Read Online Pretty Little Liars by Sara Shepard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sara Shepard
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Spencer shot back.
As Ian jogged to center field, he glanced back at her over his shoulder. Spencer drew in her breath and leaned over to examine her cleat. She didn’t want him to know she’d been staring.
By the time she got home from practice, every part of Spencer’s body hurt, from her ass to her shoulders to her little toes. She’d spent the whole summer organizing committees, boning up on SAT words, and playing the lead in three different plays at Muesli, Rosewood’s community theater—Miss Jean Brodie in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie , Emily in Our Town , and Ophelia in Hamlet . With all that, she hadn’t had time to keep in top shape for field hockey, and she was feeling it now.
All she wanted to do was go upstairs, crawl into bed, and not think about tomorrow and what another overachieving day would hold: French club breakfast, reading the morning announcements, five AP classes, drama tryouts, a quick appearance at yearbook committee, and another grueling field hockey practice with Ian.
She opened the mailbox at the bottom of their private drive, hoping to find the scores for her PSATs. They were supposed to be in any day now, and she’d had a good feeling about them—a better feeling, in fact, than she’d ever had about any other test. Unfortunately, there were just a pile of bills, info from her dad’s many investment accounts, and a brochure addressed to Ms. Spencer J (for Jill ) Hastings from Appleboro College in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Yeah, as if she’d go there .
Inside the house, she put the mail on the marble-topped kitchen island, rubbed her shoulder, and had a thought: The backyard hot tub. A relaxing soak. Awww, yeah .
She greeted Rufus and Beatrice, the family’s two labradoodles, and threw a couple of King Kong toys out into the yard for them to chase. Then she dragged herself along the flagstone path toward the pool’s changing room. Pausing at the door, ready to shower and change into her bikini, she realized, Who cares? She was too tired to change, and nobody was home. And the hot tub was surrounded by rose bushes. As she approached, it burbled, as if anticipating her arrival. She stripped down to her bra, undies, and tall field hockey socks, did a deep forward bend to loosen up her back, and climbed into the steaming tub. Now that was more like it.
“Oh.”
Spencer turned. Wren stood next to the roses, naked to the waist, wearing the sexiest boxer brief Polo underwear she’d ever seen.
“Oops,” he said, covering himself with a towel. “Sorry.”
“You don’t get here until tomorrow,” she blurted, even though he was very clearly here, right now, which was obviously today and not tomorrow at all.
“We don’t. But your sister and I were at Frou,” Wren said, making a little face. Frou was this haughty store a few towns over that sold single pillowcases for about a thousand dollars. “She had to run another errand and told me to play with myself here.”
Spencer hoped that was just some bizarre English expression. “Oh,” she said.
“Did you just get home?”
“I was at field hockey,” Spencer said, leaning back and relaxing a little. “First practice of the year.”
Spencer glanced at her blurry body under the water. Oh God, she was still wearing her socks. And her high-waisted, sweaty panties and Champion sports bra! She kicked herself for not changing into the yellow Eres bikini she’d just bought but then realized how absurd that was.
“So, I was just planning to have a soak, but if you want to be alone, that’s okay too,” Wren said. “I’ll just go inside and watch TV.” He started to turn.
Spencer felt a tiny twinge of disappointment. “Um, no,” she said. He stopped. “You can come in. I don’t care.” Quickly, while his back was turned, she yanked off her socks and threw them into the bushes. They landed with a soggy slap.
“If you’re sure, Spencer,” Wren said. Spencer loved the way he said her name with his British
As Ian jogged to center field, he glanced back at her over his shoulder. Spencer drew in her breath and leaned over to examine her cleat. She didn’t want him to know she’d been staring.
By the time she got home from practice, every part of Spencer’s body hurt, from her ass to her shoulders to her little toes. She’d spent the whole summer organizing committees, boning up on SAT words, and playing the lead in three different plays at Muesli, Rosewood’s community theater—Miss Jean Brodie in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie , Emily in Our Town , and Ophelia in Hamlet . With all that, she hadn’t had time to keep in top shape for field hockey, and she was feeling it now.
All she wanted to do was go upstairs, crawl into bed, and not think about tomorrow and what another overachieving day would hold: French club breakfast, reading the morning announcements, five AP classes, drama tryouts, a quick appearance at yearbook committee, and another grueling field hockey practice with Ian.
She opened the mailbox at the bottom of their private drive, hoping to find the scores for her PSATs. They were supposed to be in any day now, and she’d had a good feeling about them—a better feeling, in fact, than she’d ever had about any other test. Unfortunately, there were just a pile of bills, info from her dad’s many investment accounts, and a brochure addressed to Ms. Spencer J (for Jill ) Hastings from Appleboro College in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Yeah, as if she’d go there .
Inside the house, she put the mail on the marble-topped kitchen island, rubbed her shoulder, and had a thought: The backyard hot tub. A relaxing soak. Awww, yeah .
She greeted Rufus and Beatrice, the family’s two labradoodles, and threw a couple of King Kong toys out into the yard for them to chase. Then she dragged herself along the flagstone path toward the pool’s changing room. Pausing at the door, ready to shower and change into her bikini, she realized, Who cares? She was too tired to change, and nobody was home. And the hot tub was surrounded by rose bushes. As she approached, it burbled, as if anticipating her arrival. She stripped down to her bra, undies, and tall field hockey socks, did a deep forward bend to loosen up her back, and climbed into the steaming tub. Now that was more like it.
“Oh.”
Spencer turned. Wren stood next to the roses, naked to the waist, wearing the sexiest boxer brief Polo underwear she’d ever seen.
“Oops,” he said, covering himself with a towel. “Sorry.”
“You don’t get here until tomorrow,” she blurted, even though he was very clearly here, right now, which was obviously today and not tomorrow at all.
“We don’t. But your sister and I were at Frou,” Wren said, making a little face. Frou was this haughty store a few towns over that sold single pillowcases for about a thousand dollars. “She had to run another errand and told me to play with myself here.”
Spencer hoped that was just some bizarre English expression. “Oh,” she said.
“Did you just get home?”
“I was at field hockey,” Spencer said, leaning back and relaxing a little. “First practice of the year.”
Spencer glanced at her blurry body under the water. Oh God, she was still wearing her socks. And her high-waisted, sweaty panties and Champion sports bra! She kicked herself for not changing into the yellow Eres bikini she’d just bought but then realized how absurd that was.
“So, I was just planning to have a soak, but if you want to be alone, that’s okay too,” Wren said. “I’ll just go inside and watch TV.” He started to turn.
Spencer felt a tiny twinge of disappointment. “Um, no,” she said. He stopped. “You can come in. I don’t care.” Quickly, while his back was turned, she yanked off her socks and threw them into the bushes. They landed with a soggy slap.
“If you’re sure, Spencer,” Wren said. Spencer loved the way he said her name with his British
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