Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

“I know, right?” She shrugs. “Weirdest night of my life. It was like the twilight zone, and it was totally shit.”

“Why?” I frown. I’ve been watching this stuff on YouPorn and it looks anything but shit.

“Frigging hell, there was just too much going on, you know? One minute I’m riding, then I had a dick getting shoved down my throat at the same time. Then the other one is flipping me around and doing me doggy, while the other one is pulling my hair so I can suck his dick just how he wants it. I couldn’t concentrate on any one task enough to do a good job of it.”

I burst out laughing, imagining her getting flipped around like a ragdoll while trying hard to concentrate.

“Honestly, threesomes are like some kind of Olympic pentathlon except you have to do all the events at the same time. Good in theory.” She puffs air into her cheeks and shakes her head. “Not so much in practice.”

I put my hands over my face and laugh. I’m never going to think of Olympic pentathlons the same ever again. I love this girl, but a sadness fills me. I’m going to miss her when I leave.

Maybe she could come with me?

Enjoy every day while I can.

My phone rings in my pocket and I take it out, the name Spence lights up the screen.

“I’m just going to take this,” I whisper.

“Sure thing.” She continues pushing the cart.

I step into the stairwell. “Hello.”

“Angel.” His deep voice purrs, and a broad smile crosses my face. Even his voice makes me giddy.

“How are you?” I ask dreamily.

“Missing my girl.”

“Well, you get to see her in...” I glance at my watch, “approximately five hours.”

“I’m counting the minutes.”

I swoon. He’s so gorgeous.

“I’m calling to give you my address.”

“Oh.” I bunch my shoulders together in excitement. “That’s right, we’re having a sleepover at your house tonight.”

“We are,” he purrs. “What time will you be here?”

“I’ll finish at five and go back to grab my stuff, and then I’ll be over.”

“Bring a few days clothes.”

I smile. “Is this an extended sleepover?”

“Mmmhmm, it is. Don’t shower before you come.”

“Why not?” I frown.

“Because that’s fifteen more minutes that I don’t get to see you. Besides, I like to wash you.”

My heart sings in my chest. He does love to wash me. I’ve never felt so adored in all of my life.

“Okay,” I whisper. I’ve told him I love him a few times, and he hasn’t said it back yet, not sinc

e that first time he said it when we were arguing about Sheridan. I’m trying not to be needy.