Page 3 of Kiss and Make Love

“If that were the case, no one would want Llewellyn.”

“True. But how many people are going to school for embalming? Aren’t there only, like, twenty people in your program?”

“Eighteen, but yeah. I guess you’re right,” Spencer downed her fourth shot. “It still doesn’t excuse his insane behaviour.”

“No, it doesn’t. But if you shift your focus from Llewellyn to Mr. Good Butt, things might get a bit better?” Becca teased, poking her in the ribs.

Brushing her finger away, Spencer sighed. “I won’t win this argument with you, will I?”

A giant grin flashed across Becca’s face, making the dimples in her cheeks stand out. “You never do.”

“I have to head out. Need to open the shop early tomorrow,” Becca whined, dragging her feet as she checked her purse for her wallet and keys.

Spencer knew better. Her friend didn’t actually hate getting up early. In fact, she loved waking up with the sunrise. She had the cutest little tea shop in Whitehill. Probably in all of British Columbia. Making delicious loose-leaf blends was her universe-given calling. She was even considering expanding into a new province but hadn’t taken the leap yet.

“I should give you a ride. You’re pretty sloshed.” Becca looked her once over, only slightly disapproving of her state. “You know how you get when you’re six-drink drunk.”

“No, I don’t. Tell me more.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “You become a goof. I won’t be here to make sure you don’t make a fool of yourself. People might see what’s behind that grumpy persona. You good with that?”

“I’m good, I’m cool. Promise I’ll keep scowling. Now, I’m gonna stay and watch awful karaoke. Nothing lifts my spirits like watching people sing terrible songs terribly. And they’re terrible.”

“And you’re getting home how?”

“Rideshare or something. I’ll get home resposbibly. Responsibilly.Responsibly. Talk to you later.” She clicked her tongue and pointed finger guns at her best friend.

Becca stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around Spencer’s neck, giving her a hug goodbye. “Okay, but I’m telling the bartender to look out for you, anyway.”

Spencer waved Becca away with a wink. Always watching out for her, even when she didn’t have to. Becca leaned over the long glass bar, whispered into the bartender’s ear, pointed at Spencer, and then said something else. Spencer gave a wave and thumbs up to show she was okay, and Becca waved back before leaving.

The bartender strolled over to her table. “I’m Chad. Your friend there asked me to keep an eye on you. I get off in half an hour. Need a lift home?”

“I was taught not to get in cars with strangers,” Spencer replied, intending for her words to bite, but they had a distinct flirtatious overtone.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Even bartenders who think you’re super cute?”

Chad wasn’t bad-looking himself. Reddish hair, buff body, a few tattoos. They could have a bit of fun. Get Mr. Hot Teacher off her mind. “Alright,Chad. Come back here in half an hour, and we’ll see if I get lucky. I mean…ifyouget lucky.”

He winked at her and sauntered back to his place behind the bar, clearly impressed with his ability to schmooze. But, in actuality, she knew it was the alcohol in her system talking rather than his generic wooing.

So, she had overindulged a bit tonight. It’d been an odd week, and she needed to blow off steam. Llewellyn was eating chicken in bathrooms, and on Tuesday, she had incorrectly weighed a body and almost mixed the wrong proportions of fluids. That could’ve been a disaster. Oh, and she was making embarrassing, off-the-cuff remarks in class about her hot professor.

Hersmokin’hot professor who always wore sweater vests and had every colour of corduroy pants known to man.

What she wouldn’t give to see him in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Why did he always wear so many layers? It was ridiculous.

She should ask him. That definitely was an important question that needed answering right this minute.

Grabbing her phone off the table, she scrolled through her contacts as a thin man started crooning out “Livin’ on a Prayer” from the modest stage.

Mr. Monroe’s number was saved in her contacts from earlier in the year. He gave it to all his students in case they needed to get ahold of him for an emergency—like if a family member died or their car stalled out on the way to class and they couldn’t make it. That’s the same thing as wondering why he always wore vests, right?

Why sweater vsts?

Who is this?

Spencer from psych.

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