17. Spencer

CHAPTER 17

SPENCER

I had my phone on the counter, propped on the toaster, paused in the middle of a long how-to clip: JENNY EXPLAINS IT: SETTING YOUR TABLE FOR A FORMAL DINNER. I'd made it as far as folding my napkins, but Jenny's instructions were quicker than my fingers. My swan fell apart in a limp spill of linen.

Maybe this was too much. Too full-on romantic. I surveyed the table, already half-set — tablecloth, china. Candles and lilies. Bowls of water and rose petals next to our placemats. Wait, were there even supposed to be placemats? I had a whole tablecloth. Weren't placemats redundant?

I scrolled back through my video, frustration mounting. Sure enough, I wasn't supposed to use placemats. I wiggled them out and stuffed them back in the cupboard, and ran to the stove to check my sauce wasn't sticking. This was stupid. So stupid. Izzy would laugh. She'd laugh in my face and I'd damn well deserve it. Who did I think I was, Gordon Ramsay?

I hurried back to the table and snatched up the lilies. The front door whooshed open and then it slammed shut. I froze in place, guilty, as Izzy called out.

"Leon? Is that you? Mm, what smells good?"

"Just me," I called. "I made, uh… some dinner?" Man, I sounded dippy. Like some nervous kid. I cleared my throat and stood up straighter. "Leon gave me the recipe. I made us spaghetti."

"Ooh, great, I'm starving!" Izzy kicked off her shoes and they thumped on the floor. I cast about for a place to stash the flowers, but Izzy was still talking. I couldn't focus.

"I had the best interview. I think I might get it. I think—" She paused in the doorway. "Are those for me?"

I scowled down at my flowers. "They're for the table, so… sort of? I was still setting up."

"Well, here. Let me help you." Izzy took the flowers. "You'd best grab your meat sauce. It's about to boil over."

"It's not meat sauce," I said. "It's— oh, shit! " It was boiling over, spilling onto the stove. I hurried to get it while Izzy fixed the table. My whole face was burning, and not just from the steam. This dinner wasn't off to a promising start. I'd wanted to show Izzy I was, I don't know, an adult. Ready for adult stuff, like real sit-down dinners. Real conversations. Real feelings. Real futures. Instead, I was fumbling around without a clue in my head, my doofy kid side on full display.

Izzy giggled. "Who's Jenny?"

I spun around. "What?"

"‘Jenny Explains It: Setting your Table for a Formal Dinner.' Oh my God, were you trying to?—"

"Give me that!" I dove for my phone and snatched it back from her. Izzy picked up a napkin and shook it out.

"These are too lightweight to fold into swans. You need the thick cotton ones."

"Aw, man, shut up ."

We both broke out laughing, and the tension in my chest eased off. I leaned on the counter, shaking my head.

"I wanted to do something nice for you. To show you, uh…" It still felt too early to spill how I felt. The mood was all wrong, too silly. Too light. "You've been working so hard, and I thought you could use this. A nice meal you don't have to cook for yourself."

"Well, it smells great," Izzy said. "And the table looks perfect. Let me help you dish up, and then?—"

"No! No, I'll do it." I blocked her path to the kitchen. "You just sit down, just relax and enjoy it."

Izzy sat, and I set about serving the meal, spooning out pasta, then ladles of sauce. I'd made her this vegan sauce off Leon's menu, which I remembered her loving when he'd let us try it. The salad, as well, was just how she liked it, baby arugula, fresh grape tomatoes. Balsamic dressing with a kiss of white pepper. I set our plates on the table, then poured our wine. Izzy took a long sip of hers and let her eyes flutter shut.

"Oh, yeah. I needed this."

I cocked a brow. "Long day?"

She dug into her pasta. "Yeah, but in a good way. I had that interview, the one I told you about, and it went great. She loved me. I think I might get it. I mean, you never know — she has to talk to her partners. But… oh, my God ." She moaned around a mouthful of spaghetti. "This is so good. You really made this?"

I frowned, slightly wounded. "That so hard to believe?"

"I've literally never, not once, seen you cook."

"What are you talking about? You stole my breakfast this morning. I'd just fried some bacon, and you came and snaked it."

"But that's not real cooking. That's bacon , that's…"

"How is bacon not cooking? It's food off the stove."

Izzy launched into this great cooking spiel, how bacon isn't cooking because there's no recipe, because it's just one ingredient you throw in the pan. All my food was that way, according to her — ham, scrambled eggs, anything off the grill. None of it counted as actual cooking.

I rolled my eyes at her and told her she was crazy, but this wasn't going at all how I'd planned it. It was supposed to be Hollywood romantic, but our dumb best-friend vibe kept getting in the way. Which sucked, because that was why we were so perfect — because we could laugh. Because we could goof off. And then I could hold her close through the night, and tell her how great she was, and she deserved to be happy.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, so I was thinking?—"

"Oh! That reminds me." Izzy set down her fork. "I saw this apartment downtown, near my new job. If I get it, that is. Ugh, knock on wood." She rapped on the table.

"You'll get it," I said. "But, wait. An apartment?" I couldn't feel my own heartbeat, or my breath in my lungs. Izzy was leaving? Was it… was it us?

"Yeah, it's so nice. The light's amazing. Especially the living room — floor-to-ceiling windows." She gestured at our own back wall and the big sliding doors. "And I know, I know, I don't have the job yet. I'm probably jinxing it, but it just felt so right . I could start my next phase there. This whole adult life."

"We're adults," I said, my voice rough with hurt. Izzy didn't seem to notice, caught up in her plans.

"Exactly, we're adults, but we're still stuck in college. Leon was my actual college roommate. It's like I hit pause the second I walked off that campus, and I've been living since then like I'm still twenty-four."

