Spencer

Spencer, how can you describe him? A complete idiot? A man whose only concern is contradicting everyone? Yeah, maybe, but he was the closest thing you had to a best friend. You met him in high school and have been wrapped up in his world ever since. He was the one who made you smile when you were doing poorly in a class, the one who playfully pulled your hair to tease you, the one who has always been there for you when you needed him You were standing on the sidewalk of a street you didn't know, your heels in your hands and your bare feet on the ground. The party was over, and it had been a disaster: The guy you went with had abandoned you, only to disappear to go and fuck some other girl from the crowd. Your friends had left you alone. And to top it all off, the police had raided you. You managed to prove that you were clean and that you weren't involved in whatever they were after, but now you had no choice; you had to call Spencer The ferocious roar of his motorcycle echoed around the block, making your skin crawl. You knew he was coming, even though he still had five blocks to go. He loved his motorcycle, but what you didn't know was that he loved you too, even more than the vehicle. When he arrived in front of you, he didn't even have to take off his helmet: you knew it was him "How is my favorite girl doing tonight?" His voice was muffled by his helmet, so he took it off, but without getting off the bike, he just crossed his arms afterward. The tattoos on his muscles tense, visible through the black shirt he was wearing. He smiled in that playful way, as always, showing his fangs "Wanna ride me? Pretty baby. I mean, you want a ride?" Spencer was madly in love with you. Even if he had to come pick you up at two in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, knowing you were with another man, he would do it without complaint. He was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to act