Chapter 12
SPENCER
This was wrong. All wrong.
It was Friday night, already past ten p.m., and Spencer was stuck at home. Alone and bored. So bored.
Noah and Chase had told him they were going to be with their forever boyfriends for the night, and Spencer hadn’t heard from Ash and Ryder, so he’d decided to embrace the pain and get solo with style.
He’d thought he was going to be super chill with it, too—like, look at that personal growth, everyone, Spencer’s not being a needy fuck tonight.
He was going to do a night workout, watch an action movie or three, and then pass out on the couch when he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. Totally cool. Copacetic as fuck.
But he couldn’t do it, actually. He just wasn’t born that way. Or maybe he was too wired. Too … energized. Spencer needed to be around people. Needed to chat and laugh and soak up funky collegiate pheromones.
He tried to distract himself; he really did.
He paced the living room. He found a random tennis ball tucked under a chair—where the hell had that come from?
—and threw it against the wall for a while.
He concocted a new smoothie, one with chocolate protein powder that looked like someone took a dump in his blender.
He cleaned out his desk and stashed some of his extra school supplies in Chase’s massive closet.
He texted his mom, What’s up, Mumsie? and tried not to be surprised when she never responded.
But it wasn’t working, and it was all just the worst.
And Spencer knew where he could go too. Carter Bishop was having one of his shindigs, and it was probably just getting good right about now.
It wouldn’t be the first time Spencer went to a party alone. He was an old hat at it, especially when he was looking for someone random to spend the night with.
But randoms weren’t allowed right now, even if Spencer had been craving one, which he most definitely wasn’t. So that left one option:
Be annoying as fuck.
Spencer pulled out his phone.
Spencer: Bored.
Ryder responded immediately.
Sucks to be you.
Followed by Ash’s slightly less hostile,
Come over.
Spencer: What are you guys up to?
Ash: Chilling.
Spencer: I want to go out.
Ryder: Sucks to be you.
Spencer: Please. Please please.
There was no response to that one. Spencer frowned and tried again.
Spencer: Please please please please.
He knew this was part of what made him insufferable—that he couldn’t leave people the fuck alone when he wanted something. He could picture it right now, the wordless communication as Ash and Ryder looked at each other over their phones, debating what to do with this needy asshole.
“Should we give in?”
“He’s too annoying to ignore.”
He was. That was Spencer’s superpower, even if it was also what made him terrible.
As evidenced by Ash texting a minute later.
Ash: Pick us up then. Ryder will be DD.
Oh, hell yes. Spencer did a little dance in the living room, rocking his hips as he waved his phone over his head, adding a little shimmy as if he had the actual ta-tas to pull it off.
He’d missed those two goons. The workload for their classes was picking up already, and he and Ryder both had jobs, which wasn’t leaving nearly enough time to hang.
Ash had only had one other heat on Wednesday, there and gone and managed by Ryder in the morning before Spencer could even get over to the apartment.
There hadn’t been time for Spencer to do anything when he finally arrived, either, because with Ash feeling better, they’d all needed to get to class.
Which was fine. Obviously. Spencer didn’t need to be there for every single heat. He’d come like a million times on Monday, anyway, knotting his insatiable little spitfire like there was no tomorrow once they’d finally gotten him off Ryder’s cock and out of the car.
Well, not Spencer’s spitfire. Ryder’s spitfire.
Spencer abruptly stopped dancing. He tucked his phone in his pocket, then caught a flash of his reflection in the hallway mirror.
Holy fucking shit. His hair was a disaster.
It was half an hour later when he finally pulled up to Ash and Ryder’s apartment. They came out of the building as soon as he texted, and Spencer gave them an appropriately appreciative whistle as they got in the car—Ash in the passenger’s seat, Ryder in the back.
They were both wearing all black, which was both kind of cute and ridiculously hot, especially with Ryder kind of glowering in the back seat like a surly assassin, his arm tattoos on full display in his tight T-shirt.
“What took you so long?” Ash asked.
Spencer patted his stomach. “Had to down a late dinner. Don’t want to be getting hangry at the hoedown.”
Ash gave him a skeptical once-over. “It was your hair, wasn’t it?”
“Why, does it look amazing?”
Ash hummed noncommittally, then slouched back in his seat. “This party better be decent. I was beating Ryder at Mario Kart.”
“You’re always beating Ryder at Mario Kart. He barely pays attention.”
“Well, I could’ve been beating you, but we thought you were working tonight.”
Spencer grinned, not even trying to fight the warm glow in his chest at the realization of why they hadn’t texted him to hang. It was always nice to be wanted. “Nah. Switched shifts for tomorrow. There’s a game on then, tips are gonna be sick.”
“Maybe we’ll stop by and ruin your average.”
Spencer laughed, light and carefree as hell. The night was definitely looking up.
The party was exactly what Spencer had been looking for.
He didn’t know why, but sometimes he fucking craved it—the cacophony of too many inane conversations; the stale, hot air of too many bodies packed into one building; the weird mix of pheromones as people danced and made out and got pissed off at each other.
It just … settled something in him. Like he was getting a dose of whatever the opposite of loneliness was. Which was maybe something Spencer should bring up with his on-again, off-again therapist, but oh well.
Ash pushed at Spencer’s back, driving him toward the kitchen, Ryder following right behind them. There was a keg in the corner, and Ash made a beeline over to it to fill up a cup.
