Dirty Deeds (Mechanics of Love #3)(16)
Spencer took a step inside after Penny and Alex shut the door behind him. His arm brushed hers, and he smelled the same as he had before.
He wore a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his veined forearms. His clothes were casual, yet he still carried himself as Leslie Michael Spencer.
Everything Alex didn’t want to be attracted to, but yet she inexplicably was.
He gazed around the living room. “This is a nice place. Peaceful.”
“It is.”
“Look, Alex—”
“Don’t,” she said sharply and his head shot up. “There’s nothing to apologize for or explain. There’s nothing . . . between us, right?” Her stomach rolled as she said the words. “What we did—twice—is all there’s going to be, right? You’ll be gone again soon, so let’s just spare ourselves another repeat. It’s what we both want.” She forced herself to take a step back. “Food’s out back. Burgers are done.” And then she turned on her heel, willing her heart to stop beating out of her chest when she heard Spencer’s footfalls following her.
Chapter Eight
NOTHING BETWEEN US.
Spencer had been telling himself those three words since he left Tory the first time but out loud, they sounded wrong and sour. Now, Alex sat on the other side of the backyard, picking at her plate, surrounded by her friends and family. Spencer wanted to go over there, pull her to her feet, and force her to admit she was wrong. That there was something between them.
She was under his skin with every look of those big blue eyes, every word that escaped those red lips.
He took a deep breath, knowing he needed to clear his head, to quit focusing on her and what they’d done. He’d been invited and he had damn well better act like he was grateful. The weather was lovely and the food had been delicious. The beer was cold. Laughter sounded from all corners of the backyard, and it was a little infectious.
Spencer turned to Penny, who was staring at him. Nick was off filling his plate for the second time.
“What?” Spencer asked.
“What’s with you and that woman?” Penny’s directness served her well in business, but it was irritating to Spencer on a friendship level.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“I’m not playing dumb—”
“I’ve known you since you were a skinny, sneering teenage transplant from Manchester. So knock it off. Did you meet her when you were in town last?”
He didn’t want to kiss and tell, but this was Penny. She knew everything about him. He walked to a rubbish bin and tossed his empty plate inside, then returned to Penny’s side. “Yes, we spent . . . an evening together.”
Penny’s eyebrows rose into her hairline. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.
“You’re actually speechless for once?”
She smacked him. “Look, I . . . don’t mean to judge, but that’s usually not the type of woman you go for. And if I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure you’re not her type either.”
“Yes, well, that didn’t stop us, apparently.” Twice.
“And were there hard feelings when you left?”
He shook his head. “Because that’s just it. I left. I never thought I’d be back, and she didn’t either until she saw me at that restaurant.”
“Ooooh.”
“Yeah, Oh.”
Penny looked at Alex, her head tilted. “She is very pretty. A little rough around the edges. Kind of reminds me of how you were when we met.”
“I’m not that boy anymore.”
Penny didn’t respond and when he looked at her, she was chewing on her lip. “Right?”
When she looked at him, her eyes were soft. “I think . . . you have more in common with that boy than you think.”
He swallowed. “Penny—”
“What’re you guys talking about?” Nick asked as he approached them with a plate brimming with food. “Man, these people really know how to cook, right?”
“Yes, delicious,” Spencer muttered. “Excuse me, I need to grab a beer.”
As he walked away, Penny and Nick were guessing the ingredients of the broccoli salad and Spencer was happy for the reprieve from the conversation.
Along the outside of the house were several coolers. He lifted the lid on each one until he found beer bottles peeking out among crescent-shaped ice. He grabbed one, twisted the cap off, and stayed along the wall, wishing he could blend in.
Alex had finished her dinner now and was playing a game that Spencer had never seen before toward the edge of the backyard with Asher, another boy he was told was Asher’s boyfriend, Julian, and Violet.
