Chapter 12 #2
The woman blinks and slowly removes her hand. Spence continues, still using a voice that could melt reinforced steel, “Lying for attention from a famous person is not a good look.”
She snaps her head toward him with a look of pure shock and appalment. “Speaking of looks,” he adds, gesturing lazily toward her face, “it’s time for a brow appointment.” He waves two fingers over his own eyebrows. “And tell your girl not to stop plucking until there’s two.”
Her jaw drops. “What the fuck?!” The poor thing grabs her bag and storms off in a fury. And I just stand there, mouth open. Processing. One thought dominates the rest…
Well, I’ll be damned—Spencer Stark is jealous.
All this time I’ve been flirting with him. Pushing. Teasing. Testing. And nothing. Turns out all it took was a little old-fashioned jealousy to get a reaction out of him.
I slowly turn back to him. “Her brows were fine.”
“I know. But now she has to go check,” he snarks, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I love that for her.” My jaw hangs open wider as Spence continues, deadpan. “Serves her right for having her grabby paws all over you.” I have to bite my lip to stop the grin from spreading across my face.
Yeah, definitely jealous.
Maybe it’s time for me to test the waters. I feel like maybe I can trust him.
After our sweat sesh, we step out into the evening air, the heat of the gym giving way to the faint desert cool that settles in after sunset this time of year. I drag in a breath, stretching my arms over my head and glance sideways.
Spence’s shirt is still damp, sweat clinging to the fabric, molding it to his body and that reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to ask him. I clear my throat. “Why don’t you ever shower after our workouts?”
“What?” he says, shooting me a look. “Why would you ask that? You don’t either.”
I shrug, shoving my hands into my gym shorts.
“I would,” I say casually, “but I like leaving with you.” I pause, letting that hang in the air just long enough.
“Just saying, you seemed awful eager to show me the goods the first night we met.” I tilt my head, a slow grin spreading across my face.
“Maybe I wasn’t wrong calling you little guy. ”
“You couldn’t handle it,” Spence fires back instantly.
Oh, he wants to play? Before I can overthink it, I step closer. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body again. I hold his gaze and let it stretch—let it burn…
“Bet I could,” I murmur.
His eyes flicker, just for a second, and I step back, giving him space. Giving myself space—before I do something incredibly stupid. Spence recovers fast and that smirk slides back into place like it never left. “Then prove it, straighty.”
The word hits low and hard.
Straighty.
And though I’m not the one who spoke the lie, it sits deep in my gut like a bad dinner. For a split second, I consider correcting it. Just telling him he’s wrong. That I’m not even in the same area code as straight. That I think about him in ways that would make his head spin and his dick hard.
But then reality crashes back in and I just let the moment pass. I say nothing. Like a fucking coward. Spence twirls his keyring around his finger, watching me, waiting for a response. He smirks. “That’s what I thought, Ball Boy.”
Yeah, this isn’t the time. Not here, not like this. Not yet. So, I shift gears—a plan formulating for what could be the right place and time. “Seven PM.”
Spence blinks. “What? It’s already past seven, Ryan.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Seven PM next Saturday.”
He scrunches his forehead, confused.
“Chance’s exhibit opening,” I clarify and point at him. “I’m picking you up at seven.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I cut him off.
Deep blue eyes narrow at me. Fuck, even in the dark of night they pierce right through me and send a jolt of electricity directly to my dick.
“We’re both going to be there anyway,” I continue. “And I know you have a tux, Fancy Pants.”
“Ryan—”
“No excuses.” I cut him off again. “I’m picking you up at seven.”
He studies me like he’s trying to figure out what game I’m playing. Fuck if I even know myself. I just know I want more time with him. Outside the gym. Outside this push-pull, half-joking, half-not thing we’ve been doing for months.
I want… something. I just need to sac-up and ask for it. Eventually, he exhales. “Maybe.”
Victory.
I shrug. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Then I muster up every ounce of courage I have to add, “And if I wind up with your cock down my throat at the end of the night, so be it.”
I watch him closely.
Waiting.
Hoping for a reaction.
He doesn’t give me what that deserves, but his jaw tightens just slightly. And it’s enough.
More than enough.
I’m panicking a little on the inside, but I’m surprised by how light I feel. Then I turn on my heel and start walking toward the parking lot.
But it seems I can’t help myself…
I spin around, walking backward now, watching him as he stands there with his arms folded, looking annoyed and maybe a little amused. “Seven PM!” I call out, pointing at him with both hands. “And make sure the pants are extra tight.”
Then I turn back around and blow out a huge breath, butterflies beating their wings against the wall of my chest.
Yeah, definitely time to do something about this.
I just wish I had someone to talk to about it.
I’d risk spilling my guts to my best friend, Anthony.
Now that he’s going to be my agent, it would make sense to have that conversation.
But he doesn’t even know he’s going to be my agent yet and we haven’t caught up in…
fuck, in a long while. I get it—he’s all loved-up with Chance—and I’m genuinely happy for my bro.
Really, I am. Those two are goals. I want that.
It’s my turn.