“So . . . it gets a little worse,” he said.
She looked at him, which was a huge mistake because he was shirtless thanks to her, and his jeans were sitting dangerously low on his hips, lovingly cupping some of his very best parts. “How much worse can it possibly get?” she asked, refusing to acknowledge that having him this close was making her mouth water. “You bribed your friends into pretending to be my friends. Then we got almost arrested. And after that, I apparently went all Fifty Shades on your ass.”
A small smile crossed his mouth. He’d liked it when she accidentally swore, the ratfink. “Not my ass,” he said. “But you did say I could spank yours.”
Her gaze met his in the mirror. “Over your dead body,” she said and made him laugh.
“Tell me the worse part,” she said.
“When we showed to pick you guys up, you announced to everyone within earshot that you were going to use this whole experience as writing fodder for the next Storm Fever book.”
She stared at him in disbelief because while she remembered thinking that, she absolutely hadn’t planned on saying it out loud. “I did not.”
He just held her gaze.
“Captain Crunch!”
That had him smiling for real. “The gang will keep your secret,” he assured her. “That’s what friends do.”
“But see, that’s my point—they’re not my friends. And speaking of that, I can’t believe you asked them to pretend to be my friends—”
“Colbie —”
“No, you know what? I don’t want to talk about it.” She stalked past him and went looking for her clothes, which were scattered throughout his place. The flapper dress near his front door. A heel here. Another heel there. And sure enough, her bra was hanging from his big-screen TV.
Her panties were near the front door.
Good God. “I’m never drinking again,” she moaned, and this time when she went into his bathroom, she closed the door—on his nose—and locked it.
Spence mindlessly searched his fridge while Colbie was in the bathroom. He peered past containers of food without seeing anything except the look of surprised hurt on Colbie’s face.
The look he’d put there.
He hated himself for that. There’d been women in the past two years since Clarissa who’d tried to distract him, but no one had been able to pull it off.
Colbie had been different from the start. She understood what it was like to come up against a deadline or to hit a brick wall doing it. He knew without a doubt that she was in his corner, rooting for him, sympathizing with him, perfectly willing to wait patiently on the sidelines.
It was him. He was the problem. He couldn’t put her on the sidelines.
Every time he’d lost focus over the past few weeks, he’d assured himself that once Colbie left, life would go back to normal. He’d be back at the top of his game.
He’d been lying to himself.
Nothing had ever been like this with her, and it was going to hurt like hell when she left, because—in spite of himself—he was deeply emotionally attached.
Unfortunately, she was deeply emotionally attached to her life in New York, to her family, her career, and she wouldn’t have room in her life for him. He knew this.
Didn’t change the wanting . . .
A part of him got that he was simply throwing up his own roadblocks now. Truth was, he was in way over his head and since he didn’t know how to do this, when she left, he was going to stick to what he did know how to do.
In Spence’s bathroom, Colbie was trying to finger-comb her nest of hair when she was held hostage by a group text.
Kylie:
Colbie—please know that we really do consider you one of the tribe. And not just because you’re the author of one of my favorite series EVER!
Haley:
Yeah, you’re one of us—with or without Spence. And not just because I’ve had tickets purchased for your movie for the past three weeks.
Willa:
Fangirling aside—but oh my God, Colbie, or CE, which do we call you?—we hope you forgive us AND Spence.
Pru:
Yeah, maybe last night was his suggestion, but you should know we all agreed because we like you.
Kylie:
Even Elle. Right, Elle?
Elle:
Well mostly I like your kickass shoes.
Willa:
ELLE.
Elle:
Fine. I like your shoes and you.
Elle:
And okay, I like you for Spence too. Don’t make me sorry I said that!
It was the nicest thing Elle could’ve said and Colbie let herself get a little emotional over that before blowing her nose and giving herself a stern glance in the mirror.
Toughen up!
When she left the bathroom a few minutes later, Spence was pulling bagels out of the oven.
“Seems awfully domestic for you,” she said. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. It’s the only thing I found in this place to cook you for breakfast.”
She felt her heart catch at the gesture. “You don’t have to cook me breakfast, Spence. I’ve already taken up enough of your time.”
“Colbie—”
She turned away and reached for her phone as it rang. “It’s my mom,” she said and answered with “What’s wrong?”
“Honey, didn’t Jackson talk to you? It’s getting late in the season and no one’s decorated. And I imagine there’s shopping to be done, right? It’s tradition. Come home. We miss you.”
Colbie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mom, you miss me because I do all the work for the holiday, and I’m not even all that into Christmas to begin with. Maybe until I get back, you and the guys could try making some new traditions.”
“Like what?” she asked, sounding worried.
“Like something that includes you guys doing the work.”
“Well, Kent’s baking brownies. That’s a good start, right?”
Oh good God. “Mom, whatever you do, don’t sell those brownies. Or eat any.”
“Why ever not?”
“Trust me, okay? Let me talk to him.”
“Do you think he’s baking The Marijuana?” she whispered.
Yes, that’s exactly what she thought. He and Eddie would make a dangerous team.
“Those boys,” her mom said.
Colbie resisted smacking herself in the forehead with her own phone.
“I just don’t know what to do with them,” her mom said.
“You could try being the mom,” Colbie suggested.
“You do it so much better. Honey, come home already. Oh, here, hold on, here’s Kent.”
“Yo,” Kent said.
“Yo yourself,” Colbie said. “Are you cooking pot brownies?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Colbie gave up resisting and indeed smacked herself in the forehead with her phone. “Okay, listen to me very carefully,” she said. “You’re a complete ass.”
“Hey.”
“The worst part is that it’s not even really your fault,” she said. “It’s Mom’s. And mine. I’ve enabled you. We’ve enabled you. But I can’t do it anymore, okay? You’ve got to start doing things like laundry and shopping and taking care of the house and yourself.”
“Why?” he asked. “You do it better.”