on hooks on the back of the door. I snatch one, and the room key, and make for the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Thankfully, it’s empty, and I can take a shower in peace.

After struggling to peel the wet clothes from my body, I step beneath the spray of hot water. Tilting my head back, I close my eyes and allow the steam to ease the knots in my muscles. Tiny, complimentary bottles of shampoo and conditioner sit on a shelf in the shower. After washing and conditioning my hair, I use what remains of the shampoo to wash my face and body.

Warm and wrapped in the comfy robe, I shuffle back to the room, my wet clothes rolled into a ball. I drop them on the floor near the dresser, then flop facedown onto the bed. I moan with how soft and welcoming the comforter is, and I intend to sleep the entire day away.

I’m almost asleep when a knock on the door jolts me awake. I scramble off the bed and open the door to find Spencer on the other side. He’s dripping wet and looks more miserable now than when he left. He holds up a duffel bag.

I take the bag from him and move farther into the room so he can come in. But instead of coming in, he swipes the room key from the dresser and the other robe from the hook, and then he’s gone again.

It’s going to be a long night at this rate. I place the bag on top of the dresser, then return to the bed, not bothering to search for pajamas—I’ll sleep in the bathrobe. But this time, I pull back the covers and climb beneath them. The mattress doesn’t squeak, nor does it dip unevenly, and the pillow cradles my head. I yawn.

Spencer returns wearing a robe identical to mine. His hair is slicked back again, and I’m taken with how sexy that style looks on him. I want to tell him that, to suggest he wear his hair like that all the time, but I don’t. Instead, I track him as he crosses the room toward the bed.

He grabs the pillow from his side of the bed and drops it on the floor. Then he reaches for the blanket at the foot of the bed. He doesn’t once look at me. What’s his problem all of a sudden? He was seconds away from kissing me on the porch, and now he can’t even look at me. What gives?

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” I say. “Just… stay on your own side of the bed.”

He grunts but doesn’t argue. He climbs into bed and rolls onto his side so he’s facing away from me. Even though only a few inches separate us, I feel like we’re worlds apart, and that bothers me more than I want to admit.

He’s Spooky Spence, after all, and we’re not friends. He’s a social outcast, and I don’t even like him most of the time, but without even knowing it, he rescued me from a horrible summer, gave me somewhere safe to stay while my parents sell my childhood home. He’s been nice and funny and… Crap. I care about Spencer. I always have, and no matter what our respective social statuses are, he’ll always be the boy next door, the boy who, for so many years, I couldn’t live without.

I flop over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. Should I say something to him? Apologize for whatever I did to make him mad at me? No, I didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who said he wanted me to be his last kiss, and then when he had the chance to actually kiss me, he chickened out. If anything, he owes me an apology.

With a heavy sigh of frustration, I roll onto my side and tuck my hands beneath my cheek. My heart pounds, though I’m not sure why. I strain to listen, to see if Spencer is making any noise at all, but I’m met with deafening silence. The only sounds are of my racing pulse and the rain beating against the window.

The moments tick by, neither of us speaking. Is Spencer asleep? Or is he just pretending to be so he won’t have to talk to me? I’m not sure which of those is worse. I once again shift onto my back, blow out a breath, and fold my hands on my stomach.

“If you’re going to flop around like that all night, I’m sleeping on the floor,” Spencer says.

I turn my head to look at him—his back is still to me, and he’s as unmoving as a stone statue. Gritting my teeth, I momentarily close my eyes and try to calm myself. I really don’t understand his sudden attitude change. I want to snap, to say something mean that I know will start an argument, but exhaustion hangs on every part of my body.

“What did I do wrong?” I whisper, then wait for some sort of response.

But none comes. At least, not right away. Tears sting my eyes, and I’m ready to roll over again, sleep until the following day, then figure out a way home that doesn’t involve me getting back on Spencer’s boat.

Finally, Spencer eases onto his back. He slices a look at me and frowns. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ev,” he says, pain and sincerity mixing in his tone.

“Then why are you acting like you’re mad at me?”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Since when do you care if I’m mad at you?”

“Forget it.” I kick off the blankets, stand, and snatch my pillow.

I have no idea where I’m going, but as far away from Spencer is a good place to start. The room is mostly dark, and I have a hard time seeing clearly, but I manage to make my way to the door without tripping over anything. Before I can get the door open, though, Spencer slips in front of me, blocking my only exit.

“Stop,” he says.

I narrow my eyes and hug the pillow to my chest.

“I’m sorry.” He offers an apologetic smile.

I bite my bottom lip and avert my gaze. What’s he apologizing for, exactly? Being curt and acting like he’s mad? Or for not kissing me when he had the chance?

“Everleigh, please look at me.”

