Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 2

TWO

Mickey

Hot water from the shower spray streamed down Mickey’s chest and formed a miniature waterfall around his erection. He’d woken up horny from a sexy dream about running his hands over a man’s muscled, hairy chest. Although the man’s face had been obscured in shadow, Mickey could still picture his pert pink nipples. The tip of his dick tingled from the memory.

Throughout his shower he’d tried to ignore his erection in the hope it would eventually go down. It’s not like he wasn’t planning on jerking off at some point today – he always jerked off on his free day. But he usually made it more of an event. Something special. He’d stretch out on his couch, slick himself up with a little lube, and get lost in a steamy love scene in a romance novel.

Clearly, though, his boner wasn’t going anywhere. It stood proud and rigid, demanding immediate attention. There was no way he’d be able to focus until he came – he might as well make the most of it.

Turning his back to the spray, he filled his palm with a squirt of shampoo. He slowly spread the golden fluid along his shaft. It provided the perfect amount of lubrication, and he clamped down on his lower lip to stifle his moan of relief.

He closed his eyes and brought to mind his dream lover, imagining the man on top of him, his powerful chest pressed against Mickey’s. He still couldn’t make out his face, but he could feel the heat of his body. Could smell his musk.

Mickey slid his left hand along the tile wall until he found the shampoo rack and gripped one of the shelves for support. He stroked himself faster, twisting his wrist on each upstroke, lathering the shampoo into frothy suds that dripped from his hand and shaft.

“ You're so fucking hot,” his dream lover said, his voice a husky growl in Mickey’s ear, sweat glistening on his strong chest and shoulders. “I’ve never been this hard.” He drove his cock into Mickey’s ass at a relentless pace.

Mickey’s movements became frantic as pressure mounted deep in his core. Panting, with his heart hammering in his chest, he bucked his hips, fucking into his fist, his balls slapping against his fingers with every thrust.

The face of his dream stud snapped into focus. It was his boss Greg, his eyes closed, his mouth slack. “ I’m coming, Mickey. ”

Mickey went weak in the knees as cum spilled over his soapy fingers and waves of pleasure crashed through his body. He cried out with every overpowering contraction, hoping that the shower would drown out the sound.

He was riding out the last few aftershocks of his orgasm when his phone rang with the ringtone reserved for his boss. “Oh brother!” He quickly rinsed the cum off his hands and dick, turned off the shower, and dried his hands as best he could before padding over to the sink and answering the call.

“Hi Greg.” He winced at the guilty tone in his voice. What? You heard someone moaning? It definitely wasn’t me. You didn’t catch me right in the middle of jerking off. To a fantasy about you.

“Mickey, hi. I have a huge favor to ask. Steven called in sick at the last minute, and I have to take his flight to LA this morning. I’ll be staying overnight and flying back tomorrow afternoon. Can you watch Logan for the day?”

Mickey dried his hair while he shuffled around on the bathmat, wiping up the trail of water droplets that led from the bathtub to the sink. “Of course. Has he eaten breakfast yet?”

“No, he’s just getting up.”

“I’ll make him something when I get down there,” Mickey said. He wrapped his towel around his waist and hurried to his bedroom. “Give me ten minutes?”

“Thanks, Mickey. See you soon.” The phone beeped when Greg hung up.

“You’re welcome,” Mickey said to his quiet phone, chuckling to himself. It wasn’t the first time he'd been asked to work on his day off, and it wouldn't be the last. As a live-in nanny, working late nights and weekends came with the territory. He didn't mind, though. He loved working with children, and if his presence in the home brought little Logan Doyle a sense of stability and security after the loss of one of his fathers, he was willing to sacrifice a day off now and then.

After swiping on deodorant and finger-combing his damp hair, Mickey threw on the first clean clothes he could find and jogged down the narrow back staircase that connected his cozy, semi-private apartment to the kitchen of the main house.

Logan was seated at the kitchen table, fussing over a coloring book. Greg was squatting beside his chair and rubbing his back. “Mickey’ll be down in just a minute. You want to color a picture while you wait?”

“I’m here,” Mickey said.

Greg mouthed “ Thank you ” before flashing his megawatt smile and racing to the bathroom. His boss was beautiful, with dark hair and clear blue eyes that radiated kindness. A tall glass of water , his mom would have said. He had it all, everything a guy needed to thrive in the gay community – a classically handsome face, muscles, and money. Even his career was sexy. He was a pilot . A dashing pilot who, under different circumstances, would probably have a man waiting for him in every port.

Mickey and Greg may have lived under the same roof, but they inhabited completely different worlds. Which was for the best, honestly. It meant that Mickey’s innocent crush on his boss would remain exactly that – innocent. Beside the fact that a love affair with Greg would be wildly unprofessional, there was the stark reality that guys like Greg just didn’t go for guys like him.

Mickey tousled Logan’s silky hair on his way to the stove. “How about some oatmeal?”

“Okay,” Logan said. He fished a red crayon out of his art caddy and scribbled over the drawing of a unicorn.

Mickey put the kettle on and selected a packet of instant oatmeal. Apples and cinnamon – Logan’s favorite. The boy could use a little comfort on a morning when his routine was thrown out of whack.

Greg’s voice rang out from the bathroom. “Son of a bitch!”

“Son of a bitch,” Logan repeated. With a final flourish, he dropped the red crayon on the floor.

“Logan, that’s a bad word.”

“I forgot my damn phone charger,” Greg said as he stormed past them on the way to the foyer, shoving toiletries into his travel Dopp Kit.

“Damn,” Logan said before casually tossing three more crayons on the floor.

“Hey, buddy—” Mickey was interrupted by the whistling kettle. He prepared Logan’s oatmeal, adding a little brown sugar and some milk to cool it off. He slid the bowl toward Logan. “Why are you throwing your crayons on the floor?”

“Those are the colors I’m done with.”

Mickey couldn’t argue with that logic. “Okay, well, please pick them up when you’re done eating, alright?”

Logan focused intently, his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth, while he colored a rock gold.

“Logan?”

“Okey-dokey,” Logan said, dropping the gold crayon on the floor with the others and pushing his coloring book away. Given the last-minute change to his routine, Logan was in good spirits. