Games of Fire (24 page)

“What did you think?” Spencer hopped off the bed and went to pop the DVD out of the machine. He turned to her while he slipped the disk back into its case. “Still a fan?”

It was a battle of wills not to pitch something at him. “Why do you even own such a movie?” she demanded.

Even in the dark, his face barely bathed in the dim light cast by the TV, she could just make out the slow arch of his eyebrow. “You’re the one who picked it.”

She had nothing to say to that. She could only scowl.

“Would you like to pick another or should I?”

She wanted to tell him she didn’t trust the rest of his collection, that she was almost certain they’d be as grotesque as the one they’d just seen, but she shook her head. “You choose.” She clearly couldn’t be trusted
to make a proper decision.

“All right.” He walked over to the stack of movies and fingered through them. He emerged a moment later, brandishing one and without missing a beat, popped it into the player. He returned to the bed and hit play on the remote. “Are you finished or would you like more?” he asked, gesturing to the tray.

“Oh I am so finished!” she moaned, clutching her abdomen.

He chuckled as he set the lot on the floor. “I promise this one isn’t nearly as gruesome.”

“Thank God for that,” she mumbled, leaning back against the pillows, hoping the near reclined position would help ease the turmoil of her stomach.

She knew instantly that they’d switched from dark horror to jarring action when five minutes into the movie, there was an explosion, several deaths and a crazy gunman on the loose. She didn’t recognize the title as she so rarely watched very much violence, purely out of choice. She just didn’t have the stomach for it. Nevertheless, given a choice between disembowelment or things being blown up, she would happily choose the latter.

It was at some point between the hero falling down the side of a building and the heroine getting captured by the villain when Sophie’s eyes drooped closed and she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

When she awoke again, it was pitch black except for the pale glow of light pouring through the sheer curtains behind her. It took her a moment to make sense of her surroundings and the heavy weight crushing her into the mattress.

It was an arm and leg, both draped over her, molding her to the lean frame curved into her back. Warm breath whispered against the back of her neck, eliciting shivers along her spine. Sophie blinked and squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand, expelling a sigh of relief to find it was only ten.

The body behind her shifted. “It’s still early,” Spencer murmured sleepily into her skin, his voice husky and deep with sleep.

“Yeah,” was all she could think to say.

“Guess we both fell asleep,” he said, nuzzling the back of her shoulder, making her tremble.

“Yeah,” she whispered again.

She felt his smile against the side of her neck. “You smell delicious.”

Not sure what else to say or do, Sophie blurted, “It’s raspberry shampoo. My grandmother gives me like six bottles every Christmas.”

He chuckled, turning her onto her back. “Remind me to send her a thank you card.” His lips found hers in slow, tormenting pecks. He shifted his weight so he half lay on her, supported by his elbows on either side of her head while his knee wedged between both of hers.

Still partially asleep, still disorientated and giddy from having awakened cocooned in his arms, Sophie was putty under his hands, completely willing to do anything he asked. So when he deepened the kiss, she moaned and threaded her arms around his neck. Her fingers slipped through his hair. His arm hooked around her middle, lifting and pressing her fully into him. Any other time, in daylight, she would have been embarrassed by the reaction of her body, by the sounds coming from her, by the search and discovery of his hands, his mouth over her, but in that moment, in the cloak of darkness, she didn’t want him to stop.

At some point, he lost his shirt. She might have done it in her eagerness to touch him. He’d repaid the favor by liberating her of her sweater. It hadn’t seemed like such a big deal until his hands were roaming in other places, uncharted places, places that felt both alien under hands
not her own and much too good that she began to resist.

“Spencer, wait.”

He pulled back immediately. “Too much?”

She pushed into a sitting position. “I’m sorry. I—”

“No!” He rummaged around the rumpled sheets until he found something. “Don’t be.” He passed over her sweater. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” she whispered honestly. “I’ve just never
… ”

There was a moment of silence followed by a low, “Oh,” from him as she quickly slipped her top back on. She’d never been so happy for the dark.

She moistened her lips. “There’s something else.” She drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them close as if they had the power to give her the courage to speak. “I know you don’t want a relationship and I’m not going to push you into one, but I can’t kiss you or be like that with you if that’s all I’m going to be to you. It’s either all of me or none of me.”

The silence was thick enough to carve with a knife. Her heart rocketed in her chest, pounding with a fear of rejection, of being replaced or unwanted. She wondered if he would go off and find someone else now, someone like Maggie Chow who would very
happily give him everything he wanted. It hurt to imagine, to even think she was so easily expendable. She tore into her lip to keep from releasing even the smallest sound. She was thankful yet again for the darkness concealing the tears in her eyes. She fought to blink them back, but the rapid eye flutters only unleashed the flood.

Damn it!
Why wouldn’t he answer? His silence was worse than even a backhand. It was his answer, she realized with an overpowering urge to throw up. He was saying it without saying it.

She hurriedly threw her legs over the edge of the mattress and fumbled for her shoes.

“Sophie—” Her name on his lips was like razor blades carving apologies into her flesh. It was his goodbye. She couldn’t stomach it.

“I should go,” she managed barely, stuffing her feet into her sneakers.

She’d taken four steps towards the door when his arms found their way around her, winding like steel bars around her shoulders, drawing her back into his bare chest. His face pressed into the curve of her neck.

“I’m trying, Blondie,” he murmured into her skin. The sniffle she was trying so hard to bite back filled the room around them.
Against her will, she sniffled. His arms tightened around her. “Don’t cry, baby!” he pleaded, sounding desperate.

