Awkwardly Ever After (13 page)

“S
o
, this plan of yours . . . does it have to start right
now?
”

Spencer glanced from me to the swirled silver bedspread he was sitting on and leaned back until most of his weight was resting on his forearms.

Maybe I had spent too much time watching
Battlestar Galactica,
because now I couldn't help noticing his arms looked all . . . sinewy and strong. And he was stretched across my bed, with a smile lifting his lips, looking like an invitation to sin.

My pulse kicked into high gear.

“Is there something else you'd rather do with me?” he asked evenly, and I lurched over to my desk and grabbed a chair.

“Yes, actually.” I straddled the back of it, because that looked tough in the movies even though it wasn't comfortable in real life. Still, I rested my arms on the back of the chair and looked him dead in the eyes. “I want to know why you always crank the sex to eleven.”

He grinned. “Sex? I don't remember offering. Looks like someone's got her mind in the gutter.”

“And someone promised to tell me the truth whenever I asked for it,” I said staunchly. “So, I'm going to ask you one last time: Why do you snow every girl within a three-mile radius?”

Any trace of a smile was wiped off his face. “I'm friendly. That's it.”

I waved my hand to indicate the way he had taken over my bed. “So . . . this is just your way of being friendly?” I couldn't stop myself from laughing. “Yeah, I don't think so.”

“Here's something for you to consider, Doc; just because people don't square up to your expectations, doesn't mean they're lying. I'm a friendly guy. And I'd rather be the life of the party than spend my time analyzing all the opportunities I'm missing.”

That pulled me up short.

“You think I'm—”

“Hiding,” Spencer finished for me. “I think that's easier for you than risking rejection.”

Well . . . wow. Considering that
I
was the one who planned on being a psychologist, I should have evaluated that possibility ages ago. Then again, it's a whole lot easier to judge somebody else than it is to get an accurate read on yourself.

“I think you're playing a role,” I told him, unable to keep the words bottled up. “I might fear the spotlight, but you've found a way to disappear in plain sight. All you have to do is act like the guy most likely to throw an epic bachelor party in Las Vegas.”

He didn't flinch at the accusation. In fact, his mouth twisted sardonically. “That's
exactly
who I am, Isobel.”

“I don't buy it.”

He sat upright with a laugh. “You want to study me? Fine. You can even jot down notes as you go along. But don't try to save me, Belle. I'm not broken.”

I flushed. “I'm not—”

“You wouldn't be the first to try.” He stood and then winced before his hand flew up to his side as if to protect him from a blow that had already landed. “And you're a great girl. Really. I'm sorry this whole situation became more than you bargained for, but you're not going to change me. Isn't the first rule of treatment that you can only help someone who wants to be helped? Well, I'm not interested.”

I raised my hands in the classic don't shoot position. “I'm not trying to fix you, hotshot!”

“Good.” His stance loosened and he looked very much himself again. In control of the situation. “Then are you ready to go or what? I believe we've got a reputation to salvage.”

I was following him out my bedroom door before it even occurred to me to object. “You're a lot smarter than you let on.”

“Yeah?” There was a gleam in Spencer's eyes as he turned to look at me. “You're a lot more fun than you let on. Even when you're grilling me.”

I had no idea how to respond to that twisted compliment, so I just nodded. Then I texted my dad that I might be late for dinner and booked it out of there before he could psychoanalyze Spencer himself. It was weird having a secret from my parents. I've never told them every little detail about my life, but going anywhere with Spencer King felt like, well . . . a Notable occasion.

And I was doing my best to leave them in the dark.

Then again, they didn't know Alex Thompson had ridiculed me in the cafeteria either. There are some things my parents were probably better off not knowing.

Like how the ride home yesterday hadn't made it any less strange for me to sit in Spencer King's car.

In some ways, he was more of a mystery to me now. Yesterday, I had been fairly secure in my analysis of him.

The only thing I knew for sure now was that he was a whole lot more complicated than I'd wanted to believe.

“So where are we going?” I asked, trying to get some conversation going. I wasn't entirely sure whether that was a good plan either. It seemed like every time he spoke we wound up arguing. Which was why the glint of mischief in his eyes that seemed to brighten around me left me wondering if I'd
ever
understand him.

“It wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told you in advance.”

“I've had enough surprises lately.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You're having fun with this, admit it.”

“Fun!” I spluttered. “Okay, we must have some seriously different definitions of that word. You know what's fun to me?”

“No idea,” he said.

“Fun is eating pizza in sweatpants with a few friends. Fun is knowing that you can make a complete idiot out of yourself and nobody will ridicule you. Fun is . . .
Battlestar Galactica!
”

Spencer grinned. “I'll make you a deal then.”

“Because the last deal we made has worked out so well for me,” I interjected.

“If you follow my lead tonight, we'll try your thing tomorrow.”

I stared at him in confusion, waiting to see his mouth quirk upward in the tell-tale sign that he was joking. “My
thing?
”

“Battleguard Galactricka.”

“Battle
star
Galactica.”

Spencer nodded complacently. “Exactly. That. I'll watch it with you. I'll even bring the pizza.”

My mouth dropped open as I tried to imagine Spencer sprawled next to me in the living room watching the Cylons take over Caprica. As they would say on the show: No. Fracking. Way.

“I'd pay good money to see that,” I said skeptically.

Spencer glanced over his shoulder and then slid into a parking space right outside the local Wells Fargo.

“Don't tell me you're planning a bank robbery. I draw the line at being an accessory to a felony.”

Spencer burst out laughing. “Well, in that case—keep moving, Belle.”

