Page 110 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
His eyes narrow. “Are you really going to try to act like that kiss meant nothing?”
“Yes,” I snap. I set the empty glass in the sink and empty out the iced coffee and small amount of remaining soda. Dumping the empty cup and can in the trash, I say to him, “It can’t mean anything.”
His nostrils flare—not in anger, I know him enough to know that isn’t his angry face. He’shurt.
“You felt something and now you’re fucking scared.”
“I’m not scared,” I hiss quietly, not wanting to draw Monroe out here to catch us fighting.
“Yes. You. Are.” He makes sure to enunciate each word. “Why are you so afraid of what you feel for me? Why are you willing to break both of our hearts for the safe choice?”
I gape at him. “Jameson is not the safe choice.”
“Yes, he is,” Spencer bites out. “Because you’ll never love him as much as you love me. Lie as much as you want, but I know it’s true.”
“It’s not.” The words sound more like a plea than firm reproach.
He crowds me against the counter until I’m boxed in. He rests a hand on each side of me on top of the counter, so I have no means of escape—not that I feel any genuine fear to.
“Who are you really lying to? Yourself or me?”
“I’m not lying,” I declare, lifting my chin defiantly.
He stares down at me. There’s an intensity in his green eyes I don’t remember ever seeing before, like he could easily devour me.
“Then why are you looking at me like this?”
“Like what?” I bite out.
His eyes flick down to my lips and back up to make eye contact. “Like you want me to kiss you.” I open my mouth to retort, and anticipating that, he plows on. “I know your tells, Harlow. I told you that you can’t lie to me. I know you too well.”
“I don’t want you to kiss me again.”
“Sure.” He nods. “Whatever you say, but I know the truth.”
He backs away and I feel like I can finally take a breath, but it’s for naught, because all I do is inhale his scent.
He heads down the hall to say goodbye to Monroe. When he comes out of her room, he finds that I haven’t moved an inch.
He looks me over and I see a million things behind that look. Hurt and want mixed with pain and desire.
“Goodnight, Low,” he says softly, and lets himself out.
When the door shuts behind him, I finally seem to snap out of whatever spell I’m under.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I mutter, turning and clutching the edge of the sink for dear life.
I need to get a grip on myself before my entire life implodes and leaves me obliterated.
CHAPTER 41
SPENCER
SEVEN YEARS AGO
It’s been six weeks since Harlow’s birthday and we’ve found it damn near impossible to keep our hands off each other.
We’ve been careful every single time, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m sitting on her bed waiting for her to come out of the bathroom with a pregnancy test. My palms are sweaty. A baby is not part of our plans right now, but her period is late, and since she says it’s always regular there seems to be only one possible explanation.
