Spencer kept the photo of twelve-year-old him to remind himself never again. That didn’t mean he delved into the past beyond a glance, most of the time. He didn’t think he’d ever shared so much of that story, and all Trina had to do to get it out of him, was ask.

As he looked at Trina, who watched him attentively, he understood why he dove down that rabbit hole.

“You didn’t come up here for this.” He laughed. “Let’s slaughter Hoarde.”

Understanding whispered across her face. “I’m in. I should warn you, though—I taught Tristan how to play Halo.”

“He doesn’t play.” Spencer didn’t mind delving into the past as much as he’d expected, but it was still nice to climb out. Back then, he thought he had no choice other than to be the funny fat friend. Now he didn’t understand how he put up with it for so long. Hindsight and all that.

“He does,” Trina said. “I taught him. After that Achilles injury? He needed a way to pass the time, and I kept him company.”

She would have been nine at the time.

“Tell me you beat him,” Spencer said.

She smirked. “You know my brother is incapable of losing gracefully, don’t you? I’m the only person who can beat him.”

Spencer found a perverse kind of amusement in that. “I’ll consider myself warned. Unless you’d rather play co-op.”

“That’s probably best. For your masculinity’s sake.” Her tone was playful.

“I appreciate that.” He liked this. It had been a long time since he could be himself, without wondering if the person he was talking was working an angle. It was nice.

Spencer didn’t remember when he fell asleep, but he was intensely aware of Trina’s warm body pressed against his when he woke up.

The ache in his groin, from the erection trapped inside jeans, was pretty hard to ignore too.

He extracted himself from her sleeping form. She mumbled and slid into the empty space on the couch, never opening her eyes.

He wasn’t going to be the weirdo who watched someone else sleep, regardless of how peaceful and gorgeous she looked, with her hair swept across her face and her dark lashes stark against her pale cheeks.

Besides, he needed to burn some excess energy. Some of it from the lingering traces of last night’s stroll down memory lane, and the rest from his attraction to her. Was he getting attached to someone he barely knew? Sure, he had second-hand information about Trina’s life. He wanted to know more about her from her.

First, Spencer needed to clear his head. He left her a note and went to grab his winter wetsuit.

As he headed out the door, he glanced back at her one more time. He was getting attached. He was okay with that if it meant more of Trina.

*

TRINA SMILED AT THE note sitting on the coffee table, folded so it stood directly in her line of sight when she opened her eyes. She sat up and stretched. Sleeping on the couch didn’t leave a crick in her neck. That was nice. The company had been nicer.

She picked up the creased notepaper and scanned Spencer’s neat script.

Outside, in the water. Join me on the beach when you wake up.

She could do that. The sun peeked over the horizon, slowly creeping up. She stepped on the back deck, and a stiff breeze brushed over her. The scent of the ocean was soothing. The cold, not so much. He wasn’t really in the water, was he?

A small silhouette moved against the backdrop of the morning sky. Apparently, he was.

Trina grabbed a blanket from the back of a deck chair. The same one he’d picked up the other night. The awkward memory tried to stall her, but she shoved the bad bits aside, lingering on the kiss, rather than on what came after.

She wrapped the throw around her shoulders and wandered along the sand. A few meters from the water, she settled down to watch and wait.

Without Spencer here, and with the still morning embracing her, her brain snapped free of its leash.

She liked Spencer. Probably even liked liked him. She felt safe. No. That wasn’t the right word. It was true, but she felt... wanted. In more than simply a sexual way.

More flashes of the kiss blinked in her head. There was more of a physical connection, too—the night at the club and the way he held her while they danced. But it was more. Like he wanted to be around her. Enjoyed her company as much as she did his.

She wanted to open up, the way he did last night. She had no idea how lead into a conversation like that, though. My ex-boyfriend was a massive jerk and made me question a lot of things, so thank you for putting up with my wishy-washiness. That would work.

Not.

Especially if she was reading him wrong. She did that with Leo. Completely misinterpreted the situation. And there was the indecision again. How she hadn’t missed it at all.

This was different, though. Doubt wanted her to think otherwise, but Spencer wasn’t being nice because she was Tristan’s sister. Or because he was a twisted fuck who thought he’d prove he could get in the virgin girl’s panties.

It was an odd revelation, like so much of last night, and she liked it. Spencer cared.

You thought that about Leo, too.

Fuck her brain.

“Is it nice where you are?” Spencer’s question startled her.

She looked up, to find him crouched in front of her. He wore a wetsuit, his cheeks were red from the cold, and his hair was wet and sticking up every which way. Seemed as though he was attractive regardless of the situation.

“It’s much better here,” she said.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He dropped on the sand next to her, resting his arm against hers. “I like it better with you here, too.”

She glanced sideways at the shift in his tone, to find him watching her with that familiar expression that made her pulse skip.

