17. Gemma
Chapter seventeen
Gemma
Rule #31: No dating roommate's friends.
I met Spencer at a taco truck, and my first thought was that maybe he needed a few pointers from a matchmaker on which date spots were and weren’t appropriate in freezing October weather. But as soon as I walked up to him, smiling with my mouth tucked into my knit scarf and giving a little wave, he immediately held up two bags that appeared to be full of tacos and drinks. "You thinking I'm a little crazy right now?"
Spencer had a really cool look to him, with neatly buzzed hair along the bottom half and a braided messy bun on top. His eyes were warm but sharp, displaying the obvious intelligence he hid behind a layer of his joking personality. He looked like he could sell tie-dye shirts on the side of the road or save my life with a complicated surgery, and I found that fascinating.
"Something like that," I admitted. My breath mingled with the smoke streaming from the taco truck, and I dug my hands back into my yellow coat pockets.
Spencer was wearing a black turtleneck sweater beneath his gray, herringbone wool coat, and he looked every bit the sophisticated man I imagined he would on a date. He gestured with his head to the left. "Follow me, cute stuff."
It wasn't a gruffly mumbled, "Gem," like I was used to, but the nickname had merit. I followed him down the street, glancing up through the trees that lined the sidewalk. The setting sun refracted off the yellows, reds, and oranges like a cozy campfire, and I had the sudden desire to roast marshmallows. Instead, I gave Spencer a speculative squint. "What's the plan?"
He glanced down, his height towering over me as he clearly slowed his pace to match mine. "Something a little different, I hope."
"Ooh, different. Wow me, Spencer… wait, what's your last name?"
"Spencer is my last name," he admitted with a chuckle. "I hate my first name."
We rounded the corner of the block, and the buildings thinned out, giving way to one large building with a wide parking lot. I cocked my head in question. "Well, now you have to tell me."
"Ah, come on," Spencer grinned. "On the first date? A little fast, don't you think?"
"Oh, this is one of those classy dates where we don't know each other's full names. Got it," I nodded somberly.
"That's right," Spencer agreed, leading me across the parking lot to the building. "I'm a gentleman, Gemma."
I peered at the sign that said, "Horkel's Greenhouse." "I wasn't aware that gentlemen took their ladies on first dates to a… nursery?"
"Bingo," Spencer grinned. We reached the entrance, and he transferred the white paper bags to one hand before opening the door for me. "After you, madam."
"So classy," I murmured, giving him several eyelash bats before waltzing past him and into a greenhouse. He'd taken us to a side entrance of the building, apparently, and we went straight into a warm, lush greenhouse full of sharply scented pines, towering palms, and flowering plants that glistened from a recent watering. I looked around in awe. "I didn't even know this place existed."
"I like gardening," Spencer admitted, coming to stand next to me and looking a little sheepish for the first time. "I find it peaceful here, so I asked the owner if we could have the place to ourselves tonight."
Straight across from us, at the end of a row of flower beds, a wrought iron bench had been placed between two leafy plants dotted with fairy lights. A charming, iron sculpture of a dragon reading a book had been molded so it looked like it was perching on the arm of the bench. I bit my lip, returning his smile. "Okay, you win. I'm taking notes for my clients."
Spencer fist-pumped the air. "Fuck yeah. Okay, let's eat. I got every taco imaginable, some beer, a couple diet colas because I saw you drinking those when we first met, and water. What do you want?"
I held Spencer's dark brown eyes, and despite the perfection of that sentence, I couldn't seem to make my heart flutter. What the hell was wrong with me? This was perfect first-date material. He was a mastermind. Maybe there really was something wired wrong in my brain, and traditional dating would never work for me. I gave him a warm smile. "Beer, please, and your spiciest taco."
We removed our coats and sat on the bench, and I took in the charming scenery with its reaching vines and blooming rainbow of flowers. Spencer handed me a taco and a beer, and as I unwrapped it, rain began to fall against the windowpanes. I gave him a significant look. "Bonus points for aesthetic."
Spencer winked, unwrapping his own taco. "I didn't think the French restaurant was your style."
I bit into the beef taco, and then I moaned because it tasted like cilantro and fresh guacamole which dampened the heat of the salty beef perfectly. "Mhm," I groaned with my mouth full. After I'd chewed and swallowed, I asked, "Out of curiosity, what is my style? Give me your first impressions."