Two large, flat wooden boxes were connected with a chain. The boxes were rectangular in shape and only about five inches high. On the top surface of each box were three holes, about a foot apart. Alex stood on top of the end of one of the boxes, metal disks in her hands. She tossed one at the other box and whooped when a disk fell into the second hole.
He watched as she stuck her fists in the air and danced in her big boots, her dark ponytail bouncing.
His face hurt and when he touched his cheeks, he realized he was . . . grinning.
Good God.
“Mr. Spencer?”
He looked down to see Violet standing beside him, blue eyes gazing up into his face. “Yes?”
“Would you want to play washers with us?”
“Play . . . what?”
“Washers. That’s what we’re throwing. Big metal washers.”
He didn’t understand what she was saying at all. “Washers.”
She giggled. “You say the word funny.”
He smiled. “I do?”
“Yeah. Waaaashas,” she said, trying in vain to imitate his accent. It was cute the way she screwed up her face.
“Are you teasing me?” he asked.
She shook her head, smiling. “So, you wanna play?”
“Well, I—”
She took his hand and pulled him toward the game, and he thought to himself that he really needed to work on better hiding places. Or looking inconspicuous.
When they stood next to the box, Alex looked up at them, the smile still on her face, but it dropped off quickly when she . . . well, when she looked at him. His chest tightened.
She hopped down off the box. “What’s up, Vi?”
“I want Mr. Spencer to play with us. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll just bow out—”
“No, I want him to be on our team. That’s okay with you, right, Asher?”
The teenager nodded. “ ’Course, Violet.”
He could pretty much see the words damn kid in Alex’s expression. She blew out a breath. “All right, then, let’s teach Posh how to play.”
FRANKLY, HE WAS awful at the game. Turned out the holes were labeled. The farthest one earned three points, then two, then the closest earned one.
Spencer had . . . zero points.
Violet thought it was hilarious to watch him throw. She said his forehead wrinkled and his lips got white. Yeah, well, he was trying bloody hard to get this fucking metal disk in a hole. If he wasn’t in mixed company, he would have made a crude joke.
Another reason for his serious lack of game skills was Alex. She was the worst distraction. Whenever it was his turn, she stood close enough that he could smell her, with her arms crossed over her chest, an amused expression on her face. It was irritating.
“Are you quite pleased at how bad I am at this game?” he asked her.
Her expression didn’t change. “Quite pleased.”
“I find your smug expression distracting.”
Alex laughed, and he enjoyed that, watching her eyes light up. “Well, I find your ugly throwing distracting.”
“Hey now, I’m working on my form.”
Violet giggled and Alex ruffled her niece’s hair.
Then she took pity on him. She stood on the ground next to the box he was on. “Now, I can’t help you with your pitiful hand-eye coordination—”
Spencer growled.
“But I can help you with technique. So, okay. Stand with one foot in front of the other.”
He mimicked her stance with his right foot forward.
She nodded in approval and he felt something warm unfurl in his gut. What the hell?
“Okay,” she said. “Now throw underhand. You’re whipping it overhand like a kid who’s throwing a tantrum.”
“The insults are not necessary.”
“So take your right arm, keeping your eye on the hole in the box, and throw.”
He took a deep breath, licked his lips, and threw.
The washer bounced off the front corner and landed in the grass.
They both stared at it.
Alex started to laugh, and Spencer tried to scowl, but he could feel his lips twitching. “I think my poor marks are because of my teacher.”
She was bent over, hands on her knees, shaking her head as she tried to catch her breath. “You are so awful at this game.”
“I don’t think that needed to be said, as we’re all thinking it.”
“Oh, poor Posh,” she said, straightening.
“I think it might be the beer too.”
“How many have you had?”
“Erm.” He stared at the bottle. “Half of that one.”
Alex licked her lips as her voice pitched lower. “I recall your tolerance being a little better than that.”
She motioned for him to get off the box. He stepped down as she took his place and shot him a look over her shoulder. “Watch how the master does it.”