Free Pretty Little Liars by Sara Shepard

accent—Spen- saah.
    He shyly slid into the tub. Spencer stayed very far on her side, curling her legs under her. Wren leaned his head back on the concrete deck and sighed. Spencer did the same and tried not to think about how her legs were getting really cramped and sore in this position. She stretched one tentatively and touched Wren’s sinewy calf.
    She jerked her leg away. “Sorry.”
    “No worries,” Wren said. “So field hockey, huh? I rowed for Oxford.”
    “Really?” Spencer said, hoping she didn’t sound too gushy. Her favorite driving-into-Philadelphia sight was of the Penn and Temple men’s crew teams rowing on the Schuylkill River.
    “Yeah,” he said. “I loved it. Do you love field hockey?”
    “Um, not really.” Spencer took her hair out of its ponytail and shook her head around but then wondered if Wren would find this really skanky and ridiculous. She’d probably imagined the spark between them outside Moshulu.
    But then, Wren had gotten into the hot tub with her.
    “So if you don’t like field hockey, why do you play?” Wren asked.
    “Because it looks good on a college application.”
    Now Wren sat up a little, making the water ripple. “It does?”
    “Uh, yeah .”
    Spencer shifted and winced when her shoulder muscle cramped into her neck.
    “You okay?” Wren asked.
    “Yeah, it’s nothing,” Spencer said, and inexplicably felt an overwhelming wave of despair. It was only the first day of school, and she was already burned out. She thought of all the homework she had to do, lists she had to make, and lines she had to memorize. She was too busy to freak out, but that was the only thing keeping her from freaking out.
    “Is it your shoulder?”
    “I think,” Spencer said, trying to rotate it. “In field hockey, you spend so much time bending over, and I don’t know if I pulled it or what….”
    “I bet I could fix it for you.”
    Spencer stared at him. She suddenly had an urge to run her fingers through his shaggy hair. “That’s okay. Thanks, though.”
    “Really,” he said. “I’m not going to bite you.”
    Spencer hated when people said that.
    “I’m a doctor,” Wren continued. “I bet it’s your posterior deltoid.”
    “Um, okay…”
    “Your shoulder muscle.” He motioned for her to come closer. “C’mere. Seriously. We just need to soften the muscle.”
    Spencer tried not to read into that. He was a doctor, after all. He was being doctorly. She drifted to him, and he pressed his hands into the middle of her back. His thumbs dug into the little muscles around her spine. Spencer closed her eyes.
    “Wow. That’s awesome,” she murmured.
    “You just have some fluid buildup in your bursa sac,” he said. Spencer tried not to giggle at the word sac. When he reached under her sports bra strap to dig deeper, she swallowed hard. She tried to think about nonsexual things—her uncle Daniel’s nose hair, the constipated look her mom got on her face when she rode a horse, the time her cat, Kitten, carried a dead mole from the creek out back and left it in her bedroom. He’s a doctor , she told herself. This is just what doctors do.
    “Your pectorals are a little tight too,” Wren said, and, horrifyingly, moved his hand to the front of her body. He slid his fingers under her bra again, rubbing just above her chest, and suddenly the bra strap fell off her shoulder. Spencer breathed in but he didn’t move away. This is a doctor thing , she reminded herself again. But then she realized: Wren was a first-year med student. He will be a doctor , she corrected herself. One day. In about ten years.
    “Um, where’s my sister?” she asked quietly.
    “The store, I think? Wawa?”
    “Wawa?” Spencer jerked away from Wren and pulled her bra strap back on her shoulder. “Wawa’s only a mile away! If she’s going there, she’s just picking up cigarettes or something. She’ll be back any minute!”
    “I don’t think she smokes,” Wren said, tilting his head