Spencer wiped sour cream from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes widened as he chewed. "Oh snap. Coming right out the gate, huh?"
"It's probably why I'm single."
Spencer gave me a sobering look, tilting his head to get a better look at me. "My first impression? There's no way you're still single." I guffawed, but he continued seriously. "No, I mean it. It beats me, but you're fun and smart. You play video games and you can take a joke here and there. Not to mention—" he gestured up and down with his taco. "You know. All of that."
I looked down at my cream sheath dress that I'd paired with thigh-high, velvet boots. "All what? Oh," I looked back up and quirked an eyebrow. "You mean, the taco body?"
Spencer choked on a laugh. "Taco body?"
"Yeah, it takes a lot of tacos to get this body," I said with mock gravity.
"And what else?" Spencer grinned, clearly willing to pivot to accommodate my joke.
"Croissants," I listed off, "spicy candy, chicken pot pie, and churros."
"I'm both horrified and fascinated," Spencer said. "What the hell is spicy candy?" Before I could answer, his phone went off, chiming several times in rapid succession. He looked down with a frown. "Sorry, I forgot to silence my phone."
Ding. Ding. Ding, ding.
I looked at his pocket with a hint of amusement. "That isn't serious, is it?"
Spencer wiped his hands on a napkin before fishing his phone out and glancing at the screen. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Define 'serious.'"
"Uh… patients dying?" I guessed.
"Oh, well, yes, that would be serious," Spencer agreed, tapping out a message on his phone before switching it to silent. He slid it back in his pocket, his attention fully on me again. "No, not that serious. My friend is having a crisis."
"Which friend?" I asked with a suspicious squint of my eyes.
Spencer gave me a placid smile. "Since you bring it up."
"Oh boy," I muttered, but humor lifted my cheeks. I gestured for him to continue before taking another bite of my taco.
"Let's talk about your roommate. How are things with the situation ?"
I was a little surprised Spencer wanted to talk about Knox on our first date, but then again, we were both his friends. Weren't we? Somehow "friend" didn't feel quite right when I thought about Knox. But "roommate" was starting to sound too impersonal, too. Puzzling over that in the back of my mind, I shrugged and said, "He has some plan to marry me or be fake engaged or something. I don't know. Either way, it's a no from me."
Spencer nodded, cracking open his beer. "It is kind of an unbalanced plan, for Rook. He's usually more level-headed."
I frowned, wiping my mouth with my napkin. "What do you mean? It seems like the logical choice. It's just that I don't want to ruin my reputation with my job, you know?"
"Logical?" Spencer snorted. "Logical would be staying at my place and looking for his own house while you live in the apartment for two years. Marrying you is not a logical plan."
"You… offered him a room?" My reality tilted on its axis. I’d never even considered that Knox had other options.
Spencer took a swig of beer. His dark eyes took on a mischievous glint I'd either never seen before or had missed completely. "I didn't. But he knew it was there."
I tapped my finger against the taco wrapping paper, thinking. "And this is what's making you angry with him?"
"No." Spencer's phone continued to blow up with texts, buzzing in his pocket. "At first, it was that he was being weirdly territorial over you. I like you, Gemma. You're gorgeous and single, and it was a no-brainer for me when I saw you."
I stared at him, wondering where the hell he was going with this. Suddenly, this felt a lot less like a date and a whole lot like accidentally stepping barefoot into a patch of thistles. "Okay," I said slowly.
"But then it was how stupid he was being about you that really just—" Spencer choked out his taco, like it was Rook's neck. "I want to throttle the idiot. He can't see what's right in front of him."
One side of my face scrunched up in confusion. "Spencer… what?"
"I know I'm not making a lot of sense, but he's a total madman, and I've got like thirty seconds," Spencer said, abandoning all pretense of eating now and putting his food and drink in the bag on the ground. He gave me a stare that had trickster written all over it. "I'm sorry for this. I am. But if you were a betting woman, would you put money down on Rook showing up here right now?"
I looked around the deserted greenhouse. Rain thundered against the windows, spilling down in rivulets and plopping off the steel beams outside. The night had darkened completely, and what had been inviting and secluded before suddenly felt all wrong. "He's definitely not here," I commented with my brows furrowed. "What are you getting at?"
