"But we agree that I'm smart." I wriggled under his firm grip. "I swear, I won't go back outside. You can let me up."
He laughed, low and mirthless, and then he twisted us again so that I reclined against his body. But he angled me so I was tucked against his arm and could see his face. "I warned you what would happen."
"Right, but you made your point." I tested his hold on me again. Ironclad.
He shrugged, glancing at the TV on the wall above the woodstove. "I like to be thorough." A quarter of the screen had been obscured by the Christmas tree, but that didn't appear to annoy him. It was only then that I realized a movie was already playing—some kind of action thing I'd never seen. I glanced down and noticed water, medicine, takeout boxes, and soda on a side table he'd pilfered from my bedroom. The fucker hadpreparedfor this stunt.
I rotated a stern look up to his hard jaw. "Spencer." He wiggled a little, settling back and adjusting himself so he was more comfortable. The heat from his body was beginning to seep through my winter layers, and where I'd been a frozen hunk of ice before, I was beginning to feel like a rotisserie chicken now. "Theodore."
He adjusted his hold, keeping me pinned against his absurdly sculpted abs with one arm. With the other, he reached over and grabbed a handful of corn chips. He kept his eyes on the visible seventy-five percent of the TV, crunching his chips loudly and ignoring me. I sighed in resignation. He finished his handful of snacks and then offered me a water bottle. I glowered up at him like a cat trapped in a towel, and finally, he glanced down at me. "What?"
I bounced a glance between my puffy coat and scarf and then his sweatshirt. "Aren't you a tad warm?"
"Are you?" He put the water bottle down and held his hand against my forehead. "You don't have a fever."
"I'mroastingto death, Theodore. You put off more heat than the wood stove."
"Thank you."
"I didn't mean that as a compliment," I retorted.
He relented, sitting us up so we could take off a few layers, but just as I thought he might have given up the gig, he plastered me to his side again with my hips between his legs and my shoulder wedged beneath his armpit. His legs trapped mine, and he might as well have been sitting on top of me. "Better?" he asked.
I supposed I had earned this… and it wasn't awful. Spencer really was warm, but now, in my flannel button-down and jeans, I found it soothing rather than suffocating. My head rested against his surprisingly cushy pectoral, and I fought a heavy, slow blink. "How long are you going to make us sit here?"
"Why? You have somewhere to be?" I lifted my eyes to the ceiling. He didn't even look at me as he said, "Don't roll your eyes at me."
"You've made your point."
Spencer abandoned the partially visible movie and angled a speculative look my way. "Oh? What point am I making?"
"That you are a swole caveman?" I guessed.
"No."
"Clomp monsters are the devil?"
"That is true," he acceded. "But no." I waited, blinking at him. Spencer's chest lifted and fell, expanding into my breasts and stomach in an oddly satisfying way. "Pace yourself."
Pace myself. "Ah." I broke eye contact, staring without seeing at the movie that blasted and exploded on screen. "Right."
He hooked a finger under my chin, guiding me to look at him again. "You can't save anyone if you run yourself into an early grave, Bee. And it makes me physicallyillto watch you punish yourself for the dubious sin of never earning your mother's approval."
His words hit me like a sledgehammer to my chest. I gusted out a harsh breath, and suddenly, all the mirth in the situation died out like snow to a flame. "Oh."
"You don't have anything to prove. And if you aren't willing to give yourself the grace to accept moments of weakness, then I'll annoy the fuck out of you until you learn it." He slid his mouth into a self-deprecating smile. "And I'm telling you right now, Arabella—I enjoy it. So don't tempt me to make it a hobby."
"I don't think sitting on vets is a hobby," I said, but my voice came out strained because,hell, he was right. I hadn't looked at my work schedule—my wholelife—as self-imposed punishment for never reaching Sylvia's impossible standards, but that was exactly what I'd been doing.
I'd killed myself getting through vet school faster than my peers, graduating early, accelerating my undergrad, working my ass off to be the best in my program. I'd taken on impossible projects and unmanageable hours to be thebest, to beexceptional, and I'd thought it was for my own gratification. But it wasn't for my own joy. I'd devoted most of my adult life to the fool's errand of earning my mother's affection.
I was dangerously close to losing it. I hadn't realized it. I hadn't seen my own actions for what they were, and Spencer had just kicked my legs out from under me with one sentence.
Fuck.
Spencer searched my face, and seeing that he had struck a nerve, he rubbed my arm soothingly. "Sitting on doctors could be a pretty good hobby, though. Want to try?"
I choked out a laugh. "You want me to sit on you, Spence?"
