I stood in the doorway leading to one of Spencer's friend's living room. I had on my clothes from the night before and my hair pulled sloppily back. We'd spent the majority of the night and the too early morning drinking and talking in this living room. Until Spencer had taken my hand and led me into the spare bedroom. He laid next to me for a while on his back. I was under the covers in my tank top and underwear and he was on top of them, fully clothed.
He didn't say anything for a long time and I just let my hand rest on the covers between us, just barely touching his. Not holding it, just brushing fingers. We laid there for what felt like an agonizing forever before Spencer rolled onto his side and faced me. I lolled my head to the side and met his eyes. He was scooting in closer.
I licked my lips in anticipation. This is what I had been waiting all night for. This is what I had lied to my parents and stayed the night here for. Spencer was going to kiss me. Finally. He moved in slowly, softly, tucking an arm under my spine and quickly pushing his lips to mine.
His mouth was open and warm and soft. He tasted like sweet tequila and spiked strawberry punch. The rest of the world faded into nothing and all I could think about were Spencer's lips on mine, his hand underneath my back that was making slow circles over my tank top. I was sure that he would make some kind of big move. He would take off his shirt or try to take off mine. He would get under the blankets with me. But he never did.
He rested his body weight on top of mine and even through the blankets I could feel the warmth radiating off of him. My hands were running over his tshirt clad shoulders, down his back, pulling him in closer. He grazed his fingers against the bare skin of my hip but he went no further up or down.
He kissed me like that, in the dark, empty bedroom forever. Just lips and hands over clothes. And then, when I could tell that he was gasping for breath, he moved away, panting, but grinning. I sat up on my elbows as he slid off of me. He took the spare pillow from beside me and tossed it on the floor. He winked at me before moving to lay on the floor.
I sat up in surprise and watched as he spread out and stared up at the ceiling. I was more than a little offended that he wanted to sleep on the floor. I laid there, stunned and silent for a long time. When it had been so long that I thought he might be asleep I muttered, "Spence?"
His voice was low and gravelly, like he was just seconds away from dreamland. "Don't you want to come back up here?" I asked and I couldn't seem to keep from sounding offended.
When he didn't answer I glanced over the side of the bed at him. His eyes were open, but just barely. He shook his head when he noticed me watching him. "No," he mumbled sleepily. "That's not a good idea." I wasn't sure what he meant but there didn't seem to be much point in arguing, so I laid back down.
We didn't say anything else, and after a while I thought I heard his breathing slow. When I looked over the side of the bed again he was asleep on his back, one hand behind his head and the other, closest to the bed was limply at his side. I'm not really sure when I decided to do what I did, but I took the pillow I was using and laid it at the opposite end of the bed, where his head was, and flipped around. I reached down and picked up his hand in mine. It was heavy with dead weight, but I linked my fingers in his as best I could. And I fell asleep like that, backwards on the bed, hand hanging over the edge, fingers entwined with Spencer's.
When I woke up, far too early, to get myself back home, I was facing the right way in the bed again, back under the covers. I looked over the edge of the bed but Spencer was nowhere to be found. I got up, got dressed, and pulled my hair up. When I opened the bedroom door into the living room I saw him, asleep on the couch, still in his jeans and tshirt.
He looked so peaceful in that moment, and while I was still a little hurt that he'd rather of slept on the living room couch than next to me, I couldn't help but watch him. Asleep, he looked so different from the daring, tequila shooting boy from the night before. He looked so innocent. Like the boy with the curly hair and the awkward grin that I'd known when I was ten.
I think that was the moment that I truly knew that I was in love with him. He was beautiful. If boys could be that. And there was nothing I wanted to do more than touch his face. It was just so...sweet. And if seventeen year old Spencer was anything it was not sweet. I walked over to him and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch to toss over him. He shifted a little but I couldn't tell if he was awake or not. It didn't really matter. I leaned over and pushed his hair back a little before I kissed him softly on the forehead. "I gotta go, Spence," I whispered and he made a quiet noise before rolling away from me. I glanced at him one more time before gathering my things and moving to the front door.