Chapter 12 #2
She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t back down. Instead, she tilts her head, eyes dancing.
“Oh honey,” she almost purrs. “If I was flirting, you’d know.”
She turns away, looking at her phone like I’m not sitting here actively losing my mind.
A beat of silence.
Then a thought occurs to me.
She’s been teasing me all night. Poking the bear. Maybe it’s time she finds out what happens when the bear bites back.
I stand slowly, moving to where she’s perched on my bed. Her posture stiffens, breath faltering just slightly.
Interesting.
Blood rushes south as I lean down, caging her in with one arm.
She sucks in a breath. The sound goes straight to my dick.
I should step back.
I don’t.
Tara is too close now, her body heat pressing into my space, the floral scent of her shampoo messing with my head.
This is such a bad idea.
But then—her eyes flick to my lips.
And suddenly, I’m not sure who’s losing this game anymore.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, voice breathy.
“Practicing,” I murmur, keeping my voice low, watching her pupils blow wide. “Like you suggested.”
Her pulse jumps under my fingers when I brush hair from her face.
Jesus Christ, she’s so responsive.
I could kiss her. I could.
I could prove that if I really wanted her, I wouldn’t hesitate.
Instead, I step back. Force the distance.
“See?” I say, keeping my voice even. “Totally natural.”
For a moment, she just stares at me, dazed, like she’s trying to process what just happened.
Then her expression shifts.
And I know I’ve fucked up.
Because she’s pissed.
“You’re an ass, Spencer.”
She shoves off the bed, frustration rolling off her in waves.
I smirk, pretending I don’t care. Pretending I’m in control. “Just proving a point, Hawkins. We’re going to do fine.”
But she doesn’t move toward the door.
She folds her arms, eyes burning into me.
“Actually, no,” she says, voice sharp. “We’re not fine.”
I blink. “What?”
“You do this thing,” she continues, stepping closer, challenging me. “This whole fucking thing where you flirt, you touch, you get close—then you pull away. Like none of it ever happened.”
Something twists in my chest.
I keep my face blank. “You’re imagining things.”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “Bullshit. You act like you don’t care, like I don’t get to you at all. But then you do shit like this.” She gestures at the space between us, where the heat still lingers.
I don’t answer.
Because if I do, I’ll say something I can’t take back.
She doesn’t let it go.
“You don’t get to be in my life when it’s convenient for you and then disappear when it’s not, Alfie.”
I inhale sharply. “Tara—”
“No,” she snaps, shaking her head. “I know you feel something.”
My stomach tightens.
“I know you, Alfie.” Her voice is softer now. “I see you.”
And that’s when it happens.
Something snaps.
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. Fuck.
“You think it’s so easy, don’t you?”
Her eyes widen slightly. “What?”
I shake my head, scoffing.
“You just—” I exhale sharply. “You actually believe in all this shit. Love. Soulmates. Forever.”
She blinks.
I let out a dry laugh. “It’s not real, Tara.”
Her brows furrow, like I just said the most insane thing in the world.
I keep going, because I can’t stop now.
“Love is just a fucking illusion,” I say, voice bitter. “People pretend it’s real because they like the idea of it, because it makes them feel safe for a while. But in the end? Everyone leaves. Everyone stops loving you when it’s not convenient anymore.”
Tara is quiet.
Too quiet.
For the first time, she doesn’t push.
She just looks at me, like she’s seeing something no one else ever has.
“Who made you believe that?” she asks softly.
The words hit harder than they should.
I don’t answer.
Because the truth?
It wasn’t just one person.
It was every example I’ve ever had. Every hollow relationship I’ve ever seen. Every couple that stayed together out of habit, out of obligation, out of fear of being alone.
I never saw the kind of love people write about in books.
I saw people settle and lie and cheat.
And I refuse to be one of them.
Tara takes a step closer, slow and deliberate.
I should step back.
I don’t.
“You might not believe in love,” she says, voice steady. “But I think you’re scared of it anyway.”
I inhale sharply.
She tilts her head, her gaze dropping to my mouth for half a second.
I stop breathing.
She’s so close.
She’s too close.
If I leaned in just an inch, I could taste her.
The thought makes my stomach tighten.
I could.
I could kiss her.
I could let myself believe, for just a second, that this is something I can have. That she’s something I can have.
Her breath brushes against my lips.
And then—
The door swings open.
“Oh, thank fuck, you guys are here!”
Tara jumps back like she's been electrocuted.
I close my eyes. Jesus Christ.
Ethan stands in the doorway, red-faced and out of breath, still in his gaming headset with his phone clutched in his hand.
“Some twelve-year-old little bitch from Reddit is trying to hack my Xbox account!
I'm in the middle of a tournament final—there's actual prize money and they've locked me out of everything and—”
Tara, still wide-eyed, clears her throat. “Um. What?”
“I need someone with actual brain cells to help me get back online before this little demon ruins my life! Three years of gaming progress—my tournament rankings—my entire team is waiting and—” His voice rises with each word. “They're already posting about it on Reddit. I'm going to be a meme!”
Silence.
Tara lets out a strangled laugh. I press my fingers to my temple.
And just like that, the moment is gone.
“Shit,” Tara mutters, upending an empty paint can.
“We’re completely out of paint. We need more pink if we’re making the whole thing pink.
” So far, we’ve covered up the huge dick with white paint, and now we’re covering it all in a light pink.
I haven’t showed Tara my design yet, I’m still working on it.
But we concluded either way the background was going to be pink. Well, she concluded, I obliged.
We haven’t spoken about what happened in my bedroom last night, how close we got to kissing. Both of us have defaulted to pretending it never happened and everything is perfectly normal. Which suits me fucking great.
She looks up at me through her lashes. “Any chance you want to make a supply run?”
