Spencer's house was such a palace of the male aura. Minimal decor, sensible furniture, the least amount of dishes one could possibly have in their cabinets, and it always smelled like laundry detergent.

But there was something distinctly homey there as well. I couldn't put my finger on it.

It was a feeling almost, a kind of nostalgia that had your mind wandering back to birds singing and Saturday morning cartoons, scraping the sugar off your teeth after eating a bowl of Lucky Charms for breakfast, and you had nothing going on that day except whatever your heart desired.

It was the kind of feeling I expected to find at my mother's house, the home I grew up in. And once upon a time, it was there, I think. When Dalton was alive and Dante was still good. But those days were over. Lately, I only felt it at Spencer's house, and that irritated me beyond belief.

I'd look at his neutral walls and bare kitchen, wondering how on earth I could feel so much in a place with so little. In the bathroom, my eyes would fixate on his dollar store toothpaste and off brand toilet paper, and I'd wonder where the room got the audacity to feel like such a luxury.

Then there was the matter of his backyard, filled with perfect hammock trees that he completely took for granted. Ugh.

His house was full of comforts that were hard to duplicate, and I hated him for it sometimes. However, at the moment, my eyes were fixed on his headboard, and none of the other stuff seemed to matter.

It was such a nice headboard, and I could never hate Spencer Lovejoy.

"If you keep moving like that, I'm going to come." His strangled voice flew into my ears, hit me right between the legs, and kept going until my whole body sang with sensation.

"Isn't that the point?" I glanced down at him, hands braced on the headboard as I rode his cock. My skin was hot and slick, limbs tingly and spent. 

Spence's hands tightened on my hips as he guided my body over his in perfect rhythm, rough and intentional, putting me exactly where he wanted me. "Depends on how long you want this to last."

Hmm, the best kind of quandary.

It was that thing where I wanted it to last forever because of how good it felt. But exercising the power of my movement, and the sultry hold I had on his vulnerability, made it so fucking tempting to finish him off as fast as I could. Just for the hell of it, to say I could.

To make him weaker and weaker, inching him closer and closer to release, until he was putty in my hands—that feeling was like green lights the whole way home and no lines at the amusement park.

Spencer didn't last another ten seconds and neither did I. As the patterned wood grain of his headboard left marks on my hands, we fell apart together and I collapsed onto the bed at his side, both of us trying to catch our breath as the moment caught up with us.

I stared up at his ceiling fan, watching the blades spin as Spencer's hand wandered to my leg. His touch invited goosebumps to cover my skin, the next couple of minutes passing by slow and sensually. 

His fingers drew circles on the inside of my thigh, and the sound of his heartbeat was in my ear like a melody, but I couldn't stay for the rest of the song. I had to get out of there before he heard the harmony that beat in my own chest and made something more of it.

"I have to meet Leann," I muttered as I sat up and scooched over, swinging my legs to the side of the bed.

Spence reclaimed his hand with a sigh, but I felt his warm gaze on my back. "Where are you guys headed?"

"Blissful Brews." I stood up and started collecting my clothes.

"You're going out for coffee?"

I didn't miss the edge of disbelief in his tone but played it off with a shrug. "Yeah. It's where we always go. You know this."

"But it's night," Spencer deadpanned. "You just saying you have plans to make a quick escape?"

I took my time turning around to address that question. Mostly because it was partly true. I always had "somewhere" to be when we were finished while he preferred me to stay longer, despite knowing what we were to each other. I didn't want to see the indifference in his eyes, again.

I fastened my jeans and adjusted my bra, lamenting the fact that I'd worn the pink push up with cherries on it because it was whimsical and cute and made the girls look really good. And since my shirt had been taken off on the other side of the bed, I was going to have to go over there to locate it, leaving Spence with one last amazing glance at my breasts.

I liked that and hated it at the same time.

Biting the bullet, I spun around to face him, and what I found looked nothing like indifference. Instead, he was holding my t-shirt in his hands, and his eyes gripped me like a vice, teeming with something deep and immersive.

