Page 96 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
Spencer must read my expression, because he says, “That won’t be necessary, silly goose. I already got you one. I’ve just been waiting for your mom to be okay with it.”
She huffs, “Well, took her long enough.”
That’s me. Mom the fun sucker and safety police.
We play in the water for another forty minutes before heading back to the beach and up to Spencer’s house.
He flicks on the outdoor shower to rinse off and Roe hurries under it, giggling uncontrollably. I’m still eyeing her cast skeptically. Baths and showers, I haven’t stressed too much over the protective sleeve, but the ocean is a whole other story. It’s a testament to my chaotic state of mind last weekend, that when she mentioned bodyboarding I didn’t immediately panic over the thought of her getting it wet.
When she’s rinsed free of sand and ocean water, Spencer grabs a dangling Barbie themed towel and dries her off. She runs into the house, her wet swim shoes slapping as she goes. If Spencer’s worried about her shoes ruining his floors he doesn’t show it.
“You can go next,” he points at the shower and turns it back on.
I step beneath the spray and let it rinse the salt water from my hair, when I turn around, I motion for Spencer to join me. The outdoor shower is massive, and besides I’m in a one-piece swimsuit and he’s in his boardshorts. It’s the logical thing to do, right? We don’t want to leave Monroe on her own for too long. That girl can get into all kinds of funny business in same time it takes to snap a finger.
“Are you sure?” he asks, hesitating.
“It’s not a big deal.”
And it’snot. Not until he joins me and suddenly the wide-open space feels as small as a coat closet. My breath catches in my throat at his proximity. There are more freckles sprinkled across his nose now than when we were teens. In the movies he stars in they always cover them with makeup. I wonder why. They’re one of my favorite features of his. My eyes drop to his lips. They’re the perfect shape, akin to what you’d find on aGreek or Roman statue. Carved and full but not too full. There’s a single tiny freckle on his lip—the only one they don’t cover up in his films. The one I know has dedicated fan pages for, littered with photos zoomed in on the beauty spot.
Not because I searched them out or anything. Poppy was the one to tell me about it. She finds it hilarious.
My eyes track lower to his collarbone and then even lower to his pectoral muscles. He was always toned, but he’s packed on way more muscle than he used to have.
I let my eyes drop further, to the smattering of dark hair beneath his navel. I bite down on my lip to stifle the sound that comes out of my throat.
He’shard. Not just his body, but his dick too. I jerk my gaze upward, my hazel eyes colliding with his baby blues.
“Low,” he says my nickname in a huskier than normal voice. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“L-Like what?”
“Like you want me to kiss you.” His breath fans over my lips and I whimper. “Is that what you want?”
My breaths are uneven pants.Isthat what I want? The answer should be a simple no, but there’s nothing simple about us or our situation. One kiss wouldn’t hurt anything, right? It wouldn’t change a thing because we’ve kissed many times in the past.
I nod and it’s all the answer he needs.
The fingers of his left hand delve into my hair, while his right hand pulls me in against him at the waist. I gasp into the kiss at the feel of his body so large and hard against mine.
He kisses me with a ferocity I can’t remember him having before—like he knows this might be his last chance to ever kiss me and he’s determined to leak every drop of his feelings into it so that I can’t deny that there’s still something between us—that it’s not only him that has feelings.
I whimper, wrapping my arms around his neck. Now I’m the one pulling him closer, even though you couldn’t fit a sheet of paper between us.
Spencer lifts me with effortless ease and backs me into the wall of the outdoor shower. I rock my hips against his hard length. I can’t seem to help myself. My body is intimately familiar with the shape of his, the feel of him, and it begs to be touched by him. I whimper when his thumb flicks against one of my pebbled nipples that pushes against my swimsuit.
“What’s that?” he asks, breathless. He pulls away enough to look me in the eyes. “Did you pierce your nipple?”
“Both,” I answer.
“Fuck.” He bites his full bottom lip. “That’s going to fuel so many fantasies for me.”
Logically, I know this is the point where I should push him away, put a stop to this, but I think logic left the moment I invited him in to rinse off. I’m not ready for this to end, so I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull his mouth back to mine.
Spencer obliges and I practically melt beneath him.
This is the problem. Our chemistry is just too much. Even after years, even after moving on, it’s still explosive. This is why I’ve stayed away from him, because deep down I’ve always known all it would take is one small spark to send us up in flames.
