Now is not the time to be sad. I have a mission to complete.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” It’s been months since we were last together, and he’s grown tired of my games.
Those were the exact words he used, and at the time, they hurt. They still do, but I’m desperate to see him. Touch him.
Hold him one last time.
I turn to face Spence, lifting up the bottle of champagne, wishing I’d already downed some so I could feel that fizziness bubbling in my throat. Tickling in my stomach. Tingling across my skin.
He finishes locking the door before he slowly approaches me, wariness oozing from his every pore. I drink him in greedily, like this is the last time I’ll ever see him, and for all I know, that could be the truth.
Spencer is unbearably handsome, even more so now that he’s older and filled out completely. All dark eyes and dark hair, sinful decadence, like extra rich chocolate. Broad shoulders and wide chest and so,sotall, especially compared to me.
I’m tiny. Like a little sprite. That’s what he called me one time, when we were both still at Lancaster Prep and I snuck him into my dorm room so he could have his wicked way with me.
We did that a lot back then. Sneaking around. I miss it.
I miss him.
Last time we saw each other though, we were in the city. Here at his apartment. I showed up unexpectedly, as I’m wont to do, and he tried to get me to leave. Like I interrupted him, when no one was here.
That I know of.
I might’ve yelled at him. I might’ve also told him I never wanted to see him again.
I lie. All the time. He knows this.
“I thought you hated me.” His voice is flat, as is his gaze when he levels it on me, which fills my entire body with dread.
“Oh, I do hate you, Spencer. I shouldn’t be here. This is a mistake, my showing up on your doorstep. You know it. I know it.” I pause, noting the frustrated flare that lights up his eyes, which tells me he cares. At least a little bit. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want something from you, though.”
He says nothing as I walk right up to him, grabbing hold of the front of his shirt and jerking on it so he has no choice but to dip his head. His mouth hovers above mine, full and ripe and tempting as sin. My lips find his, and I nibble on them for only a teasing moment before pulling away. “Let’s get drunk.”
“Sylvie…”
“I need to get drunk, Spencer. It’s a special occasion tonight.” My voice is hushed. Almost hoarse. I’m terrified he’s going to say no.
“What’s the occasion?” His gaze roves over my face, as if he’s memorizing every tiny feature. The blemishes and the scars. He’s the only one who sees me for who I really am. Yet he doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t try to change me either.
There is no one else like Spencer Donato.
No one.
“I need to get drunk, so I can work up the nerve to actually fuck you for once.” I let go of his shirt and march into his kitchen, setting the bottle of champagne on the counter before I start pulling open each and every cabinet door until I finally find what I want.
Champagne glasses.
How I knew he would have some, I’m not sure, but I’ve spent plenty of time in his family’s apartment in the past to know they’re fully stocked with everything, especially when it comes to liquor.
He follows me into the kitchen, turning on the lights. I point at where I left the bottle on the counter. “Open it for me, please?”
He rolls up the sleeves of his dark blue button-down shirt and gets to work, eventually pulling the cork from the bottle, the loud pop startling me. I stare at his strong forearms as he grabs a glass and carefully pours the champagne inside before he hands it over to me, then pours one for himself.
I lift the glass toward him, my hand shaky. “Cheers.”
“To what?” His voice is low. Calm.
Hearing his question, seeing the look on his face…