When he held my shirt out, I leaned over and took it from him, unable to pull my eyes away from his. I was mesmerized by that look he was giving me, the calm way he studied my face and the tiny crinkle in his brow that was full of unspoken words.

Needing a distraction from the weight of his gaze, I pulled my shirt on and brushed my hands along the material as it clung to my body, smoothing it out and buying myself more time. When I looked back up at Spence, I'd hoped his face would be back to normal, but no such luck.

That look was still there. As deep and meaningful as ever.

"What?" I finally asked, breaking the silence that wasn't usually so awkward. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Snapped back to reality, Spencer cleared his throat. His mouth opened to say something, but closed again just as quickly, his brow tipping in thought, eyes serious.

Just when I was about to repeat my question, he shook his head. "No reason."

"Don't hold out on me, Spence," I laughed. After a look like that, it was comical that he'd play it off with two words. "What were you gonna say?"

He stood up from the bed and pulled his pants back on before turning to face me. "I was going to say, uh..." His eyes trailed over my body, down and back up again, stopping on my chest. "Nice tits."

Nice tits. Two more words that were such a contrast to the serious look still lingering in his gaze.

"Wow." Another laugh fled my mouth. "And they say romance is dead."

Spencer shrugged as he took a seat at the foot of the bed and studied his hands. "I'm not allowed to be romantic with you, Davina. Or sentimental. Or anything resembling what people do in relationships." His eyes drifted back up to mine. "Remember?"

I nodded. I did remember. It was a rule I put in place. Just like the kissing one. But that knowledge didn't stop me from meandering in his direction with slow, determined steps.

His presence drew me in like a magnet, the force stronger when he wasn't wearing a shirt because it gave me a full picture of his impressive muscles and the ink that decorated his skin.

The tattoos climbed along his left arm in a mouthwatering sleeve before trailing across his shoulder and covering part of his chest. It was an eclectic group of images, dark and understood by only him, blending into one another to create a breathtaking canvas. But on his ribcage was one piece in particular that I liked the most, a flame to my moth-like enchantment.

I liked it so much, in fact, that I avoided looking at it entirely as I came to stand in front of him.

Instead, I kept my attention on his wolf eyes. The black one looked darker that night and the brown glistened like gold. Distracted by the shine, I didn't think about the next words as they left my mouth.

"What would you have said? I mean, if you were allowed to be romantic and sentimental..."

Spence lifted a curious brow at me. "You really want to know?"

Probably not.

"Yeah."

"I was going to say..." He tilted his head and pressed his lips together, thinking. "That you get prettier every time I see you. And it's getting harder to watch you leave."

The softness in his voice traveled across my skin like warm water after a day in the snow. My breath caught in my throat, and I swallowed the choked air.

"Oh," I muttered. And then I turned to leave the room because it was too much.

"Davina." He reached for my hand before I got too far and pulled me back in front of him. "What would you say?" he asked, releasing the words with a quick desperation. "If you allowed yourself to be romantic and sentimental?"

The question wasn't unexpected. I saw it coming a mile away. And even though it wasn't a good idea to answer it, even though I had my reasons for not allowing such things between us, the warmth of his hand on mine had the truth running free.

"I would say..." My eyes skimmed over his handsome face, one I knew so well, as familiar and nostalgic as the home he made and welcomed me into. "That your house feels like home," I whispered as my eyes drifted down, avoiding his, and dropping all the way to his ribcage. "And I like your compass tattoo," I added. "I dream about it sometimes."

My fingers reached out to touch it, studying the intricate details that took my breath away. It was all sharp lines and clean edges, the numbers and letters of the compass painted on with precision. But the whole image had a softness to it that made my heart flutter.

Spence's hand covered mine, holding it against his chest. "You should like it, Diva Davina," he said with a smile I could hear. It made me smile, too. "The arrow points right at you."

Just like that, my smile fell, and my eyes rolled to the ceiling. He'd been saying that for years, and I never understood why.

"It does not." I pulled away from him.