Spencer shivered.

She opened the blanket and offered him a side. “How are you not freezing? I’m dry and cold.”

“I don’t notice when I’m in the water. The chill sinks in fast when I hit dry land.” He stood. “I’d join you, but then we’d both be wet.”

Was the pause intentional? She mentally slammed her palm against the side of her head. Shut up, you.

“I’m heading inside.” He extended his hand. “Unless you’re still thinking.”

“I’m really not.” She accepted the help up.

His grip was firm, and instead of letting go when she was on her feet, he intertwined his fingers with hers. “I need to shower, and then I’ll make us breakfast,” he said as they walked back to the house.

“You cook?”

His laugh was warm, chasing away the chill. “I was a chubby kid who found comfort in food. I cook.”

She’d never had someone offer to make her a meal before. Other than Mom. “Can I help?”

“If you were willing to make coffee while I rinse away the salt water, I’d be eternally grateful.”

“Eternally? That’s a long time.”

He paused on the deck and unzipped his suit, then stripped out of the sleeves and let the torso fall around his waist. The tattoo she’d been catching hints of was on display. So was a tantalizing trail of pale hair, running down from his navel and vanishing into his suit.

She forced her gaze up but didn’t realize she was reaching for the ink flame on his chest until her fingers brushed his skin. His hiss drilled into her core, temping and tantalizing. He grabbed her wrist before she could pull away, holding her palm captive against him.

“What does it mean?” she asked. The orange-yellow lines were stylized fire, with something that might have been the eye of Sauron in the middle.

“It’s supposed to represent will and determination, but also carry the warning that running too hot, without moderation, means getting burned.”

“Wow.” That was actually deep. She was pretty sure Mischa’s tattoos meant things like skulls are cool.

Spencer’s smile twisted into something playful. “And when I saw it on the wall at the shop, it had a kind of Lord of the Rings vibe.”

“I knew it.” She laughed.

He tugged her closer, and her breath caught. “I like seeing you this way.” His tone had dropped an octave.

She wanted to ask what way, but her vocal chords didn’t work. When he brushed his lips over hers, everything in her skull went silent. The kiss was simple and undemanding and sincere.

And it clenched like a fist around her chest.

He pulled away. “I really need to warm up.” Gravel lined his words.

She was plenty heated, but that wasn’t what he meant. “Go shower,” she said. “I’ll make coffee.”

He vanished into the bathroom, and she made her way to the kitchen.

What was that, outside? Incredible, for sure. And real. Sincere. Not a gimmick or a trick. Because she could trust Spencer. He was real.

Then again, she thought Leo loved her, and she never realized her brother could be treat a close friend with indifference.

She found coffee in a jar on the counter, and filters in the cupboard above the coffee maker. Exactly where it all made sense to be. She started the drink brewing and went to change into something besides yesterday’s clothes.

She should have done this before she went out on the beach. Then she could have showered too. As she drew clothes from her bag, the lacy red set caught her gaze. When did she think she’d put that on? Why did she bring only white shirts, that wouldn’t hide the bra if she wore it?

And what if she was reading all of Spencer’s signals wrong? Or she chickened out, like New Year’s Eve?

Great. Her thoughts were off to the races again.

She forced herself to breathe and rattled her doubt to the corners of her mind, as she pulled on new clothes.

When she wandered back into the kitchen, the coffee maker was sputtering its last drops into the pot. She grabbed two mugs, filled them, and topped hers off with milk. Then she paused. How did he take his coffee?

That was a question she didn’t mind asking or finding out the answer to.

His hands settled on her hips, startling her, but in a good way.

“Cream, no sugar.” His breath caressed her cheek. “Feel free to insert a corny line about you being sweet enough to make up for it.”

She smiled and made his drink the same way she had hers. Picking up both mugs, she turned to hand him one.

His hair was still wet and a mess. She wanted to reach up and run her fingers through it, but indecision held her back. Instead, she stepped around him and took a seat at the breakfast bar.

A flicker of a frown crossed his face, but it vanished again. “Eggs and bacon?” he asked.

“Sure.

He opened the refrigerator.

“You’re not the only one with a never again in your past.” The words tumbled out without her permission, and with no prompting.

He closed the door without grabbing anything, and turned to face her. “Why did you phrase it that way?”

She didn’t know. She wasn’t even sure why she said it.

That wasn’t true; she wanted him to hear this story, not only so she could explain herself, but because she felt like she could open up to him.

And on the slim chance she was completely off-base about how things stood between them, it would be a warning that she wasn’t going to fall for a bullshit game. “Because that was what it was. One of those moments in life that made me say never again.”

“Whatever you want to say, I want to hear.” The way he watched her—that look that implied she was the only thing she saw—was enticing and comforting.

The fact that she one-hundred and ten percent believed him terrified her more than almost anything.