Page 67 of Animal Instincts
The thought was bitter and vicious, but didn’t Donald deserve it and more? Yet, a small part of him, a part that didn’t deserve to exist after all that had happened, was sorry and sad for the man who’d once been his closest friend.
“Oliver, I know — we know — we can never be friends again, but we don’t want to stay as enemies.”
Spencer’s words flowed over Oliver, his voice was as smooth and enticing as it had always been. A sharp, involuntary shiver ran the length of Oliver’s spine.
What the fuck?
The nails on Oliver’s fisted hands dug deeper into his palms. The pain was good, centring, and he took a deep breath as he turned his attention to Spencer.
“You’re right, we can never be friends. But I don’t want to be your enemy, either, because that would mean I’d still have to feel something about you and him.” Oliver jerked his head towards Donald, as he kept his eyes locked on Spencer’s. “And I don’t feel a thing. Not anymore. You both mean so little to me, you may as well not exist.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Spencer stepped closer, closing the space between them. Oliver resisted the urge to stumble backwards; he refused to give this man so much as an inch when Spencer had already taken so much from him.
“You and Donald, you were friends and partners for years. And you and I, we were… Well, we were what we were. It ended in a mess, and it was my fault. Don’t you think I don’t realise that?”
A tentative, uncertain smile lifted Spencer’s lips.
“Please, Oliver?” Spencer breathed.
Please…
Oliver’s throat tightened. How many times had he capitulated, how many times had his defences crumbled when Spencer had breathedplease?
Spencer’s lips parted, allowing the pink tip of his tongue to glide across his lower lip as he gazed up at Oliver.
Oliver sucked in a shuddering breath, and brought his mouth close to Spencer’s ear.
“Spencer?”
“Yes, Oliver?”
“Fuck. Off.”
Spencer jerked, and stumbled backwards into Donald’s bulky body.
The door clattered open, and Oliver swung around, breathing hard.
“Oliver?” Confusion knitted Joss’ brows. “Why are you still open? I was going to go to the house, but I saw the light, so—”
Joss was framed in the doorway. His heavy dark blond hair was pushed back from his brow by a thin band, his café uniform was crumpled and stained by a hard day’s work.
The contrast between Joss and Spencer was sickeningly stark, and Oliver thanked every deity that it was so.
Joss closed the door and took his place beside Oliver, so close their arms bumped each other’s. Oliver felt for Joss hand, catching it and squeezing it tight. Joss looked up, a smile hovering over his lips as their eyes locked. A smudge of chocolate powder dusted the tip of Joss’ nose and without a thought Oliver brushed it away.
Joss’ smile widened.We’ve got this, he seemed to say, before he turned to look at Spencer. His smile fell away as he tilted his head to the side.
Spencer, assured and with no trace of his shock of moments before, filled in the silence.
“I’m Spencer, an old friend of Oliver’s. Who—?”
Joss didn’t bother answering. Instead he swung around, all his attention focused on Donald, dismissing and relegating Spencer in one quick move.
“And you are?”
“My name’s Donald—”