I tried to gulp from my wine, but I'd emptied my glass. "I'd miss you," I said, the words tumbling out. "Seeing your face every morning."

"Stealing your bacon?"

"I'd cook you bacon." I stood up abruptly. "I'd be, not your roommate. Your live-in butler."

Izzy laughed, and she got up and took our plates to the sink. "Would you fold my clothes too?"

"If you wanted, I would." I came up behind her and slid my arms around her, and pressed my lips to the nape of her neck. I was done fooling around. I needed her near me. Needed to feel her skin against mine. "There's dessert, too," I said, for something to say. "Pie in the fridge."

"Mm, pie sounds good." Izzy turned in my arms and set her hands on my shoulders. She pulled me down and kissed me, then kissed me again. This was my moment, gentle, romantic, candlelight sparkling in Izzy's dark eyes. I could lay out my case to her. Don't go. I need you. Let's do this for real, us. You and me.

I kissed her instead, and ran my hands through her hair. She felt so warm against me, so good. So right. A tide of feeling rose in me, a deep surge of need. Once I asked her to stay… once I asked her, she'd answer. She'd say yes or no, and our lives would change. I needed her, all of her, before I risked losing her. Before I bet everything on her saying yes.

"Come to bed." I took her by the hand. She moved in for a kiss and trapped our joined hands between us. It hurt just a little, where her rings dug into my chest. I leaned into the pain and into her kiss, and the fall of her hair, how it tickled my cheek.

She pulled back to whisper, "Your room or mine?"

"Mine," I said, hoarse, and backed us both down the hall. I pushed all thoughts of the future out of my head, all thoughts of the past, any moment but this one. All I wanted and needed was Izzy in my arms, her lips on my lips, her legs wrapped around me. We sank onto my bed in a hot, panting tangle, and I moaned as she nipped the shell of my ear. She knew my body so well, all the ways to undo me. All the places to touch, and I would see stars.

"Your damn belt," she groaned, and pawed at the buckle. I tore it off in two quick, hard jerks. Izzy was already working on my shirt, popping the buttons, kissing down my bared chest. I pulled her back up again to look in her eyes, and the want I saw there mirrored my own.

"Stop staring," she gasped. "Stop staring and fuck me."

The heat in her voice went straight to my cock, and I did what she wanted. Threw her down on the bed. I tugged her skirt up and she pushed down my pants, and I scrambled on a condom, and then I was inside her. She bucked up against me. I pinned her down. She turned her head to nip at my wrist, then reared up to bite at my lower lip. I thought about nothing, except she was mine. Here and now, she was mine, and that was as it should be.

She grabbed hold of my biceps and her nails dug in. I could feel they'd leave marks, and I wished she'd dig deeper. I wished she'd leave scars, faint crescent gouges, marking me for all time as hers and no other's.

"Spencer," she sighed, and my fevered dream passed. I held her close, rolled us over so she was on top. She rode me like she meant it and I watched, transfixed. The moonlight was cold on her lithe, warm body, picking out every contour, every ripple of movement. I slid my hands up her thighs and over her hips, feeling her muscles work as we moved together.

Izzy leaned back and moaned. I closed my eyes. I wanted this moment to stretch out forever, till my whole world was Izzy, past, present, and future. But I could feel it already, my climax approaching, and from the way Izzy shuddered, she was close too.

She whispered my name again and that was all it took. I felt myself hurtling over the edge, Izzy tensing above me as she followed me over. Then she was melting into my arms, rolling off to one side of me, nuzzling into my chest. I leaned over to kiss her and inhale her sweet scent, and somehow we both must have fallen asleep, because next thing I knew, my alarm was buzzing.

I leaned over to slap the thing, but it just buzzed again. I thumped it down hard, and it buzzed. Buzzed.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I sat up, blinking. Not my alarm clock. My phone. I groped for it blindly and found it near my pants. Tapping on the screen to see who was bugging, I saw three missed texts popped up, and an email alert, and my heart took a nosedive, straight down to my boots.

Can't wait for our interview.

You're a great fit for our team.

Lehman and Anderson, New York, New York.

I dropped Izzy's phone, my fingers gone boneless. So, New York was still happening. Why hadn't she told me? And what was that bullshit about an interview with a local firm? What was that, her safety job, if New York didn't pan out? And that apartment, moving out, moving on…

She was breaking up with me.

We were never a thing.

The truth of it hit me like a punch to the gut. Of course she hadn't told me, because why would she? I was just her roommate, with a few benefits. That's what I'd asked her for. What she'd agreed to. We'd both wanted that, but?—

Izzy sat up. "Spencer?"

"Your phone was buzzing," I said.

"Oh, uh, what?—"

"I have to go." I swung my legs off the bed and grabbed my pants off the floor. Izzy squinted at my alarm clock.

"Go? It's three thirty."

"I know. I've got training. I need to go stretch." I jerked my pants on and hunted for my belt. "Listen, I'm going to be busy a while. I've got the playoffs, our shot at the cup. We're kicking up training, so…"

"What are you saying?"

"I won't be around much." I found my belt where I'd tossed it and threaded it on. Izzy sat straighter, eyes wide with alarm.

"What? Did I, uh… did something happen?"

"Good luck with your interviews. I need to get going." I grabbed a shirt from the hamper and my bag off the floor, and strode out before Izzy could get up to follow. I'd fallen harder than she had. That wasn't her fault. But I was still pissed. Still hurting. Still raw. If we talked, I'd just yell at her, and she didn't deserve that.

Best I just left it, and left her to her life. Her dazzling new life that she was building without me.