“I’m sorry!”

He turned her, framing her face into his hands. He used his thumbs to brush away her tears as he leaned in and pressed his brow to hers. “Be patient with me, please?  I won’t press you or even kiss you if you don’t want, but I just … it took a long time to build these walls and I know I’m not being fair and I’m asking too much, but—”

“I don’t mind waiting, Spencer!” she said, placing her hands over his and leaning into him. “
I just need to know you’re serious, that this isn’t a one off for you.”

“
I’m unsure of a lot of things, Sophie, but wanting you is definitely not one of them. That is probably the only thing I am sure of. Why do you think this is so hard? I know that if I give in, that’ll be it for me. There will be no turning back. I just need a little more time.”

What more could she possibly ask for
than that? “I should go.”

He gave a slow nod. “I’ll walk you.”

She waited while he threw on his top and ruffled a hand through his hair in a typical guy’s way of combing it. He walked back to her and slipped his hand into hers. She took it as a sign and said nothing as he led them downstairs.

The living room was dark, except for the dull light flickering off the TV screen, highlighting the
single lump fast asleep on the sofa. Suzy was missing, probably having already gone up to bed. Spencer retrieved their jackets, and while she was pulling on hers, he went to where his mother slept and draped the afghan over her. He tucked her in before returning to Sophie, swinging his jacket on.

“Ready?”

She stared at him a moment, tracing the angelic lines of his face. She tried to see the polo wearing boy in Jackie’s photo albums, the boy that loved a girl so much he’d do anything for her, the boy that smiled so easily and felt her heart hurt for the boy standing in front of her. Guilt wormed nasty fingers beneath her consciousness, snarling at her for her selfishness. How could she expect him to just forget a lifetime of friendship, of being broken by a person who was not only his best friend, but someone he’d loved with all his heart? How could she compete against something like that? Was it even possible?

“What is it?” he asked.

Sophie dropped her gaze, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

His fingers wove their way through hers once more. He gave them a gentle squeeze before guiding her to the door.

The downpour had ceased at some point. The air was cool, but not entirely unpleasant. It was just perfect for the slow walk back to her house.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked as they walked up her driveway to the door.

Spencer stopped several feet from the porch and turned to her. “I don’t know.” He smoothed back strands of hair that were caught in the breeze, drifting across her face. “I have to see what Mom’s doing.”

She’d nearly forgotten about the annihilation of their car. “I’ll save you a seat if you do.”

He grinned. “That sounds remarkably like a bribe.”

Sophie laughed. “It might be.”

In a single fluid motion, he closed the space separating them and snaked his arms around her waist, anchoring and pulling her into him. “And what else?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You mean sitting next to me isn’t enough?”

He moved his shoulder in a shrug. “I’m very greedy.”

Warm fingers of electricity rippled down her spine. “What else do you want?”

All traces of playfulness seemed to melt into something primal, something dark and hungry to match the intensity in his eyes. His arms became bands of steel, caging her to him. Lips curved into a smirk worthy of a wolf lowered to hers. “Dangerous words, Blondie.”

Then he kissed her with a greed that made her wish they were back in his room, bodies interlocked on his bed. Every nerve ending in her body sizzled. Her toes curled. She was burning and melting and needing him to keep her up. She was about to ask him if he wanted to try and sneak into her room when the night was torn by a sharp
pop
that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. In her arms, Spencer jerked. He hissed in pain as he clutched at his right thigh.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but something just—”

Another pop. Something ricocheted off the side of the house, mere inches from Spencer’s head. He cursed, ducking his head. His hand closed around her upper arm just as another pop sounded, then another, bouncing off the garage door, the walls, the sidewalk by their feet. Sophie yelped, getting struck in the cheek by what felt like a shard of glass. The sting burned. Spencer dragged her behind him, covering her with his body while guiding them both towards the front door. She heard him get struck several times in the back.

“What is that?” she shouted, keeping her head down.

“I think some asshole with a BB gun!” Spencer snarled. “But I can’t see them. They must be in the bushes across the street. Get in the house and I’ll
… ” He never got to finish. They both saw the bag at exact the same time.

The once comforting halo of light that meant safety and home oozed down on the scene with an almost nightmarish tinge. It glinted in the crimson puddle, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind what it really was. The paper bag sat in the middle of it all, the top neatly folded downward as though it were nothing more than a fried chicken delivery and no one was home to answer the door. The bottom was dark, stained by whatever was leaking from inside. It trickled down the concrete steps, creeping towards them in an almost taunting flow.

Above it, a clear handprint of blood circled the gold knob. It trickled down the white wood onto the pale carpet inside the doorway where the door stood slightly ajar. It was mixed with the bits of glass that had fallen from her mother’s custom-made stained glass window, the one her mother had insisted they needed to see who was on the other side of the door. It reminded her of the horror movie they’d just finished watching.

She was only semi-conscious of the cease fire around her, pouring silence into the horror. But even the attack with the BB gun was unimportant when the rest of the world was crashing and crumbling around her.

“Spencer … Spencer … ” She clawed at his hand, needing something to hold onto when her knees were threatening to revolt. Her mind replayed his name, over and over again, unable to register anything else, but the terror sizzling through her veins as cold and bitter as the Arctic Ocean. Bile seized any possibility of breathing, choking her so even the flickers of her thoughts were painful and unwanted.