Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Each drawer is neat and perfect, nothing out of place. It emboldens me to keep looking—keep digging into the life of Spencer Park. After going through each of his dresser drawers, I make a beeline for his nightstand drawer. Inside is a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. A flare of jealousy ignites in my chest. It’s not like we’re a couple or ever will be. Spencer is allowed to fuck whoever he wants.
But still…
With my memories of that kiss so fresh in my mind, it feels like a betrayal. Like he’s cheated on me with all these nameless people. Broke my heart all over again.
I slam the drawer with enough force the lamp wobbles and nearly tumbles to the floor. I manage to catch it, saving myself from being busted for snooping in his room. I’m thinking about heading to the closet to investigate when I hear Spencer’s voice.
He’s close.
Crap!
If I’d heard him coming sooner, I could have slipped out of his room and into mine before he found me, but I didn’t. He’ll be here any second.
At the last moment, I drop to the floor and scoot under his bed. I’ve barely dragged myself under it when the door opens, his deep voice following it.
“Thanks, Pops. Bring it by tomorrow.”
He ends the call with a hasty goodbye and then tosses the phone onto the bed with a soft thud. I can see his black shoes beneath the edge of the duvet. My heartbeat is roaring in my ears.
What will he do if he catches me under his bed?
I attempt to hold my breath, waiting him out. I’m not really in the mood of explaining why I’m in his room.
He strides away from the bed and into the bathroom. When the shower cuts on, relief floods through me. I just need to wait long enough for him to get in the shower and then I can make my escape.
He kicks off his shoes before picking them up and taking them into the closet. Nothing is ever out of place with Spencer. Not even a shoe or a rogue sock. He walks into his closet and remains in there for a long while. It shouldn’t take long to grab clothes, but I can distinctly hear him rummaging around.
What’s in his closet that would warrant digging before a shower?
I’m going to find out.
After what feels like an eternity, he slips out of the closet and then closes himself in the bathroom. As soon as the sounds of water splashing as someone washes up in the shower reach me, I hastily scrabble out from under the bed.
The smart thing to do would be to go back to my room.
When it comes to Spencer, I’ve never thought too clearly around him.
Instead of leaving, I make my way into his closet, keeping an ear out for the shower sounds. His closet, like everything else in his room, is sparse and incredibly neat. Even his shirts are hung from white all the way to black with every color on the spectrum in between in order of varying shade.
What was he doing in here?
At first glance, there’s nothing amiss, but when I look up, I notice a gray plastic tub on the shelf above his hanging clothes. It’s way out of reach for my short stature, but I’m determined.
Ensuring the shower is still going, I test the strength of the shoe organizer built into the wall. With its cutout shelves, I can use it as a ladder. If it’ll hold, that is. But when it doesn’t collapse after stepping on the first one, I’m emboldened to keep going.
I have to climb until my head brushes against the ceiling. Then, I’m able to reach over and tug at the lid of the box. Since I can’t see inside of it, I have to settle for reaching my hand in. My fingers brush something and I’m able to make purchase. Carefully, I pull it from the box to take a closer peek.
It’s a picture frame.
An old picture of me and Spencer. Before the kiss. When we were friends. Seeing the old picture has warmth spreading over me. He was so happy in that picture. We both were. I’m shocked he kept it.
I’m about to see what else I can dig out of the tub when the shower faucets squeak as he turns off the water. My heart stumbles in my chest and I nearly drop the picture frame from my perch. I grip onto it and then slide it back into the box as fast as I can. Quickly, I shove the lid back over the top and hop to the carpet with a soft thud.
The hammering in my chest echoes in my eardrums, reminding me it’s past time to get the hell out of here. I creep out of the closet, casting a brief look over everything to make sure it’s as he left it, and then slip out.