Spencer seemed to think for a moment. "I guess what I'm saying is, if he screws this up, then hopefully you'll forgive me. I don't mind being sloppy seconds."
" What? " I gusted out incredulously.
Suddenly, the door to the greenhouse slammed open, and a towering figure loomed in the doorway. I started, but Spencer didn't even flinch. "I should have made you bet. I win."
I stared at Rook as he let the glass door slam closed behind him. The rain had soaked through his shoulders, turning his white button-down translucent, and his disheveled hair had gone muted gold from the moisture. He'd already removed his tie at some point, apparently, and the first two buttons were undone like he'd been in the middle of undressing for the night before storming into the rain. I'd never seen him so… well, unbalanced.
He stalked across the greenhouse straight for us, his eyes more wolf-like and predatory than I'd ever seen them. "A greenhouse ?" he seethed.
Spencer relaxed back against the bench, tracing the curve of the storybook dragon's tail with his finger. "It's romantic. Isn't this romantic, Gemma?"
"She's going to get listeria eating in here," Rook argued.
Spencer snorted. "What?"
I glanced between the two of them with my lips puckered. "What is this? Are you two in a relationship or something?"
Spencer barked out a laugh, and Rook folded his arms, his biceps bulging under the starchy shirt. "He's not my type," Rook said.
"And what is your type?" Spencer challenged, sitting forward and nearly igniting the air between them with the dangerous spark in his eyes. "Please, enlighten us."
"Gemma," Knox said, ignoring his friend and hooking me with a stern look. "We're leaving."
"Is it a trap , maybe?" Spencer challenged. "Is that your type?"
"Is what a trap?" I asked with dripping derision. "What the fuck is wrong with you two?"
But Spencer's words had apparently hit the big, red nuclear button on Rook's control panel because his patience snapped. I saw it visibly happen. His jaw tightened and he cracked his neck with a mutinous expression. "I have had more than enough games for one night. Get out, Gemma, or be taken out."
"I'm sorry, 'taken out?' What are you, the mafia? Are you going to sweep the leg or something?" I asked incredulously. "What the hell does that mean? I am on a date with a man I chose to be with, and you're acting like a petulant—agh!" I leaned back against the bench as Rook lunged for Spencer, grabbing two fistfuls of his black turtleneck and wrenching him to a standing position.
The men were well-matched in height, but Spencer didn't even fight it when Knox shook him. "Are you bored, Theo? Is that why you're picking fights? Because I'll give you a few injuries that will keep you busy."
"Oh my God ," I said, articulating each word and holding my hands out in disbelief. "What the fuck , Rook?"
Spencer didn't seem a bit affected by Knox's threat. "You seem awfully worked up about this date, buddy."
The more I looked at the two of them, the more I realized I'd been played. Straight up played. Spencer wasn't interested in me—at least, not enough to actually fight for a chance with me. He'd said something about "sloppy seconds" that made me want to take Rook's place and punch him square in the nose, but I doubted he meant that. He'd wanted to goad his friend for some reason, and I had been the chess piece… so he could take out the rook. Unbelievable.
"Okay, I'm done." I stood, grabbing my coat and purse. "I do not need to put up with this shit. I hope you both kill each other."
"Wait, Gemma—" Spencer started, but Knox shook him again.
"I'm not done with you."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," I muttered. I fast-walked out of the greenhouse, slamming my hand against the glass door and charging out into the icy downpour. Sharp needles of driving rain sliced against my face and drenched my clothing almost immediately. I threw my coat over my head, hunching down to hide from the worst of it, but my clothing stuck to my body and moisture trickled down my bare arms. I'd parked a block and a half away, near the taco truck, and I had to cross the dark parking lot before I made it to the sidewalk.
In this part of Eugene, there were only a few streetlamps, and I jogged over to one near the crosswalk. The rain gusted down in thick sheets, slapping against my body as the wind carried it through the town like a roiling sea. I smacked the crosswalk button, but then suddenly, a strong hand pulled me away from the edge of the sidewalk. I turned to find Knox, completely drenched and clearly furious. Rain dripped off the tip of his nose and carved tiny streams across his face from the strands of hair plastered to his forehead.
He tugged me away from the edge of the road just as a car splashed through a puddle, which would have drenched me. I shook his hand off. "What is wrong with you?" I shouted over the downpour.
