Experience and logic told Trina she should have turned Spencer down. He was a client. Technically her boss. And he had a complicated relationship with her family.

But when he said no expectation, she believed him. It didn’t matter if she tried to put her guard up; everything was easy with Spencer.

“You give every young woman you meet a key to your place?” Even the flirting was easy. Fighting it, over-thinking things—that hurt. Letting her mouth move without attaching it to her brain... She liked that with him.

“You’re the first. Even Mia didn’t have a key to my place until we were married.”

Mia must be his ex-wife. Tristan had mentioned the divorce before.

“What makes me special?” Trina asked.

The expression that flashed across Spencer’s face was unreadable. He shook his head and focused on her again. “I know I can trust you.”

She knew the feeling. She liked it. Which didn’t stop her from wanting to tease him. “What if I invite a bunch of people over, and we get wasted and trash the place?”

“Then you destroy my trust.”

Despite his light tone, the idea gnawed at her bones.

“But I’m not worried about it.” His easy-going smile was back.

“Let me grab a few things, and I’ll meet you up there.” She reached for her door handle, and excitement danced inside her. If teenage-Trina could see her now, she’d be so jealous.

Not that anything would happen. Telling herself so didn’t lessen her anticipation in the slightest.

The drive to her place seemed to take forever. She swore traffic never died here. And at eight on a Friday night? It was almost impossible.

She ran inside to her apartment, pausing when she reached her room. What was she supposed to bring?

He invited her up for the weekend. Enough clothes for a couple of days.

It was the beach, so a swimsuit. Or was it too cold to go in the water? Probably. She grabbed a suit anyway, and stuffed it in her duffel bag.

What else? Shorts. Jeans. Socks. Shirts. Cute underwear. The lacy red set she’d bought on a whim, though she didn’t know when she was ever going to wear it. No expectations didn’t mean she couldn’t daydream and maybe hope if the opportunity arose, she didn’t chicken out like last time.

If she could shut off the analytical part of her brain long enough, who knew what would happen?

It seemed like an eternity, but was only about ten minutes, before she was on the road again and heading for Spencer’s. As she inched her way along, gratitude tempered her irritation with the heavy traffic. The upside to it was, this way she wouldn’t get there before him.

When she arrived, his truck was in the driveway. His key was a heavy weight in her pocket. She should put it on her keyring, but that felt presumptuous. So did barging into his home, so she knocked.

He answered within a few seconds, wearing the smile she adored. The suit was gone, replaced by more casual clothes. It didn’t matter. She appreciated the view either way. She’d probably like it even more if there were no clothes.

The idea tingled across her skin, carried on fantasies of what he looked like naked. There was that tattoo she saw a hint of on his neck. What else lay underneath his shirt?

He was watching her, as if waiting for something. “I’m sorry. What?” she said.

“I asked if you had any trouble getting up here.” He stepped aside to let her in.

“Nah.” She moved into the house. The floorplan was open beyond the foyer, the living room flowing into the dining room and kitchen. Tall windows and doors on three sides showed off the water and sand outside.

“There’s a guest room at the end of the hall. You can stash your bag in there.” He gestured toward it.

She could stash her disappointment as well. Of course he’d offer her the other room. What else was he supposed to do? She dropped off her duffel bag and joined him in the living room. This wasn’t decorated like a typical vacation home. Personality whispered from every wall and piece of furniture.

Posters and photos lined the walls that didn’t have windows—Star Wars, Firefly, and Starship Troopers were buffered by vibrant shots of the ocean. “I love the way you decorated.” She winced at the sound of the words. “That sounded phony, but I mean it.”

“Thanks. Believe it or not, I did it myself.” He looked amused.

A series of photos on a far shelf caught her attention, and she wandered over for a closer look. “Is that you with Carrie Fisher?” It was a selfie-style shot, of him, her, and a small dog, with sand in the background.

“Yup. She was staying up here a few years back, and her dog wandered onto my deck one morning. Wonderful woman.”

“Wow.” Trina trailed her fingers along the frames, not making contact but absorbing the different images. There were a few more of him with celebrities. Apparently he wasn’t only sexy and sweet, he was also swoon worthy on a whole new geek-scale.

A couple of the photos were of him with Tristan and Mischa. She reached the next shelf and paused on one photo. She recognized a much younger version of her brother. He was about twelve. The kid next to him had dirty-blond hair and a round face, and was probably fifty pounds heavier than Tristan. She glanced at Spencer. “Is this you?”

“Yeah. But I hit puberty and decided to grow up instead of any further out.” An unfamiliar hesitation slid into Spencer’s voice.

