He’d been spouting off to Angel and Buffy that time about being love’s bitch. He was just trying to push their buttons and had succeeded admirably. Oh, if he’d only known then how true those words were he might have kept his mouth shut. He’d gone and bloody well jinxed himself is what he’d done.
That was the only possible explanation Spike could come up with for his current predicament. He actually fancied himself in love with the Slayer. The Slayer! It wasn’t to be borne! There was no way he was going to follow his sire in this. He wouldn’t! If he wasn’t in danger of being discovered Spike was pretty sure he’d add a foot-stomp to that statement.
He sighed as he watched Buffy’s shadow move around her room. There was just something about her…No. Just no. Love was a losing game at the best of times. He wasn’t going to play. Not this time. He was made of sterner stuff than this pining nancy boy he was turning into. Firm in his resolve, Spike tossed his cigarette as he turned and walked away from Buffy, from the Hellmouth, from all of it. He was done being love’s bitch. It was time for the big bad to return.