Page 48 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
“Put your seatbelt on,” he demands through gritted teeth.
I do as I’m told, my fingers shaking slightly from the unexpected onslaught.
He slams the gear in reverse and steps on the gas, forcing the paparazzi out of the way. They scatter like the pesky cockroach infestation that they are, and with a screech of tires we’re out of the parking lot and flying down the road at a speed that far exceeds the limit. I have no doubt the roaches are scurrying for their own vehicles to follow.
Spencer is rarely spotted with women. In fact, if I recall correctly, most photos I’ve seen on magazines show him with females he’s working with—his arm around them as they pose on the red carpet or even a set photo.
Them catching him with me, especially when he hid me with his body quickly enough for them to never see my face, undoubtedly has them curious. Those photos will probably sell for a pretty penny.
“Are you okay?” He checks the rearview mirror and reaches to turn the volume down on the radio.
“Y-Yeah,” I stutter, clutching my chest for some reason.
“I think I got away before they could follow.” He still seems tense. Hands clenched tightly around the wheel. “We’ll go to my house.”
At least since it’s in a gated area they won’t be able to follow. Even with that thought my anxiety doesn’t ease.
“My car—what about my car?”
He glances at me. “We’ll go back for it later. You don’t have to head back yet, right?”
I look at the time shining back at me from his fancy spaceship-like dashboard. “No.”
“It’ll be easier to hang at my house than to try to wait them out somewhere else.”
“Okay.” I rub my sweaty palms on my jean shorts, trying to get rid of some of the dampness.
Ten minutes later he’s pulling into his driveway and right into the garage beside a red Ferrari and white Porshe SUV on the other side of it.
He bought the Porshe for me a year ago, wanting to replace my old car, but I stubbornly refused.
Following Spencer inside the house, he flicks on some lights and kicks off his Van sneakers. I can’t help but smile to myself. He used to wear the same kind of shoes all the time when we were younger. Some things never change.
“Make yourself at home,” he says over his shoulder.
I try not to snort at the irony since this was supposed to be my home,ourhome, and I shot him down. Breaking his heart a second time, and us, in the process.
I close my eyes for a few seconds, imagining the what ifs, which is a dangerous game. Opening them wide, I find him walking into the kitchen. He pulls out a bottle of some kind of fancy looking water. He pours half into two glasses and adds two lemon slices from his fridge into one, passing it to me without a word.
I wonder why he has lemons. He’s never liked them.
Awkwardly, I follow him with the glass in my hand into the sunken family room. He plops dramatically on the low white couch and reaches for the remote, turning the TV on.
“You don’t worry about Roe staining this?” I rub my hand on the soft fabric as I wiggle around.
He arches a brow. “It’s washable. If something spills, I take it off and throw it into the washing machine.”
“You mean you don’t have people for that?” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.
His brow climbs even higher. “No.” He makes the word into two syllables. “Don’t get me wrong, I have a cleaning lady, but I do my own laundry.”
“Right.” I drop my head, wiping the condensation off my glass. Now I feel like an ass.
He flips through the channels, stopping on a baseball game. He exhales an unsteady breath. “I can’t see a baseball game without thinking of T.J. Of what he could’ve been.”
A heavy lump settles in my throat at the mention of his best friend who isn’t with us anymore. I hate to admit that it’s been a long time since I’ve thought of T.J. despite everything. “You miss him?”
Dark blue eyes meet my hazel ones. “Every single day, but he’s not the only one I miss.”