Spence gave my hand one last squeeze, muttering under his breath as I left. "Whatever you say."

***

At Blissful Brews twenty minutes later, my determination to escape all things Spencer was turning into a rather futile mission. Distance helped very little with a nosy best friend who wouldn't stop bringing him up.

"All I'm saying," Leann paused her latest thought to sip from her cappuccino, "is that if you like having sex with him so much, there has to be feelings there, too...right?"

I let out a defeated sigh and shook my head. "I never said there weren't feelings. What I said is that feelings mean nothing without trust."

Leann made a face like trust was the last thing a woman should concern herself with in the face of good orgasms. She might have been onto something, but I couldn't get behind it.

"You know he hates his dad," she mentioned softly.

I stared into my cinnamon latte, watching the frothy bubbles float over the hot liquid underneath. "Yeah, I know."

That fact was one thing I held onto amidst all the other things that weren't in Spencer's favor. It was hard to believe he'd ever follow in his father's footsteps when he had so much resentment for his old man. But worse things had always happened, and I hadn't been able to rule it out.

"It wouldn't be so hard if he'd just be honest with me about what he's been up to at work."

"You mean being in Barlow's office today?" Leann asked. "Or his bromance with Captain Parisi?"

"It's hardly a bromance." I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. "But yes, since you mentioned it. When he's not at the station, Parisi works right alongside Dante. Being all buddy-buddy with him isn't exactly a good look for Spence."

As soon as that collection of words came out of my mouth, I went on alert. I'd said them without thinking. Without first considering where we were and who was in ear shot.

I looked around the coffee shop, my eyes skimming along the other patrons who occupied tables made of reclaimed wood, sitting in chairs that boasted all different patterns of thrifted upholstery, and sipping from mugs that didn't match.

Despite being wary of listening ears, the scene at Blissful Brews always made me smile.

The owner, Griffin Powers, had an eye as unique as his name and a special gift of finding things that emanated strength but needed a little love. Contributing to the character of his beloved coffee shop, he revived furniture and saved abandoned artwork, tracked down mismatched tea sets and collected copies of To Kill a Mockingbird.

He owned thirty different versions so far, and they made a lovely display on the bookshelf located at the far end of the shop, free for reading but not for the taking. Griff would hunt you down himself if one of his books went missing, which I thought added to the charm of things.

When I turned back to Leann, I found an unfortunate frown sitting on her lips. "I want you to be happy," she said out of nowhere.

"I am happy," I quickly assured her.

Shaking her head, she scooted her chair closer to mine. It put her at a better vantage point of the front counter, and her attention was temporarily stolen by a handsome stranger in a suit who was sitting on a stool and drinking coffee.

It was very Leann-like to get distracted by something cute, but she wiped the drool from her mouth and got right back to business.

"You're not as happy as you could be though," she insisted. "Why don't you just try talking to Spence? I know his friendship with Captain Parisi doesn't look very good, but it could be a misunderstanding."

"I have talked to him, Leann," I said, remembering our moment from earlier that same day and many others before it. "He never gives me a straight answer. If it's a misunderstanding, then why wouldn't he just be honest about it? Why does he insist on giving me half answers?"

"I don't know," Leann sighed.

I shook my head. "I think I need to just..." The solution came in fast, but the delivery was slow and painful. "Get over him, ya know?"

That had Leann almost spitting out her cappuccino, her laugh vibrating the decorated walls of Blissful Brews in a not so blissful way.

"Sweetheart," she giggled. "You can't get over him if you keep getting under him."

"Leann," I hissed, eyes going wide. "Keep your voice down."

But it was too late. She'd been heard.

As Griffin practically sprinted our way from behind the counter, I relented a touch, knowing it could have been way worse. Everyone else seemed too immersed in their own conversations to hear our business, and Griff was a safe place for secrets.

"Who's under who now?" he asked as he snagged a spot at our table. From his apron pocket, he pulled out a rag and did a compulsive wipe down before leveling his curious eyes on me. "You look flushed. Did you just have sex? Is that what we're talking about?"

