Prince Charmings (BOOK ONE)

36

Hopping Spencer's fence took more effort than I expected it to. I sat on the edge for a moment, uncaring as dew seeped into the backs of my jeans, to get breath back in my lungs, not used to relying on my mouth alone to circulate air. Mailbox cat was nowhere to be seen, which was good since I didn't want to get into a territorial pissing contest at nearly eleven in the evening.

Ground shock coursed up my legs when I landed on his lawn even though the drop was less than a couple meters. I shook it off, stormed the porch, and knocked on the door three times. The lock caught a few times before Spencer's face appeared through a slivered gap. Suspicion arched in his brows until he recognised me and yanked the door all the way open. He let out a low whistle, eyes honed onto the bridge of my nose, drifting to the deep purple circles that found residency under my eyes.

"Jesus, what happened to your face?" Spencer asked, words muffled by the mouthful of bagel he was chewing. Cream cheese was caked under his nails, knuckles stained a purple that let me know he had been spray painting recently.

"It's freezing out, let me in?" I countered, making a show of rubbing my arms and shuddering until he gestured me inside.

"It's like sixty degrees out, calm down," he chided, clicking the door shut. Accepting my coat, I tried not to scowl when he threw it haphazardly onto the rack by the door, ushering me into the living room. The fireplace was lit, making the shadows of the house more sinister than inviting. The shirt he was wearing looked prison uniform issue, a depressing beige color that made his neck look redder than usual. A pair of paint splattered sweats hung loose on his hips and pooled past his mismatched sock clad feet. Something warm in my stomach flipped when he turned, backlit by the fire with a brow raised as though he was asking why I had stopped following him.

Settled in the couch cushion's dip, Mailbox cat jerked its head up from where it rested on stretched paws. It blinked at the pair of us, mouth stretching a lazy yawn that moulded into a soundless meow when Spencer reclaimed his place beside it. He laid a hand onto the cat's head, scratching gently in a way far too caring for the demon residing next to him. I sunk into the free space on the couch, lulling my head against the backrest as Spencer muted the basketball game currently on the television. I made a mental note to keep track of the current score so I could at least pretend to understand what Tommo was on about when he inevitably brought up the game tomorrow. If there was one thing Tommo and my brother bonded over, it was sports I didn't understand. I gave them about two minutes of awkward small talk at the barbecue tomorrow before deflecting to the safe territory of basketball.

Spencer dropped the remote carelessly onto the table, plastic clunking against the edge of his plate. I glanced down at the other half of his bagel still sitting there, covered in spray cheese. It looked miserably lonely with a weak bite taken out of one side.

"Your diet is appalling." I curled my nose, stuffing a hand in the pocket of my jeans in an effort to make sure my phone was on vibrate rather than silent. I didn't put it past my mom to storm into Spencer's place, pyjama's and all, if I missed any of her texts or calls tonight. Especially after the verbal beating and uncomfortable heart-to-heart I had just suffered through with her and Dad. I'd never heard the word proud and okay thrown around so much in the single space of an hour. It was like between leaving the hospital and driving home I had stepped into a young adult novel about acceptance and love. And I fucking hated it.

"This is a judgment free household," Spencer warned, waggling cream cheese in my face and effectively pulling me back into the present. Shoving his hand away, I chanced a look at his hallway. Only a single set of keys hung up on the wall. He rambled on, unfazed and high off his own kool-aid, "Play nice or I'll kick you back out into the cold."