Totally and Completely Fine(24)

“No,” I said.

“Great,” he said, and pushed my test toward me.

He’d marked it up even more extensively than our teacher had, only his corrections weren’t in failure red, and they actually explained what I’d done wrong.

“I’m not going to pass,” I said.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his attention focused on the work in front of him.

His knee pressed up against mine as we sat perched on stools, leaning over the counter. We each had our own textbook, but for whatever reason, I could never remember to bring mine down from my room, so we always leaned over the same copy when we worked. Our foreheads were close enough to touch.

If I wanted to.

But I’d sworn off guys. Swapped them out for other activities. Ones that wouldn’t get me into trouble. Baking. Knitting.

Anything to keep my hands occupied.

I’d made a dozen scarves. Perfected my brownie mix. Baked more cookies than I could count. Masturbated until my clitoris was numb.

Until I was numb.

I was fine. Totally fine.

I didn’t care—or even notice—how strong Spencer’s thigh felt against mine. His hand, drumming along the side of the textbook, that wide, square palm and those impeccably tidy nails. Or the way his eyes kept dropping to my mouth. And then to my boobs. Or the way he smelled, which was all fresh and lemony and just so damn good.

I really didn’t notice his hair. How it was long enough to brush against the collar of his shirt and looked so soft and touchable that I thought about it alone in my room at night, imagining my fingers threaded through it and my nose buried atop his head, just inhaling him.

I certainly wasn’t indulging in that fantasy now. I wasn’t imagining sliding my arms around his neck and lifting myself into his lap before bringing his mouth to mine.

He was probably a terrible kisser.

Definitely.

I didn’t care.

“You’re staring,” Spencer said.

I was. This time I was the one staring at his mouth.

I flipped my hair back. “Yeah, so what?” I challenged, standing up and pushing back from the counter. From the fridge, I got a can of pop. Opened it. Drank.

Watching him the entire time. And he watched me.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he said, a small quirk to his lips.

I put my arm around his shoulder like I’d imagined doing. Leaned close enough that my mouth touched his ear. That his hair brushed against my lips. Soft. So fucking soft.

“You should be,” I whispered.

He shivered, but instead of pulling away, he turned.

Just turned his entire body toward me, trapping himself between me and the counter. Standing up, we were about the same height, so with him sitting, I towered over him. In control.

“Lauren,” Spencer said.

He put his hands on my hips.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“You know what I’m doing,” he said.

“Yeah, well,” I said, pretending bravery even though my throat was dry. “If you’re making a move, you’re going to have to try a little harder than that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I tried to move back, just a little, but he held me there. It felt good, the way his hands came around my hips, meeting at the base of my spine. His palms were warm. His breath was on my chin.

“I like you,” he said.

The sincerity in his eyes unnerved me.

“You like everyone,” I said.

He shook his head. “Not like this.”

Those hands of his pulled me closer. I went willingly and my arms did go around his neck. My fingers into his hair. He let out a soft sigh and pressed his cheek against my jaw. It was more intimate than half the things I’d done with other guys.

“Spencer…” I tried, but he lifted his head to look at me again.

And instead of using my lips to voice the rejection I knew I should give him, I used that mouth of mine to kiss him.

He had no idea what he was doing. That was immediately clear. His mouth was hard and eager on mine, but when I put my hands on his face, giving just a little pressure, he reacted immediately and softened his touch. His kiss.

I opened my mouth for him, and when our tongues touched, I felt electricity like I’d never experienced before. In that moment, kissing Spencer against our kitchen counter, teaching him how I needed to be touched, having him respond in kind, I realized that I felt good for the first time in a long time. That I was okay.

And more than that, I felt safe.

Chapter 16

Now

“You scare me sometimes,” Allyson said, looking at my shelves.

I ignored her, unfolding the dress she’d brought me. Not that it mattered, she didn’t need a response to keep going.

“This is the sign of someone in emotional peril,” she said.

“Do you want pockets or not?” I asked, examining the side seams.

“It’s color coded,” she said.

“I like being organized,” I said.

“There’s being organized and then there’s this.” Allyson waved a hand at my craft wall.

She might have had a point. The whole thing was Pinterest-perfect, every box labeled （including the one with the label maker in it） with everything in its right place. It wasn’t that I cared that much about organization. It was just that sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep at night, I’d come down to the basement and find ways to keep myself busy. Distracted.