“I’ll go.” I’m already reaching for my keys, needing some space. Being around her is getting harder - literally. The way her shorts ride up when she stretches to paint is fucking criminal.
“I’m coming too.” She grabs her bag before I can protest, practically bouncing on her toes. That’s the thing about Tara - she attacks everything with this endless energy that both exhausts and intrigues me. “We need to practice anyway.”
“Practice what?”
Her grin is wicked. “Being a couple. What if we run into your family? We should be prepared.”
Fuck. The thought of pretending to touch her, to act like she’s mine...
“Fine.” I'm going to regret this. “I’ll drive.”
“Obviously. Like you'd let anyone else drive your precious baby.” She grins. “I've seen how you look at it. Should I be fake jealous?”
“That's ridiculous. It’s a vehicle.”
“Is it? You literally patted its hood yesterday after parking. Patted it, Alfie. That’s one step away from heavy petting.”
I actually laugh, which seems to happen a lot around her lately. It's becoming a problem.
The hardware store is mercifully empty when we arrive. Tara immediately commandeers a cart, looking at me expectantly as she positions herself on the back.
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on,” she whines, and Christ, the way she bites her lip should be illegal. “What kind of boyfriend wouldn’t push their girlfriend around on a cart?”
“A sane one.” But I’m already gripping the handle, because apparently, I’ve lost all self-respect where she’s concerned.
She’s wearing shorts that make it impossible not to notice her legs. My hands itch to touch her thighs where they grip the cart. I force my eyes away, jaw clenching.
“To the paint section!” She throws her arms wide, nearly knocking over a display. “Onward, noble steed!”
“You’re going to get us kicked out.” But I head towards the paint section anyway.
“What about this one?” She holds up a swatch.
“That’s the same pink as before.”
“No, this is ‘Ballet Slipper.’ The other one was ‘Rose Petal.’ Completely different.” She waves them in my face. “See?”
“They’re identical.”
“Your color blindness hurts me, Spencer.” She steps closer, holding them against my chest. “Look at the undertones.”
All I can focus on is her hands on my chest, how easy it would be to back her against the shelves and show her exactly what she does to me. The thought of her pressed between my body and the wall makes my blood run hot. But the night in the geology department was a mistake, I can’t give in again.
An elderly couple appears and Tara immediately slides into character, pressing herself against my side. “Baby,” she says sweetly, “what do you think about this one for our room?”
Our room.
“Whatever you want, Tink.” The nickname comes out rougher than intended.
She wraps her arms around my waist, and fuck, she feels good. Small and warm and perfect against me. “See? This is why I love you. So agreeable.”
My hands find her hips automatically. Even through her clothes, her skin burns hot under my palms. “Agreeable?” I raise an eyebrow. “Tell that to Professor Hammond after our lab notation argument.”
“That was different. You were wrong.”
“I was not—”
“You two are adorable,” the elderly woman says as they pass. “Young love is so beautiful.”
Tara beams at them, then turns that kilowatt smile on me. “Hear that? We’re adorable.”
“You’re something.” My voice drops lower as I notice how her pupils dilate. She’s still pressed against me, and I swear I can feel her heart racing. Or maybe that’s mine.
“Good practice though, right?” Her voice has gone breathy in a way that makes me think about how she’d sound underneath me.
“Very convincing.” I brush hair from her face, letting my fingers trail down her neck. Her pulse jumps under my touch. “Though we should probably work on—”
“Can I help you folks find anything?”
We spring apart at the clerk’s voice. Tara launches into questions about paint types, but all I can think about is how she felt against me. How much I want to pull her back.
She’s telling the clerk how we’re painting a mural, her hands moving animatedly as she explains it.
I’m only half listening because I’m too focused on how her eyes light up, how she gets this little crease between her brows when she’s really into a topic.
“Oh!” She stops mid-sentence, eyes going wide.
“Look!” Before I can ask what, she’s grabbing my arm, pulling me to the guy.
“And my boyfriend, Alfie, is the artist behind the whole thing. It’s going to be amazing having some color on there!” She’s practically bouncing with excitement. The clerk looks confused but smiles politely back.
And fuck, watching her get this excited about the project, about everything - it hits me.
This feeling in my chest whenever she’s around, how I can’t help smiling when she rambles about science, the way my skin burns where she’s touching my arm... I think I might be falling for her.
The realization should terrify me. Probably would if I let myself think about it too hard.
Because what the hell do I know about falling for someone? The closest thing to love I’ve seen is business arrangements dressed up in diamond rings and prenups. But Tara... she makes everything brighter just by existing.
Makes me want to try, even though I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.
“Alfie?” She looks concerned. “You okay?”
I swallow hard and look away from her. Mumbling that I’m going to pay.
This is dangerous. She is dangerous, with her sunshine smile and endless energy and the way she makes me want to forget every rule I’ve made about keeping people at a distance. Especially her.
We load the paint cans into my car.
“That was fun,” she says as we drive. “Good practice.”
I grunt in response.
“Though next time,” she continues, “we should probably practice more couple-y things. Hand holding, casual touches... you know, make it look natural.”
Images flash through my mind - my hands in her hair, on her skin, making her gasp my name... “Yeah.” My voice comes out strained. “Natural.”
She glances at me, something wicked in her expression. “You okay there, Spencer? You seem tense.”
“Fine.” I adjust my grip on the steering wheel. “Just thinking about the mural.”
“Mm-hm.” She stretches, completely unnecessarily, making her t-shirt ride up. “The mural. Right.”
When we get back to campus, she gathers the supplies, then pauses at the car door.
“Thanks for playing along.” She leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek, lingering just long enough to make my blood burn. “You’re better at this than you think. Your family will be fooled.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me sitting in my car with an uncomfortable hard-on.
Happy-fucking-Friday.