Killer Affair | Spencer Reid Short Story

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Gwen

The phone in my hand felt heavy, the digits of Spencer's number glowing back at me, waiting for my command. I knew he'd been waiting for my call, counting the hours since I'd slipped my number into his hand with a soft smile and a promise. Three days. Long enough to keep him curious, but not so long he'd lose interest.

I pressed "call," bringing the phone to my ear. A soft thrill prickled down my spine as it rang, imagining him picking up, heart quickening with each second, just as mine was now. He answered after the first ring, his voice warmer than I expected, and so earnest.

"Hello? Gwen?"

There was a lightness in his tone, as if he'd been pacing and picked up the moment he saw my name. I let silence linger, savoring that small moment of mystery, feeling the tension build. Smiling as I realized he said my name, not knowing if it'd be me or not.

Finally, I spoke, letting my voice come through as smooth and calm as if I hadn't just kept him waiting for three whole days.

"Spencer," I replied, drawing out his name, letting it settle. "I wanted to see if you'd still be waiting."

A quiet laugh escaped him, nervous but intrigued. "I was... wondering if you'd call," he admitted, honesty spilling out in that innocent, disarming way he had. It made him feel almost vulnerable.

"Oh, I knew you'd be wondering," I said, a playful smile crossing my lips. "I wanted to keep things interesting."

I could picture him now, leaning against something, still as he processed my words, as if trying to read between the lines. "Well... I'm glad you did. I mean, I'm glad you called."

The gentleness in his voice caught me off guard, a genuine warmth that made him seem so different from the men I'd known. "I was beginning to think you might have changed your mind," he added softly.

"Oh, no, Spencer." I softened my tone, letting a hint of promise slip through. "I just wanted to make sure you'd be patient. That's something we'll need, don't you think?"

He laughed—a real, quiet laugh that sounded almost shy. I liked that, the way he seemed to loosen a bit, intrigued but cautious, letting himself be drawn closer to the fire. "I... think I can manage that," he replied.

I savored the moment, feeling the thrill of pulling him into my world, letting him believe he was beginning to know me, that he'd uncovered some little mystery. When I finally hung up, I knew he'd spend the rest of the night thinking about me—my voice, my words, the promise I'd left him with. He'd remember this call.

The flickering candlelight on our table cast shadows across Spencer's face, highlighting his eyes as he animatedly explained some theory about human behavior. I couldn't follow every detail of what he was saying, but his voice had a way of drawing me in, making me forget everything else. I found myself smiling, laughing at his jokes, and asking questions I actually wanted answers to.

It had been a long time since I'd felt anything like this. Sitting across from Spencer, I didn't feel the urge to put up walls or keep my distance. For once, it felt good to just be myself, to let my guard down a little. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel like I was worth listening to, like he was genuinely interested in every word I said.

After dinner, we took a slow walk back to his apartment. The air was cool, and every now and then, he'd look over, smiling at me with a hint of shyness that made him even more endearing. As we reached his door, he turned to me, hesitating, like he wasn't sure if he should invite me in. But there was something in his eyes—hopeful and maybe a little nervous—that made me say, "I'd like to come in."