Spencer had always had a soft spot for them. Every time he mentioned one of the littles at the club, he’d get this small light in his eyes and a soft smile on his face. I’d asked him once why he didn’t try dating a little. His response had been that no little wanted what he had to offer.
Spencer liked to… roleplay. He liked to keep most of his scenes private, but there had been times he’d come to me to talk. I wasn’t one to judge, making me his de facto confidant. Some of the scenes he’d talked about had been soft and romantic, some had been fun and amusing, but I could tell it was the darker ones that he liked the most. He didn’t get the chance to exercise that part of himself often, but I could tell when he did. He seemed calmer, less frantic. Personally, I thought it wasn’t impossible to find a little who liked some darker stuff mixed in with the sweet. But to Spencer, littles were innocent and naïve, not fit for his desires.
“Why do you think Oliver is a little or a pet?” I asked, seeing as how he’d never met the man and was already making such a specific claim.
“Intuition? You know Marshall would never be into any of the heavier stuff. Age play and pet play can be some of the gentlest kinks out there.”
He was right. After a few years of knowing Marshall, we’d been watching some true-crime special on TV because we’d all been too lazy to get up and get the remote when Marshall had confided in us about his childhood under his abusive father. Thinking of what he’d told us, I could never imagine him lifting a hand or implement to someone else. Caring for a little or pet, however, sounded right up his alley.
Still circling the room, Spencer turned to me with his face alight with excitement. “I hope he’s a little.”
“Why?” I asked, having no preference either way. As long as he made Marshall happy, it didn’t matter to me what he liked.
“One,” he said, lifting a stack of magazines on his coffee table to look underneath. “I think being a Daddy is perfect for Marshall. Two, his favorite restaurant is a pizza place—littles love pizza—and three,” he said as he dropped the magazines back down and looked at me, “littles are cute and fun to play with.”
I raised my brows at him. Okay, so maybe he’d changed his mind about playing with littles, but that didn’t mean Marshall would be okay with Spencer playing with his.
“Not like that.” He sighed, rolling his eyes—something he often did with me. “Yes, while I like some of my subs to act younger in a role, they aren’t actual littles. When I play with a little, I’m more like the fun uncle who comes to visit occasionally. I’ll join their tea parties and sneak them sweets or play a game of tag, but it’s not a scene. I’m just a friend who accepts them as they are and is willing to interact with them in a platonic way while they’re in that headspace.”
“Spencer, what are you looking for?” I asked, getting frustrated with his aimless wandering. He didn’t actually look like he was looking for anything.
He stood up, propped his hands on his hips, and surveyed the room. “Have you seen my keys?”
“Really?”
“Fine, don’t help, but you can’t blame me if we’re late.”
Standing, I glared at him as I left the room to start my search in his dining room.
“Thanks!” I heard from the living room.
I poked at the stack of paperwork on his table but heard nothing jingle. Pulling out the chairs, I checked each seat, remembering the time we’d found them there, but there was nothing this time. Entering the kitchen, I sighed, seeing his keys sitting right there on his counter, thankfully his wallet was there as well.
“Found them,” I yelled.
Spencer came striding into the kitchen as if he’d known where they were the whole time. “Let’s roll,” he said, stuffing his wallet into his pocket and tossing his keys into the air.
Wondering how I was still friends with the idiot, I followed him out to his car and climbed into the passenger side.
“How far away is this place?”
“It’s….” he said, drawing out the word as he typed the address into the GPS program on his phone. “Fifteen minutes.”
Nodding, I fiddled with the radio as Spencer pulled out of his driveway. Riding in companionable silence, I found my thoughts drifting back to Quentin. I couldn’t help thinking about what he was doing at that very moment, wondering where he was and who he was with. I knew I had no right to think about anything he did, especially after how dismissively I’d treated him on Monday when Sophia had shown up, but I still found myself doing it anyway.
I looked around when Spencer put on his blinker, seeing the pizza place and a surprisingly packed parking lot. “Looks busy, that’s a good sign. Maybe we should have called and made a reservation.”
“Right. I’ve passed by here before. The parking lot usually looks like this. It’s why I’ve never been.”
I unbuckled my seat belt, stepped out of the car, and waited for Spencer. The delicious smell of pizza wafted through the parking lot, making my mouth water. If I had a weakness, it was junk food. And Quentin, my traitorous brain added.
Spencer was taking his sweet time, and I was about to leave him behind when he finally climbed out of his car.
“I just texted Marshall that we’d arrived. He said they’re still a couple of minutes out and to get a booth.”
We crossed the parking lot, weaving in and out of the cars. I reached the front door first and opened it only to see two parents trying to wrangle their four kids out the door. I held the door open, giving the father an acknowledging nod as he thanked me and bustled his kids outside.
Luckily for us, there wasn’t a line. Instead, an overworked waitress with a forced smile greeted us.
“Hi,” she said, reaching for the stack of menus by her side. “Welcome to Polly’s Pizzeria. How many?”
“Four, and can we get a booth if one’s available, please?” Spencer gave her a blindingly bright smile.
She looked down at her stand and ran her finger across some paper I assumed told her what was open. “You’re in luck,” she said, returning his smile as she counted out the menus. “A booth just opened up.”
We followed her across the room to a booth. I waited for Spencer to take the inside seat on either side so I could take the outside, leaving the other bench open for Marshall and Oliver, but he just stood there looking at me. Not wanting to make a fuss, I sat down and slid over. Spencer and his shit-eating grin sat down next to me.
The waitress took our drink order as I glared at Spencer. “I’m going to get you back for this,” I said as soon as she left.
His grin widened in response as he swung his leg out, luxuriating in his space. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Making me sit on the inside,” I replied, wanting to be crystal clear.
“What? You can be intimidating. Sitting on the inside will make you look less threatening.”
I wasn’t falling for that. “Don’t use that fake psychobabble on me. You just wanted to sit on the outside.”
He gasped in feigned outrage. “Fake psychobabble? How dare you?”
I smirked, seeing the flaw he’d overlooked in his plan. Spencer glanced at me smugly and then did a double take after seeing my satisfied expression.