“And you want that vacation to be a road trip with your grandfather and old nemesis?”
He laughs. It’s a soft sound, less stressed than before. “This isn’t an episode of Scooby-Doo, Shepard. You were never my nemesis. You were my . . .” I hate how I hold my breath. “My motivation.”
I have no idea what to make of that. It sounds diabolical, but everything he says does. It certainly doesn’t sound like a compliment, though if anyone else said it, I’d take it that way.
“Well, whatever.” I stand, letting out a quiet moan as my back cracks. “You could fuck off to Turks and Caicos or something, but road trip it is. Are you fine with me taking care of booking everything?”
“We should hash out some of the details together,” he says. “That’s the other reason I called.”
“Okay.” I drag the word through my annoyance. “I’ll text you links to stuff, then, and you can yea or nay me.”
“Granddad wrote me out a long-ass list of activities. I’m assuming you’ll want to see it, so let’s do it in person.”
“In person?”
“Yes, like where I see your face and you see my face and we exchange words in the same room.”
My heart prances like a nervous Chihuahua. “Who says I want to see your face?”
“You’re gonna have to get used to it.”
My mind gets busy sketching out a visual—the broad, angular cut of his jaw, those deep, probing eyes, and the mouth that doesn’t let me get away with anything. That damn dimple.
“We can get it done in one night.” His tone is so cajoling and soft it’s almost a croon. It’s a tone for darkness. For bedrooms.
He knows it, too. I can practically hear his smirk when I sigh. “Okay. Why don’t I come to your place? Tuesday evening? I’d like to get everything settled as soon as possible.”
“Oh.” There’s a beat of surprised silence. “You want to come to my place?”
Well, he’s certainly not coming to my place, unless he wants to meet the parents, and a café isn’t going to give us the room and time to plan. “We’ll need reliable Wi-Fi and a place to spread out.” I realize how that sounds a second too late and rush on to say, “Spread out notes and the map and stuff.”
“Right.” I’m gratified by how uncomfortable he sounds. “Fine. I’ll text you my address.” There’s a short pause. “Do you like steak?”
My stomach growls shamelessly. “It’s fine.”
“I’ll cook, then. Be here at seven.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond; the line goes dead and I pull back, staring down at my phone screen.
It was a power move, and I hate that he got the last word just as much as I hate how hot it was.
Two weeks on the road with Theo Spencer. God help us both.
Ten
Theo lives in Cole Valley, an upscale neighborhood in the middle of San Francisco. His street is quiet, lined with single-family homes, shaded by tall trees shimmering in a gentle breeze. Sutro Tower stretches at the top of the hill dead-ending the street, glinting in the setting sun.
It’s not what I expected for him. I assumed he’d be in some fancy apartment, not shacked up in a home that looks unassuming, at least from the outside. It’s Victorian style, painted slate gray with a brick fa?ade. Near the arched doorway, bougainvillea crawls up the wall.
I park in front of his driveway as directed, a relief since there’s no street parking to be found, then grab the canvas bag packed with my laptop, the map, and a spiral notebook crammed with to-dos.
My camera’s in there, too. I grabbed it impulsively, shoved it into the bag before I could think too hard about why I wanted it.
My gaze travels up to the second-floor bay windows, spilling out golden light.
I’m nervous, and I’m pissed that I’m nervous, and I’m pissed that I’m wearing a dress, too. It’s a casual black cotton one, but it skims my body the way I’d want a man’s hands to. I thought about Theo’s hands when I put it on, and I want to be pissed about that, too. Instead, I’m confused. What am I supposed to do about an attraction to a man I don’t even like?
I stride up to the front door, knocking briskly. On the doorjamb is a Ring camera. I stare at it when he doesn’t immediately answer, knocking again.
Theo’s voice calls out from the Ring, “I didn’t realize we were dressing up tonight, Shep.”
“Don’t take it personally. It has everything to do with not wanting to put in the effort to wear pants.” I knock again, just to be a pain in the ass. “Will you open the—”
The door swings open, and there he is, phone in hand. He puts his mouth up to the speaker, his eyes on me, the tiniest smirk pulling at his lips. “It’s nice.”
His voice echoes all around—here in front of me, through the Ring. It sets my teeth on edge, that backward velvet feeling vibrating through me.
I run my gaze from the top of his tousle-haired head, down his shirt-and-Levi’s-clad body, all the way to his bare feet. When I get back to his face, I widen my eyes in mock amazement. “I’m sorry, did you just compliment me?”
“Don’t take it personally,” he echoes. “I tell my accountant he looks nice all the time, too.”
“It’s a slippery slope to earnest compliments, Spencer.”
He tilts his head, appraising me. “I don’t expect you to let me get that far. You’ve never been one for accepting my compliments.”
“You’ve never been one for giving them to me.”
“Maybe you weren’t listening.”
“Trust me, I was.”
I want to snatch the words back immediately. The truth is, I was always plugged in to everything Theo said and did back in high school; I wanted to say and do it better. I remember every bit of praise he ever gave me, however grudging, because I ate it up like candy.
I don’t know how to exist in an earnest space with Theo, but he saves us both, stepping back to reveal a staircase that ends at a landing. His teasing expression smooths out into something careful. “I’ll get some practice in on Isaiah, then, and get back to you. In the meantime, come in.”
I take the stairs with Theo right behind me. There’s an awareness between us as we walk up together, his quiet footsteps falling in sync with my sandal-clad clacking. I swear I feel his eyes everywhere, but when I look back, his gaze is focused over my shoulder.
I don’t know if I’m disappointed or not. And if I am disappointed, what does that mean? I want him to look at me? To touch me?
Maybe being in Theo’s house alone with him was a bad idea, but I need to numb myself to his irritatingly strong magnetic pull if we’re going to travel together. So I straighten my shoulders and keep climbing.
* * *
“Stop breathing down my neck.”
“I’m not breathing down your neck. I’m breathing.”
I exhale sharply. “Do it less, then.”
“Breathe less?”
“Yes, breathe less, Spencer, that’s exactly what I mean.”
An amused huff hits the nape of my neck, but Theo doesn’t say anything else. In the resulting silence, my keystrokes on my laptop sound like thunderclaps.