Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (213 page)

Chapter Seven

I wake up feeling fresh and energized. I get out of bed—and discover Katy slumbering in the top bunk.

I go up on my toes to check it out. She’s alone.

Huh
. I must have slept through her coming in. I don’t think she brought Spencer here. Otherwise, I definitely would have woken up. I smile. Good.

I exit the room, gently closing the door behind me. I walk down the hall—and freeze. Spencer is standing shirtless in our kitchen.

He’s facing away from me, watching the stove. I debate turning around and retreating to my room.
Then what?
Hiding in bed until he leaves?

I grimace in disgust. No, I won’t do that. This is
my
dorm. Spencer has no right making me feel uncomfortable in
my
dorm.

I cross my arms and clear my throat. “Ahem.”

Spencer doesn’t turn around. He’s focused completely on the stove. There’s a spatula in his hand.

I take a breath, and note the smell of eggs in the air. Is he
cooking
?

“
Ahem
,” I say again, a little louder this time.

No response. Then I notice the black wires running to his ears. I roll my eyes at my own stupidity.

Duh
. Headphones.

I walk up behind him and tap him on the shoulder. He jumps.
Ha
! Score one for me.

Spencer turns around. His mouth crooks into a smile when he sees me. I take it as his most charming. I wonder how many girls have fallen for it.

I know I’m immune.

“What are you doing in my kitchen?” I ask, trying to sound cross.

Spencer takes one headphone out. “Fancy seeing you here,” he grins.

“I live here,” I tell him. “What’s your excuse?”

“What, can’t a man cook breakfast these days?” He motions at the pan. I look down and cringe. The four eggs he’s got there are starting to burn at the edges.

“Apparently not,” I say, reaching over to turn off the element before he starts a fire. “Where’d you get these?”

“Your fridge was a little empty when I woke up this morning. I took it upon myself to stock up.” He points out the plastic grocery bags nearby.

“You bought food?” I ask in disbelief. “
Why
?”

“If I’m going to be spending time here,” he says, flipping the eggs onto a plate, “I’m going to need to eat.”

“Oh. So you and Katy…?”

“Please.” He opens the fridge door, grabs a carton of milk, and chugs a few gulps right there. It’s disgusting. “There’s nothing going on between me and her.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Then what did you mean…?” I trail off, getting the implication. “Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “There will
definitely
not be anything going on between me and you, either.”

Spencer sits down at the table. “Why do you always have to assume the worst about me?” he asks, making his best attempt at looking hurt. “Maybe I just want a friend.”

I don’t fall for his sham. “I’ve heard all about your rep,” I tell him. “I know how you treat women. That’s not going to fly with me.”

“Have you, now?” he asks. He seems amused. “Indulge me, then. What do you think happened here last night?”

“It’s obvious. You met Katy at the party. You got her drunk. And you cajoled her into bringing you home.” I frown. “You’re despicable.”

“You’re right,” he says, chewing his egg, “up until the last part. One question, though: Why do you think she’s sleeping alone in her bed right now?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe she got sick of your disease-infested man parts and told you to take a hike. That would totally make my day. The real question is what
you’re
still doing here.”

“Wow,” Spencer intones. “You really don’t like me, huh?”

I offer a fake smile. “What’s there to like? You sleep around. You treat women like dirt. You’re brash and arrogant. You’ve probably got a hundred different STDs.”

Spencer shakes his head. “You’re assuming.”

It pisses me off how unaffected he is by all this. It pisses me off that I still haven’t been able to wipe that boyish grin off his face. Most of all, it pisses me off that he’s making me angry. “I’m assuming
what
?”

“You’re assuming a lot of things,” he says, nonchalantly popping another piece of egg into his mouth. It pisses me off that he talks while he chews. “But let’s start with the biggest assumption of all. You’re mad because you think I fucked your friend Kate last night.”

I can’t stop the color from rising in my cheeks. I hate the way I react whenever sex comes up in a conversation. It’s even worse when Spencer’s around. “Why else would you be here?”

“Maybe I’m just acting the part of a good friend. Maybe I found her plastered at the party last night and decided to take care of her before someone else took advantage.” He shrugs. “Just maybe.”

“So, you had no ulterior motive for coming here last night?” I scoff. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Well,” he says slowly, looking me up and down, “I wouldn’t say I had
no
ulterior motive.”

I feel an unexpected thrill rise inside me. I shudder and shove it down.

Suddenly, I’m all too aware of the fact that all I have on beneath my long pajama top are my panties. My legs feel way too exposed.

I sit down at the table across from Spencer, thankful to have a solid object between his hungry eyes and my bare thighs. “You’re disgusting,” I pronounce.

Spencer smiles and stands up. “Thanks. I get that a lot.” He stretches his arms overhead and yawns loudly.

My resolve to stay levelheaded fails me. I can’t keep my eyes off his body.

The stunning ripples of his abdominal muscles make my insides clench up. His shoulders, chest, and arms are lean and cut. A light grazing of hair trails down the midline of his torso, disappearing from view at the tan line at his hips. For a brief moment, his pants ride down far enough for me to glimpse the top of some tattoo that starts on the top of his left quad.

Spencer catches me looking. “Like what you see?”

I bristle and turn away. I feel my cheeks go warm again. And what’s up with the sudden heat flooding between my legs?