“Just like that?” she asked.

He gestured toward the couch. “Have a seat.”

She took a spot on the sofa and turned to face him. It felt natural to sit the way they had at her apartment—close enough to press her leg against his.

“Sure. If by just like that you mean fluctuating between heavy and not for a few years, before finding something that worked,” he said.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to change the subject?” she asked. “I won’t call you on it. Except I did.”

He smiled and shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Because—I mean—you’re so...” What was she going to say?

“Sexy fucking hot now?” He winked.

Heat flooded her cheeks. “Yes.” Did she really say that? His smirk confirmed that she hadn’t kept the thought to herself. “But you were cute as a kid, too.”

“I was the pack omega, trapped between two alphas who barely tolerated each other, and only for the sake of their sport.” He let out a long exhale. “Whoa. That got dark fast. And sounded a lot more bitter than it should have.”

“I didn’t mean to strike a nerve.” She also didn’t expect to him to have a side like this. Introspective with a sky version of him in past. The new layer spoke to her on a different level. This half of him was intellectual, and even more appealing than the muscled, tattooed surfer she’d been drooling over.

“It’s okay. I got over it a long time ago. The words are honest, but there’s no resentment. It’s a part of what got me here.”

And he got a hundred times sexier. When Trina pushed aside the thought, the rest of his words sank in. Barely tolerated each other. “Two alphas. You’re talking about—”

“Yup. Tristan found Mischa, shoved more than a decade of his friendship with me in a corner, and they used each other to pursue their goals.” Spencer relaxed against the cushions. “The ultimate bromance. With more resentment between them than an old married couple.”

Spencer said it as if it were an obvious fact, but she’d never heard anyone talk about Tristan and Mischa like that. “I don’t see it,” she said.

“Not anymore. They grew up too. The men you know aren’t the boys I went to high school with. People change.”

She was having trouble reconciling his words with her reality. “Are you glad you stuck it out with them long enough to see that happen?”

He laughed. “Something like that.”

His words tickled a thought, but she couldn’t grasp it. “Explain?”

“This is skeletons. The past. You don’t want to go down that road.”

“I do, unless you don’t want me to hear it.” It was an odd turn for the conversation to take, but she wanted to know everything he was willing to tell her. Not because it was about Tristan—the thought hit her hard—but because it was about Spencer.

“Let me ask you this. Have you ever been in a situation where you know it sucks, but you’re worried the alternative is worse? As in, if you can suck up your doubt, you’ll get through it, and then you don’t have to face the unknown?”

His words gripped her lungs, and squeezed the air from them with how close to home he hit. It sounded just like work. “Yes.”

“The unknown isn’t always bad. I left them behind and moved here, to go to school. They competed in ’02, rocked their own worlds, and I sent them Congratulations emails. That was about the extent of our contact, while I did my own thing.”

Right. She didn’t have a choice like that when it came to work. So much for drawing a full parallel between his past and her present. She focused on his story. “But something put you in touch with Tristan again.”

His awkward laugh was endearing. She liked seeing him confident, but it was as nice to know he was human. “You really want to hear all of this.”

“If I’m prying too much, tell me to stop. Tristan has always been the same to me—overprotective big brother. But I’m not blind; I’ve seen him interact with other people, and he doesn’t hold back when it comes to business. This is like... it’s filling in some pieces. And there’s the learning-more-about-you bit of it.” She didn’t mean to confess that, but it felt good to say it out loud.

“Flattery. My weakness.” His tone was exaggerated, and he pretended to swoon.

She laughed at the antics. “Fine. Don’t tell me the rest of the story.”

“There’s not that much more to tell.” When he looked at her again, it was with that same focused gaze that stole her breath. “He called me after he tore his Achilles. Not immediately after. Six months or so? Said recovery made him realize what an ass he’d been. I’d had the time and distance away from him, that I wasn’t worried about hurting a nearly-dead relationship. He was right. I told him so.”

Which was why, fifteen years later, their relationship was more business than friendship.

Spencer shrugged, as if shedding the memory. “He invited me to spend Christmas with the family, to catch up. Things weren’t the same anymore, but we patched them up to the point we could move beyond that old pack-mentality friendship and reach more equal footing.”

It was a good story. That nagging voice was back, asking if she should be drawing parallels to her current situation. Taking a break from friends for a few years and moving across the country wasn’t the same as putting up with a guy at work who didn’t like her for some reason, until her contract was up.

Working through a job with an asshole colleague was a different matter entirely.

Telling herself that didn’t get rid of the nagging insistence that she examine things closer, but it didn’t provide her any answers, either.