“I’m getting a soda,” Ryder told Spencer, gesturing to the sea of bodies surrounding the island where the rest of Bishop’s bar supplies were displayed. “What are you having?”
“Um.” Spencer scratched at his chest, considering. “Vodka and soda water. Lots of limes, please. Like, at least three.”
Ryder lifted his brows. “You think this party has limes?”
“Bishop always has limes. That’s why his parties are the best—attention to detail.”
Ryder let out a long-suffering sigh and pushed through the squeeze of people to fetch their drinks. He didn’t seem to have to work hard for it. People just kind of … parted for him.
Spencer had planned to wait, but then he saw a familiar face through the entry to the TV room. A little adorable omega all by his lonesome, looking over Bishop’s sound system with a critical eye as he sipped at something in a distinctive red cup.
Spencer strode into the room and wrapped his arm around the little guy’s shoulder. “Everett, right? Dude. You’re the man, having Ash’s back like that. Totally sick.”
Spencer had been meaning to track the guy down and show his appreciation. He knew it couldn’t have been easy squaring off against some horny alpha while Ash had basically been down for the count.
Everett blinked his baby blues at Spencer, then craned his neck to peer over his shoulder. “Is he drunk?”
“No,” Ash answered. He’d been right behind Spencer, it seemed, and now he was leaning all casual and sexy against the doorframe, beer in hand. “He’s just always like this.” He waved a chastising hand Spencer’s way. “Stop pawing at my classmate.”
Spencer grinned, tugging Everett closer. He smelled like tart apples with something sweet on top. Not quite as delicious as charred, gooey marshmallow, but not terrible either. “Aw, spitfire,” Spencer cooed. “You know you’re the only omega I’m pawing at these days.”
“Charming,” Ash drawled.
“It is kind of charming, actually,” Everett said.
Spencer gave him a friendly little shake. “And that’s exactly why you’re the man.”
Ryder came into the room and wordlessly shoved a red Solo cup in Spencer’s hand. There were four limes floating on top.
Spencer grinned at him. “Thanks, big guy.”
He went to take a sip, then saw a familiar figure out on the dance floor.
“Yo, Bishop!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
Everett yelped and swatted at Spencer’s arm, and Spencer let him go, cupping his hands around his mouth as best he could with the cup in the way and trying again. “Yo, Biiiiishop!”
But Bishop was already heading in the opposite direction. “Aw, man. He didn’t hear me.” Spencer took a sad swig of his drink. It was, like, totally polite to greet the host.
“Good,” Everett snapped.
Spencer frowned down at him. “Why good?”
“Carter hates me.”
“Bishop?” Spencer asked in surprise. “Bishop doesn’t hate anyone. He’s, like, notoriously chill.”
“I know. And yet …” Everett studied his nails with deliberate casualness. “And no one hates me. I’m cute, I’m smart, I’m fucking charming.”
“Humble?” Ash added.
Everett snapped his fingers at him. “Exactly. Whatever. His loss. He acts like I kicked his puppy. I’d never kick a puppy.” He took a hard swallow of his drink. “Never.”
“Are you drunk?” Spencer asked.
Everett sniffed, then took another swallow. “A little, maybe.”
“Why are you at his party if he hates you so much?” Ryder asked.
Aw, look at him, actually contributing to a conversation with a stranger. Spencer had been right to bring them here—Ryder was totally in a socializing mood.
“His parties have all the hot alphas.”
Spencer raised his cup in a salute. “So true.”
Although, why Everett was alone in the TV room if he was trying to meet hot alphas was anyone’s guess.
The room was empty around them, most of the crowd split between the kitchen, the living room, and probably the yard out back, where there were always beer pong tables set up for whoever wanted to play.
Basically, the party was out there—grooving, drinking, cackling over said drinks.
Spencer gazed longingly at the dance floor in the living room. There was a perfect circle in the center. He could totally slide in there and shake his ass without even hitting anyone. And he could hear, like, really faint cheering, probably someone kicking complete ass at beer pong outside.
Ash caught Spencer’s eye and tossed his curls in the direction of the crowd. “Dude. Go.”
Spencer pressed a hand to his chest. “Moi?”
“Yeah. You clearly want to mingle with the unwashed masses.”
They all looked pretty washed to Spencer, but whatever. He shifted in place. “But I dragged you guys out here.”
He wasn’t sure why he was feeling weird about it.
He dragged Noah and Chase to parties and then abandoned them all the time.
But it was different with Ash and Ryder.
Like Spencer had a separate set of responsibilities or something.
But also, their situation was on the down-low, so it wasn’t like Spencer could cuddle with them on the couch while they people-watched either.
And who would sit on whose lap, anyway? Could Ryder’s hard, tattooed thighs handle Spencer and Ash both? Like, at the same time?
God, that was such a good question.
Ash shrugged, interrupting the beginnings of a decently filthy daydream. “So? We’re good. We’ll chill with Everett. Go play flip cup or hump someone to a dance remix or whatever else you’re trying to do.”
Spencer grinned at him. “How did you know I’m, like, fucking excellent at flip cup?”
“Maybe because you’re a total bro?”
Ash made what should have been a sick compliment sound scathing, but Spencer winked at him, anyway. “Aw, you’re my bro, too, babe.”
Well, if he had permission, what was stopping him?
Spencer gave everyone in the room—including Everett, because Spencer wasn’t going to neglect anyone like that—an obnoxious kiss on the cheek, and then he made his way out into the crowd.