Prince Charmings (BOOK ONE)

33

I stared back at Spencer, numbed with shock and the full weight of his words.

Nothing beside soft breaths were coming out as I frantically tried to get my thoughts in order. Holy shit. This was happening. We were having the Big Talk and I had no idea what to say back. While this wasn't a love confession, thank fucking god, it was still pretty fucking major. Spencer had just laid himself bare for me and I had no idea what to do, where to look. In the movies, this would be the part where I would throw him to the mattress and we'd have hot, passionate sex, albeit filled with whispered promises of devotion and what not.

My life, unfortunately, was not a movie, as much as it felt like it was at times. I settled, instead, for draining his cup of tea, not stopping until the bag wetly slapped my teeth and I could feel Winnie the Pooh calling me out for being a coward.

"Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Beau?" Spencer asked, expression open and slightly begging. Begging for me to say something. Do something. Stop pretending to drink tea we both knew was already gone.

"Beau," he tried again, this time even reaching over and grabbing my arm. Pulling the cup down he forced me to meet his eyes. They were a softer grey than I was used to and I swallowed the fake mouthful I'd been holding.

"I don't know what to say," I admitted, as honesty was always the best first step in life. "Kind of wasn't expecting an essay long speech. I'm a little mad I didn't speak first because now I feel like whatever I'm going to say to you will be incredibly underwhelming."

Spencer let out a nervous laugh, not moving his hand from me. I looked down at it, letting my eyes drift to the cup sitting on the bed before slowly wriggling my arm until his hand gripped my own. The skin was hot, fingertips a little rough and I tried to ignore the thrilled chill that jolted its way through my body at the contact. My palm was disgustingly sweaty, from holding the hot cup, from general grossness, it was a lot. I was more than a little proud of Spencer when he didn't flinch away. If anything, he gripped onto my fingers more tightly.

"This is weird," I said, running a hand through my hair nervously as Spencer's eyes fixed on me intently. I pondered for a minute where he threw his glasses to, hoping against all hope I wouldn't end up accidentally breaking them or something since luck did not seem to be on my side. "My hands are a little clammy."

"They're a lot clammy," Spencer said, wrinkling his nose and I groaned internally for bringing it up. "I thought this moment would be a little sexier if I'm being honest."

"Shut up, this is plenty sexy," I scoffed, loosening up in the face of his carefree demeanour. Suddenly I didn't feel as though I was suffocating, body heat trapped in the thin prison of my shirt, and settled a little easier atop Spencers pseudo-pastel sheets. "Can we gloss over me having to confess my feelings too? I really don't think I can handle that, today's been a lot."

"Nope," Spencer said, shaking his head as he moved down the bed to sit directly in front of me. I tried to shuffle back, make space between us, only to be stopped by him grasping both my wrists and pulled us until we were chest to chest. I blinked at the display of strength, scolding myself for the rush of blood to my cheeks, thankful it was the ones on my face.

Testing the give, I bit back a childish chuckle at how little his arms needed to flex in order to keep their grip on me. "Dude, Alpha much."

"Beau, come on, this is an intimate moment. I spilled my guts to you, albeit in a less eloquent way than I would like," he whispered, lips twitching to fight back a smile, and I rolled my eyes. "Quid pro quo?"

"Someone's been cramming for their lit exam. Where were those big words when you were foaming at the mouth with how much you liked me," I goaded, earning a tug to my arms that I pretended not to preen at. "Stop it, you're gonna pull them out the socket if you keep that up."