"—worried about me exerting myself."
"… one."
A giddy thrill bubbled up through my chest and to my lips and I expelled an incredulous laugh. And then I ran. Because Spencer had pushed off the wall and his eyes were promising retribution.
The echo of a reckless thought from almost a year ago rang through my body, and I remembered the granule of a thrill I'd felt when Spencer had dragged me across the bed to his strong body. But now it had amplified, and what had been a whisper of intrigue now screamed through me, loud and urgent.
Spencer was chasing me. I was running from him, stumbling only for a moment and then darting between the stalls for the exit while my heart pumped, and a silly thrill fizzed in my belly. Logically, I knew as I careened through the door and into the frosty air, that Spencer would never hurt me. But the idea that he wouldcatch mewas simultaneously terrifying and exciting, and honestly, I had no explanation for that.
I had no time to ruminate over it, either. A white expanse of open field waited for me with the house in the distance, and I didn't even know where the hell I could bother to run. Or why.
I only made it three sprinting steps outside before Spencer caught me. With jarring abruptness, he halted my momentum as he slammed into me from behind and spun me to a stop. His arms enveloped my entire torso, pinning my arms to my side, and he pulled my back flush against his steely front. I could barely drag in air, and my lungs seized, struggling to bring oxygen to my brain. Despite that, a manic kind of giggle escaped me, and I couldn't even clap a hand to my mouth to stop it.
Spencer dragged me over to the four-wheeler, which he'd apparently commandeered while I'd been on my short ride. He wasn't even out of breath, but I could tell he was gritting his words through clenched teeth as he mimicked my earlier taunt. "'If you can catch me.' Fucking Rook."
I gasped out another laugh, barely struggling as he hauled me to the four-wheeler. "I'm sorry," I huffed.
"Not yet, you're not," he growled. He shoved himself on the seat of the four-wheeler, but ignominiously, he draped me over his lap and sped off before I could object.
Although, I still objectedafterhe left, kicking and trying to sit up. But he only smashed me over his lap again and pinned me against his thighs. I watched the churned snow whiz by until the short ride was over, and then he hauled me back up. I coughed so hard, I doubled over, but he ignored my distress, dragging methrough the snow toward the back door. "Spencer," I croaked, still fighting a laugh.
"We are not friends anymore. You can call me Theodore."
"Theo," I wheezed, completely overcome by some bizarre fit of hilarity over the situation. He dragged me up the back stairs. "I just needed air."
"You threatened me with a horse," he bit back, wrenching open the back door. I noted that it wasn't squeaky anymore. When had he fixed that? "You know how I feel about horses."
"I didn'tthreatenyou with Spets."
Spencer paused just inside the doorway, and with his strong arm around my limp middle, he craned his neck to get a look at my red face. "What the fuck kind of name is Spets?"
"I think he used to spit at other horses when he was a baby," I replied solemnly.
"I think you're full of shit." His mouth twisted into a grim line before he finished lugging me into the house and slammed the door. It only took him ten seconds to drag me over to the couch, and then he sat down heavily, tugging me down with him. He wrapped his tree trunk legs around mine and pinned me against him and the couch. His arms remained around mine and it forced me to recline against his solid body with my head under his chin.
Still wheezing, I tested his hold on me. Solid. I wasn't going to lift my hand without his permission. I craned my neck with a frown. "Not that I'm complaining, but this isn't preciselysittingon m—"
"Are you actually suicidal?" he demanded.
Spencer didn't seem to find this as funny as I did. Although, if I was honest, I didn't find itfunny,exactly. It was a giddy kind of fear like swooping down a roller coaster or jumping out of a plane with a parachute. "I am not," I assured him, tamping down another laugh.
Spencer rolled us with such ease, I knew it was one of his MMA moves, and then I found myself still trapped by his legs and arms, but facing him on my side. He was at risk of falling off the narrow couch, but he kept a firm hold on me, glaring. As he surveyed my wavering expression that didn't know if it wanted to be worried or laugh, his own lips twitched. "I want to shove your head in the snow and make you cry 'uncle.'"
"You did that once," I reminded him. "I didn't cry 'uncle.'"
"I know, but I still want to try." His eyes searched mine, the anger slowly giving way to simmering irritation. "Only, I'd make you say, 'I'm sorry for endangering my health and threatening you with my clomp monster,' instead of whatever the hell 'uncle' means."
"The clomp monster really wouldn't be bothered with you," I pointed out. Spencer glared. I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry for endangering my health. And I might have known that you were a little… iffy… about approaching the horse." He glared harder. I scoffed, "Okay, and yes, I used it against you."
"How do your lungs feel?" he asked savagely.
I pulled in a painful breath. "Like I swallowed a bed of nails, thank you for asking."
His mouth pulled to the side in consternation. "I was going to suggest that you start looking in on the animals tomorrow, you know."
"God, if only I'd been a mind reader," I glared back.
"You are incredibly reckless for a smart person, you know that, right?"