"Yes, we are. And yes, she did," Leann answered, brushing a few strands of neon hair out of her face. "And now she's proposing to break the whole thing off."

Griffin's eyes were the picture of betrayal. "Ditch on the hot cop?"

"Yep." I nodded.

He threw a hand over his heart. "How could you?"

I couldn't answer. I hadn't figured that part out yet. At the mere thought of it, my heart picked up an anxious beat in my chest, but I brushed it off as Leann continued with her next thought.

"It might for the best, honestly," she said, surprising me. "Spence may be hot, but I just read in the newspaper that like eighty percent of police officers are in therapy."

My head tilted in her direction. "Leann," I laughed, "that statistic cannot be right."

"Yeah, uhm..." Griff leaned back in his chair, eyebrows dipping together as he smirked, obviously amused by the conversation he'd stumbled into. "Where'd you read that?"

"It was in the psychology section of the Brighton Gazette or somewhere." Leann shrugged. "I'm telling you, it's the truth."

Griff shook his head. "No, Lea. I read that article, too. What it said was that eighty percent of police officers probably need therapy. Which..." His glance turned to me and his voice dropped low. "Let's be honest, is that much better?"

"Weren't you just wounded at the idea of me ending things?" I asked.

"I'm a chameleon, baby," he said with a flair, flashing white teeth in a big smile. "I change colors with the conversation."

"I don't think that's how the expression is supposed to go. Or if it's an expression at all," I pointed out, smiling right back. It was hard not to catch his vibrant energy.

Just then, the bell over the door rang as Mrs. Tinsley walked in. She managed the tailor shop in Fairhaven and subbed third grade English at the elementary school.

Griff came to his feet like lightning. "It goes the way it goes, ladies," he said quickly. "Thanks for the chat, but I gotta get back to work, and I'm not talking about coffee orders."

When Leann and I both gave him a look, he leaned in close and his voice became a whisper. "Tinsley's been eyeing my first edition," he said, eyes beaming over to the bookshelf with a protective eye. "And you know she can't be trusted."

He said that last part because he was convinced her tailor shop was a front for something else. Leann thought he was being paranoid, but it didn't seem that far-fetched to me.

When he turned to leave, Leann called out to him before he got away. "Hey, Griff!" As he glanced at her over his shoulder, she tipped her chin toward the front counter again. "Who's the dish in a suit?"

Griff gave the guy an incognito glance, eyes quickly skimming over the dark stranger before turning back to us. "Whoever he is, I called dibs the moment he walked in, so back off."

With a victorious smirk, he sailed off to intercept Mrs. Tinsley who was on her way to the bookshelf without even stopping by the counter to place an order first.

Suspicious, if you asked me, but what else was new? This town was full of people who weren't who they said they were. It was the whole reason for my current conundrum.

"So..." Leann was prepared to jump right back into said conundrum, apparently. "If you choose to leave Lovejoy behind, you're going to need someone new to distract you."

"Please," I mumbled in agony, raising my cinnamon latte to my mouth and taking a long sip. "I can't even think about that right now."

"But where would you even start looking?" she kept going, not oblivious to my discomfort.

Knowing my best friend, her questions were more than likely designed to make me uncomfortable, to get me thinking about the reality I was considering.

She was successful, too. Because that's exactly what happened as I finished off my cinnamon latte amidst the clinking of glassware and the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

Getting over Spence wouldn't exactly be an easy task. He'd been my forever crush for...well, forever. But honesty meant more to me than feelings. And promises were more important than orgasms.

Maybe I needed to find someone who kept them for once, without leaving so many question marks on my heart. Without constantly wondering if they were associated with a fucking crime organization.

The idea was almost laughable. I wouldn't find anyone like that within the town limits of Fairhaven, I knew that much. But it didn't matter. Not yet anyway.

Because I wasn't ready to give up what I had with Spencer Lovejoy just yet.

---

Thoughts on Davina and Spence? Now that we have some more of their dynamic in place, I'd love to hear your thoughts. 💖