I didn't budge. “You've started calling me that a lot. Did you run out of options and decide to stick with the one nickname that suits me the least?”

Spencer didn't say a word as he took my hand.

And the sensation of feeling his palm sliding against my own before his fingers locked us together . . . yeah, it made speech impossible for me.

“I like the way it sounds.
Belle.
” He drew it out and I felt my knees go melty. It was so freaking unfair that all he had to do was say a girl's
name
and she would want to tangle both hands in his dirty blond hair, rise up on her toes, and let her lips communicate in an entirely different way.

Or at least that's what it was doing to me.

And I should have been immune. Clinical. Dispassionate.

Not inwardly thinking that it was a good thing he liked repeating my name because I was close to forgetting it as we walked down the street. I instinctively kept pace with him and somehow it began to feel . . . right.

Normal.

As if it totally made sense for the two of us to be holding hands in public because that's what happens when someone likes you and doesn't care who knows it.

My whole body felt like it was tingling by the time Spencer slowed his steps, and I pushed my glasses up haphazardly with my free hand as I glanced over to see what destination he had in mind for us.

The Yogurt Shack.

“Too late to back out now,” Spencer whispered in my ear right before he pushed open the door, squeezed my hand, and walked me right into the belly of the beast.

Or at the very least the belly of the Notable crowd.

Same thing, if you ask me.

The frozen yogurt place wasn't all that special really. The walls were a cheerful shade of yellow that probably had some super perky name like “daisy bliss” or “lovin' lemon,” and the radio top hits were blaring over the speaker system. It looked like your basic family-friendly dessert shop.

Unfortunately, it was also where the Notables flocked to gossip after school, which meant that walking inside was the equivalent of announcing, “Hear ye! Hear ye! I stand before you today to declare that these two students have forged the sacred bonds of a relationship.”

Not exactly what I had in mind when I said that I wanted to, y'know,
kill
the rumors.

The opposite of it, actually.

“C'mon, babe. I want you to meet my teammates,” Spencer said loudly enough for everyone to hear as he tugged me over to the Notable table.

Fake and Bake were perched next to each other on stools, probably flirting with everyone willing to pay them attention. But now their smoky eye makeup made them look only more hostile as they gave me a painfully slow once-over. They didn't need to expend that much energy on it; I was wearing the exact same clothes I had chosen for school that morning. Comfortable jeans and a purple shirt that barely peeked out beneath my Doctor Who sweatshirt.

My geeky armor at its finest.

I saw Patrick turn to someone who would be perfectly cast as Neckless Jock #4 in the latest teen movie, before he mouthed, “Is this for real?”

No. No, it wasn't.

“I'm going to kill you,” I murmured in his ear, knowing full well that he wouldn't take the threat any more seriously than Melanie or anyone else who deserved some payback. I'm just not a very intimidating person. I blame the glasses.

Spencer laughed, but it wasn't the rich, husky sound that I'd grown accustomed to after two days of verbal sparring. It was just another part of his performance piece.

So was the way he leaned in and lightly brushed his lips across my forehead.

It was a gesture that I'd received countless times from my parents when I was sick, and there was nothing revolutionary about the kiss. Except . . . this wasn't coming from my mom.

“Belle, meet everyone. Guys, this is my girlfriend, Isobel.”

My stomach dropped two feet and I began to worry that my sweaty palm would slip right out of Spencer's grip.

“N-nice to meet you,” I forced myself to say hesitantly.

I received a collection of nods, grunts, and unenthusiastic hey's from the guys, and pursed-lipped grimaces, which were supposed to be smiles, from the girls.

I felt welcomed all right.

About as much as a Time Lord facing down a Dalek.

“C'mon, let's get our order started, Belle,” Spencer said, smoothly taking over as if his so-called friends weren't staring at him in confusion. He released my hand to grab a cup before he began working his way down a row of self-serve flavors.

“How does alpine vanilla sound?”

Right, as if
anything
sounded appetizing when I was stuck in restricted quarters with a pack of Notables. The last thing I wanted to do now was eat in their presence. The cafeteria was more than enough of a minefield for me to endure five days a week, thank you very much.

“Uh . . . good,” I mumbled.

“You sure you don't want to try some first?” Spencer's eyes were gleaming mischievously as he dipped his index finger into the bowl; then moving faster than I thought someone so laid-back could go, he brushed my bottom lip with the icy treat.

I jumped back in shock, staring at Spencer incredulously as he . . . winked.

I spontaneously burst out laughing.

It was just . . . so ridiculous.

The fact that I was pretending to be dating Spencer King right under the noses of the Notables, despite the fact that he couldn't even act his age long enough to get a freaking frozen yogurt . . . I dissolved into a giggling mess.

“Need a bigger sample?” Spencer teased as he reached once more into the bowl. “Because I have plenty right here.”

No way.

I scurried over to a yogurt dispenser at the far end of the store so that I would become a much more challenging target. I couldn't manage to lengthen the ten-foot gap between us because there was virtually no room to maneuver. Or hide. Or do much of anything except eat frozen yogurt and gossip. Still, the look on Spencer's face was downright predatory as he stalked forward.

“I'm going to get you, Belle.”

I was breathless from laughter, anticipation, and a light buzz of anxiety. “Oh yeah, hotshot?” I lifted my chin defiantly. “Let's see what you got.”

I jerked down the yogurt lever at the same time that Spencer moved within striking distance. The cold came as a jolt as it molded against the palm of my hand and I instinctively threw it at Spencer.

It landed with a soft, yet satisfying,
whump
against his chest and began to trickle downward in a sticky mess. The Yogurt Shack instantly fell silent.