Page 17 of Spencer's Satisfaction
In my hand, my phone vibrates and lights up with a text notification. I sniffle and try to blink away tears, squinting to read it.
‘I hope you got home safe & sound. Just want you to know you’re perfect as you are & I still want to take you on a second date if you’re still interested. XOXO Spence.’
I stare at it until my eyes grow heavy and sleep drags me under.
* * *
“Where were you last night?” Tanya teases me the morning after my disastrous date, cornering me in our tiny kitchen while I attempt to pour myself a glass of orange juice.
My hands shake and the juice misses the glass. “Shit!”
“I’ve got it,” she swoops in and wipes it up with the dishcloth from the sink, rinsing it and coming back for another swipe to remove any residue. Then she takes the bottle from my hands and pours the juice for me.
“Thanks,” I say, still cursing myself.
I can feel her stare boring into me. “Alright, spill. And I mean more than just the juice.”
Her attempt at humor falls flat between us and I sigh, carefully placing the glass on the bench. I lift and drop my shoulders. “I was out, that’s all.”
“You’re being weird, Tones,” her voice is soft and cautious, “talk to me.”
I think back to last night and my cheeks flame. “I went on a date,” I confess, closing my eyes and willing myself not to cry. “It was an unmitigated disaster.”
Her eyes narrow. “Did he hurt you?” She casts her gaze up and down my body, as though checking for injuries. “Was he an asshole? Do I need to take my baseball bat to his kneecaps?”
The ludicrous final question forces a watery laugh from me and I shake my head. “No. He was…” Perfect. Spencer was perfect and I fucked it up. I try to swallow down a sob, failing at sounding anything close to normal. “He’s a good guy.Imessed it up.”
“I’m sure you didn’t-”
“Idid!” And then it all comes pouring out of me. All of it. My pathetic love life. Knowing that people think I’m weird. My addiction to my books and the daydreams they inspire. My hopeless crush on a voice -on a fucking voice- that turned into a more hopeful crush on the owner of that voice after our stupidly improbable meeting. My rapidly developing crush on Spencer. The date. All the things that went wrong on the date.
And, finally, through tears that refuse to stop now that they’ve started, I drop my biggest secret on her, too, stammering, “A-and then I t-told him I’m still a f-fucking virgin, and I r-r-ran away.”
Tanya, to her credit, takes it all in her stride, like she’s done for everything else our entire lives. She pulls me in for a hug and lets me cry it out until I don’t think I’ve got any tears left, then asks, “Where’s your phone?”
I reach into my hip pocket, then hesitate. “Why?” The word comes out gravelly and hitches in the middle with my still-wobbly breathing.
Without any respect for boundaries, she slides her hand into my pocket alongside mine and snatches my phone out for herself. “Because I want to talk to this guy before I tell you that I think he deserves a chance.”
After my emotional upheaval, my brain is slow on the uptake. It’s not until she’s swiped at the screen, inputting my passcode (becauseof courseshe knows my passcode), and has tapped until she’s raised the device to her ear that I comprehend what she’s doing.
“Tanya, no!”
But it’s too late.
Chapter Seven – Spencer
When my phone rings the morning after my date with Tony, I can scarcely believe what I’m seeing on my screen. He never replied to my text message, despite the little notification under it that says he read it, but he’s calling me!
I drop the manuscript I was reading through and scramble to answer. “Tony! Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling this morning?”
I am most certainly not expecting a decidedly feminine voice to answer with amusement, “Sweetheart, huh?”
Frowning, I pull the phone from my ear to confirm that the contact definitely reads his name, then bring it back up to cautiously ask, “Who’s this?”
“Easy, killer,” the woman on the other end sounds like she’s enjoying herself. “I’m Tanya, Tony’s sister.”
Something inside me twists unpleasantly, and I brace myself for some sort of ‘Leave my innocent brother alone’ speech. “Oh. Sorry. Nice to meet you,” I answer politely, adding, “Tony’s told me a lot about you.”
