Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

* * *

It’s later that night, and Spencer and I are facing each other in bed. My hand is in his, and he has this satisfied, dreamy look on his face. We showered and he washed me in that way I’m getting used to. He cooked me dinner and we watched a movie

.

Now this.

This is something else. There’s a bond I can’t explain. It’s like I already know him, like I’ve always known him. The room is lit only by the lamp, neither of us wanting to go to sleep.

“You know, when you smile your dimples go from here,” he reaches over and touches my face, “to here.”

I smile on cue and turn my head to kiss his fingertips.

“I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so much in one day,” I admit in a whisper.

He leans in and kisses me softly, his hands snaking around my waist to pull me to him.

“Me either.” He stares at me for a moment, as if he’s contemplating saying something else.

“What is it?”

He frowns. “This is new for me.”

“What is?”

He rolls onto his back and brings me with him. I lie with my head on his chest, rubbing my cheek back and forth on his skin.

“I feel like I…”

“What?”

“I can’t stand the thought of…” His voice trails off.

“Spencer?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He kisses my forehead. “It’s nothing.”

“No, tell me,” I urge. “What were you going to say?”

“Who did you sleep with Charlotte?”

What the hell is he thinking about this for?

“Why does that matter?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “It just does.”

Should I tell him? No, don’t wreck this.

“He doesn’t matter to me,” I tell him.

“Are you sure?”

I frown as I look up and watch him. What’s going through that mind of his? “Spence, why are you thinking about me with another man?”

He exhales heavily. “Because I don’t like it.”

“Like what?”