I don’t. From the corner of my eye, I see him rake his fingers through his hair, then prop his hand on his hip before dropping his arm to his side.

“I promise you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I just have a lot on my mind,” he says.

“Like what?” I cave and meet his gaze.

“Things I can’t really talk about.”

I throw my pillow on the bed and cross my arms. “Are you serious? I tell you all about my parents not wanting me, my friends ditching me, and Reid cheating on me, and you can’t talk about what’s on your mind? You’re a hypocrite, you know that?”

He takes a deep, measured breath. “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Not yet.” He shakes his head.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means there’s bigger things in this world than you and me and this stupid boat trip.” He turns away and hangs his head.

“Thanks for clearing that up,” I snap, then stomp back toward the bed.

I sink down onto the edge of the mattress, rest my elbows on my knees, and drop my chin into my hands. What isn’t Spencer telling me? Clearly, he knows something about something, but what?

“For the record, this stupid boat trip was your idea,” I mumble.

“This whole trip is nothing but one big lie.”

I straighten, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on edge. “What did you just say?”

Spencer turns his attention to me. His eyes are dull and full of exhaustion, but not the physical kind. He looks like he’s waging an internal war with himself—and losing.

“This trip… it’s a lie, Everleigh.” He throws his hands in the air. “I made it up, then lied to you about my dad making me ask you to go with me.”

I stand, my movements stiff. I’m not sure what to make of his confession. “Why would you do that?” A sudden chill works up the length of my body, and I hug myself.

He rolls his eyes like he can’t believe I don’t know the answer. “Because I like you. I always have, and when I heard all your friends were taking off for the summer…” He shrugs. “I figured if you spent some time with me, just the two of us, you’d see I’m not as awful as your friends think I am.”

My shoulders sag with guilt. “I know you’re not awful, Spencer.”

“Yeah? Then why do you treat me like I have the plague?” He stalks closer, and I stand frozen in place. “We were best friends, and now you can’t even look at me.” He stops in front of me, close enough I can almost hear his heart pounding against his ribs. “I need my best friend back.”

His gaze is pleading, and I drop my arms to my sides. All the fight leaves my body, and I swallow hard against the threat of tears. While I love being friends with Whitney, Mya, and Liz—and all the popularity that comes with their friendship—being with them is draining. I have to constantly follow their rules and go along with what they want or risk being ostracized. Right then I realize that I’ve missed Spencer, too.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know I haven’t been very nice to you the past couple of years.” I blink, but a few tears manage to pool in my eyes. “I have no idea why you’d go to all this trouble for me.”

“I told you why.” He smiles. “I like you. Even though you are a royal pain in my butt.”

“Like you have room to talk.” I laugh and playfully shove him.

He catches my hand and yanks me to him. My breath catches, and I gaze up into his eyes. He courses his tongue across his bottom lip, and then he lowers his head. His intentions are as clear now as they were on the front porch, but will he follow through this time?

My eyes flutter closed, and I lean into him. A moment later, his lips graze mine, and I whimper involuntarily. He flattens his hands on my back and presses me tighter to his body. Every hard muscle seems to melt against me as I welcome his kiss.

All I can hear are my friends laughing and teasing me about kissing Spooky Spence. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and block them out. Absolutely everything about kissing Spencer is right, more right than they ever were with Reid. Kissing Reid was like drinking rotten milk. Kissing Spencer is like gorging on my favorite dessert until I can’t take another bite—euphoric, satisfying, and sinful in all the best ways.

I gently scrape my fingernails along the nape of his neck, then thread them through his hair. His deep groan rumbles through me, and he deepens the kiss. Where did Spencer learn to kiss like this? I know we were each other’s first kiss, and as far as I know, he’s never had a steady girlfriend.

Much too soon, Spencer pulls away, but I don’t release him. I don’t want to. Thankfully, he doesn’t move his hands from my back, either. In fact, he holds me a little tighter and rests his forehead to mine. His eyes are closed, and I’m dying to know what he’s thinking right now. Fear prevents me from asking. Instead, I rise up on tiptoes and press my lips to his. I think I take him by surprise, because he’s stiff for a second, but then he gives me a quick kiss that lingers way longer than it should before cradling my face in his warm hands.

“Whoa,” I say breathlessly. My lips tingle so much I’m convinced they might be numb for days.

Spencer breaks into a smile that steals what little breath I have left. “You have no idea how often I’ve thought about kissing you like that.” He brushes a strand of stray hair from my face and trails his finger down my cheek.

I tremble from his soft touch. “How often?”

“Every single day,” he says without hesitation.

A lump forms in my throat. Part of me has always known Spencer wanted to continue being friends, but I had no idea he wanted more. At least, not until this moment. But the truth is written across his face, and I can’t avoid it any longer.

Spencer wants me.

And God help me, I want him, too.