"What's wrong with me ?" he demanded. I'd never seen him so discomposed. His chest rose and fell fast after he'd clearly run to catch up with me, and he didn't even seem to realize his white shirt had gone completely transparent, sticking to the defined ridges of his chest and abs. "You deliberately disobeyed my request just to spite me, Gemma."
"Disobeyed?" I scoffed. I abandoned all attempts at keeping myself dry and let my coat drop to my side. "You don't get to tell me what to do. What, exactly, gives you that right?"
"Do you seriously think you can go through life without any help?" he asked, deflecting my question entirely. He swiped down his face in frustration. "I'm doing everything I can to help you—to help us—and you continually defy my efforts. Why?"
Well, ouch. What was I supposed to say to that? My dad abandoned us for another woman I've never even met and my mom is so lost in delulu land that I basically ended up helping myself through childhood anyway. Of course, I can do it on my own! "I didn't ask for your help," I seethed. "And you don't even want to give it. You don't want to help me. You want to get rid of me."
"That isn't true," Knox snapped. "I am trying to help you, Gem. I want to help you."
"Bullshit!" I yelled. Another car whizzed past us, spraying my boots with water and filling the air with a whooshing roar. Over the din, I shouted, "You haven't wanted anything to do with me since day one. And I get it, I do," I ranted. "I took over your house, I brought a whole ass farm animal into your apartment, and I'm generally a nuisance. I know that. And I'm sorry, but stop pretending that you give a damn about me under the pretense of getting rid of me."
"Stop assuming I hate you," Knox fired back. He reached for me, but then drew up short, his hands halting in mid-air like he'd hit a force field.
"That," I spit, pointing to his hands. "That is why I know you don't like me."
"Gemma, that's not—"
"Stop." My voice cracked when I said it, and to my horror, my eyes filled with tears. I'd always cried during arguments, but now, of all times? My throat clogged with emotion, and I turned away from him, desperate to escape whatever this humiliating conversation was. I hurried to the crosswalk, hoping against all odds that I could find a way to just disappear from Knox's life and forget any of this happened.
There had been glimpses with Knox in the last month—little moments where I thought he did care. He'd been gentle and generous so many times that it was easy to assume he might care for me. But then he was hard, he was surly, and he refused to so much as graze my shoulder with his arm when we were together in the kitchen. He worked long hours in what felt like an attempt to avoid me. Nothing he did made any sense to me, and now he was actually preventing me from moving on with another man. Not that Spencer was an actual candidate for that—I knew that now—but Knox hadn't known that. He was so desperate to get away from me that he cared more about this weird engagement plan than my actual happiness.
So, screw him, I thought, marching across the crosswalk in the blinding rain. Screw him and screw this entire situation.
"Gemma, stop!" Rook yelled.
Yellow light bathed me in a bright wash, searing through my vision and causing me to scrunch my eyes and turn away. But then my brain registered what they were. Headlights—right in front of me. The deafening rush of tires on flooded asphalt filled my ears, and just as the image of a car hood smashed through my fear-frozen brain, my feet left the ground.
An arm wrapped around my waist and pulled so hard, I swung through the air. I was whirled around fast, wrenched out of the road and toward the safety of the sidewalk just as a braking car screeched past me. Someone firm and warm held me against his body, and a wave of rainwater splashed over us as the car accelerated past us and around the corner. Breathing hard, I tried to will my brain to catch up with reality.
It was Rook. He'd pulled me out of the road just in time, just before I'd been flattened into roadkill. My heart raced, slamming against my ribcage and filling my ears with the sound of my own frightened pulse. Rook wrapped his other arm around me from behind, hugging me so tightly, I thought that maybe I might manage to not break into a hundred pieces from the fear that pumped through my veins.
But he was touching me. No, he was hugging me. His solid, warm arms held me tightly to his chest, and it felt like coming home after a long vacation. I sagged against him, letting loose a jagged breath heavy with tears and relief. His chest pressed and retreated against my back as he breathed fast, and he bent his face to the crook of my neck. His warm breath gusted against my skin, just under my jaw, and with an uneven voice, he breathed, "You want me to touch you, Gem? I will." He skimmed his nose against the curve of my neck. "I'll touch you. But once I do, I'm not stopping."