“No,” I say firmly. “You need to put a shirt on.”

He laughs. “Most girls beg me to take mine off.”

“Yeah, well I’m not
most girls
,” I snap. What pisses me off the most, right now, is how flustered he makes me feel. “You can go whenever you want. I’ll tell Katy you were here.”

“And what if I’m not here for her?” he asks. His voice turns low. That masculine rumble does all types of strange, unexpected things to my insides.

“You’re not here for me, that’s for sure,” I tell him. “And if you are, you’ve completely misconstrued my interest. There isn’t any. Trust me. You can go. I’ll pay you for the groceries.”

Spencer starts laughing. I hate how impervious he is to my remarks. It’s
infuriating
. “I’m not here because I’m waiting for you to pay me,” he says, eyes flashing. “
Trust me
.”

I glare at him. I’m just about to open my mouth to tell him to leave again when Katy walks into the room.

“Ugh,” she groans. “My head. It feels like I have a thousand different jackhammers going off in there all at once.” She notices us. “What are you two bickering about so loudly in here?”

“We’re not…”
bickering
, I was going to say. Then I realize that she’s right.

“Here,” Spencer says, pouring her a glass of water. “Drink this.” He bends over to take something out of the shopping bag. “And take these Advil's.”

“You’re not supposed to mix Advil with alcohol!” I protest, remembering something our Planning teacher taught us in high school.

Spencer looks at me as if I’m a child. “That’s
Tylenol
,” he corrects. “Katy was right about you, huh? You’re just totally innocent.”

“I said no such thing,” Katy opposes, offering Spencer a dirty look. He winks at her and smiles at me.

Katy drinks from the glass and downs the pills. Spencer watches her intently. Once he’s satisfied, he turns to me. “See? I’m not so bad.”

“That remains to be seen.” I cross my arms. However, I know he’s partially right. So far, he’s done nothing wrong in taking care of Katy. Maybe I could stand to revise my opinion of him.

Slightly.

Chapter Eight

Monday morning hits. I decide it’s the best time to start looking for a job.

I’m glad Spencer didn’t call me out on my bluff about paying for groceries on the weekend. I have no money.

Still, I’m determined to pay him as soon as I make some. I will
not
be in his debt.

The first classes of the semester also start on Monday. The school has something called “shopping week,” where students are allowed to drift in and out of whatever class they want for the first five school days. It’s a way for us to familiarize ourselves with the professors before finalizing our schedules for the term.

Lucky for me, Katy shared a little secret. Her great insight is that none of the professors takes shopping week seriously. They know half the faces they see this week will be different after students submit their final schedules. They don’t hand out any assignments or give any important lectures.

So, in truth, classes don’t
really
start until next week. That gives me just the time I need to find some employment.

I spent all of yesterday scouring the school’s website for opportunities on campus. Three stand out for me.

The first is a clerical position in the library. It’s not very exciting, but I could probably swing it so I end up getting paid to study. I print off the application.

The second is a bar back at the university-sanctioned pub. The hours aren’t flexible. But, I figure I can double the hourly wage in tips—especially since most of the patrons are bound to be male.

The third job is the one I really want. It’s a spot as a swimming instructor at the campus pool. Like I told Andrew, I’d basically been swimming since before I could walk. The swim lessons my mother signed me up for were probably the only kind thing she’d done for me.

I skim the requirements again. They want someone with experience.
Check
. They want someone who can deal with kids.
Check
. They want someone who is locally certified. Err… that might be a sticking point.

I have my lifeguard certification, but it’s from another state.

Still, I figure it can’t hurt to apply. The job would be
ideal
, without even mentioning the fact that it pays twenty-two bucks an hour. That’s a lot of money for a college kid.

I run out the door, excited to get a start on things. I’m not looking where I’m going as I bound down the stairs and turn onto the street—and collide head on with somebody carrying an enormous cardboard box.

Both of us tumble to the ground. The box falls over and spills open. The head of a ridiculously large stuffed tiger rolls out.

“Oh my God,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I totally didn’t see you there. Are you okay…?”

The words die on my tongue as I see who I’ve run into.

Andrew.

He’s in the process of getting up himself. His eyes meet mine. He freezes.

“Paige,” he says. He offers a smile. “Imagine that. Must be my lucky day.”

I shake my head to dismiss the remark. “I broke your…
animal
,” I stammer.

He laughs. “This old thing?” He nudges the head of the tiger with his toe. “It’s withstood harder falls than that. Don’t worry about it.”

The softness of Andrew’s voice puts me at ease. It’s not the flat, emotionless voice he used when speaking to me after the meeting last week. It’s the warm, kind voice I remember from our date.

I can’t stop myself from smiling back. “What
is
it?”

“A ruined surprise,” Andrew says. He looks from side to side. “If I show you, will you promise not to tell?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“All right, then.” Andrew’s eyes sparkle as he looks at me. “Come here.”

I step closer while he turns the box upright. I peer inside. There, I see the body of the tiger. It looks like one of those mascots they have at NBA games.

“What’s it for?” I ask.

“Each dorm has a mascot,” Andrew explains. “Ours is the tiger. At the end of the week, all the peer leaders are planning on hosting a little festival of sorts. It’s going to be a whole-day event. There’ll be live music and free food and games and all types of stuff. It’s a way for everyone to get to know each other. We do it every year. It’s lots of fun.”