CHERRY FLAVOURED || Re-Write

FIVE

(Not edited.)

     "You sounded like you were dying," Spencer said as his eyes led a forbidden trail down your body. Your shirt was wrinkled and your nipples poked through. You could almost see the dark spots if you looked hard enough.

"Thank you. I almost was—soul levitating," you clapped back, your nails tapping along the back of the door. You waited a moment—Adam scurrying to act normal—before replying to Spencer. "So why are you here? And how do you have a key?"

"I don't," he said, his hands deep in his pockets, searching for something that's most likely not inside. "I just needed you to hurry."

"Hurry for what?" Your eyebrows knitted together and played a game of caterpillar: up and down, up and down, trying to distract the nemesis from speaking.

"We have another case. I was sent to get your ass out of here since you won't answer your calls." He was stone cold, no emotions shown across the length of his face. His eyes were the only part of the stone cold act that continued slipping down your body. He probably thought he was hiding it, but to you he was checking you out in plain sight.

You rolled your eyes and stepped back. "That's great, thanks. Come in if you'd like, since you were about to burst through my door less than five minutes ago."

He scoffed. "I just need you to hurry. The case is in Dallas; three women found in the woods near a sketchy apartment complex. We think it's—"

"Alright thanks I'll be right back," you said, retreating into your bedroom. You shut the door tightly without thinking about Adam, but as soon as your clothes dropped to the floor, you heard a goodbye and a shut of the door.

You relaxed as you looked through your closet. There wasn't much you could wear, therefore you found a pair of black skinny jeans, a black V-neck, and boots. It was simple but you weren't going to spend eternity inside although you so badly wished you could. Spencer was outside and he would quite literally kill you if you didn't hurry.

You ran into the bathroom and looked into the mirror: freckles across your cheeks, dark eye bags, a lot of hair and nothing to hold it back. You sighed. You turned away and fled into the living room. A bored Spencer Reid was searching through your fridge, two bottles of wine in hand, two bottles of scotch lying on the counter.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your feet gluing to the floor. "You told me you'd stay outside."

"I don't recall saying anything."

"Well why the hell did you just trespass? I was going to let you stay in here while I sort out my hair problem but now I want to kick you out!" You pressed a hand to your forehead and sighed. You just needed him to get out or sit down in a corner so you could peacefully get ready. But he wouldn't leave you alone. "Just—just get out. Please."

"You shouldn't be drinking this much. Why do you have so much alcohol?"

You rolled your eyes. "It's none of your business."

He cackled and shut the refrigerator door. "Mind my business? Imagine how it'd look if I came into your apartment and you were dead on the floor?"

"Like you weren't minding your business and trespassed," you stated, finding feeling in your legs again and rushing to him. You pushed him away and retrieved your bottles of wine and scotch.

"If I was asked to, then no, it wouldn't be trespassing," he replied in a snarky attitude.

"To trespass?" You raised a brow and placed a hand on your hip. Two of the bottles rested on your hip; you almost looked like a mother scolding her immature son. "Who asked you to trespass? Emily? Luke?"