Page 32 of Trust Again

“Maybe I should really switch courses,” I mused, dropping onto the sofa next to Allie.

“You’ll do no such thing. If you do, then he wins and we don’t want that,” she said, linking her fingers with mine.

I sighed. “Would it be okay if I didn’t cook today?”

“Of course. We can order in, or go out. Whatever you want.”

“Pizza. And ice cream. And chocolate. And Professor Walden’s car smeared with shaving cream and bombarded with raw eggs.”

Allie laughed. “In that order?”

“Exactly.”

An hour later, I was sitting on the floor between Allie’s legs—because Kaden always pestered me about messing up the sofa—drumming my hands on the coffee table. Kaden was balancing four plates on his arm like a true waiter.

“Spence, stop hiding from Dawn and get your ass over here,” Kaden called out.

My face felt like it went as red as the pizza sauce. “Thanks, Kaden.”

“Calm down you guys. I’m getting tired of this civil war,” he joked and sat down.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t a smiling Spencer making a cheerful entry. He looked the same as ever.

Except that he avoided my eyes.

He sat with us and we ate. Spencer chatted with Kaden about hiking and new equipment they wanted to buy. He cracked jokes, made puns, and generally made Allie and Kaden laugh.

How did he manage it?

When we were done eating, Spencer started clearing the table. He collected our plates and brought them into the kitchen. Allie pushed her foot into my back. I looked back at her and she nodded toward the kitchen.

Great. Even our friends noticed that something wasn’t quite right.

Sighing, I got up and collected the used napkins. When I entered the kitchen, Spencer was reaching down to load the dishwasher. As he did, the hem of his gray, long-sleeved shirt slid up to reveal his slightly tanned skin. I was nearly overcome with the desire to touch him. I almost did.

A quivering breath escaped me and he froze. Then he pushed the last plate into the machine and straightened up. I threw the crumpled napkins in the trash and leaned against the counter.

“What’s up?” he asked without turning around.

“I thought you might want to talk,” I ventured, looking at his shoulders and following the seam lines of his shirt.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to.”

“Spencer, I only wanted to offer you…”

He whirled around. “Dammit, Dawn, I don’t want to talk to you! Why don’t you get it?”

Biting my lower lip, I stepped toward him and placed my finger on his chest. “You broke down in front of me, Spencer. You were crying, dammit. Just because I don’t want to date you doesn’t mean you don’t matter to me!”

He pushed my hand aside and made as if to leave, but I caught his arm and held on. Spencer let out a low growl, grabbed my other hand and spun me around. The shock at suddenly finding my back against the fridge drove the air from my lungs.

Spencer pressed hard against me and—oh, hell—he was stronger than he looked. With one hand he held one of my hands above my head; the other was on my back. For a moment he stayed like that. Then he slipped his hand down my spine to the top of my butt. He spread out his fingers and pressed my lower body firmly against his. I gasped.

“The last thing I think about when I see you is talking,” he whispered. “I don’t want to talk, Dawn.”

With his lips he traced the line of my jaw and I held my breath. My body was flooded with sudden, lava-like heat.

“What do you want, then?” I breathed the words.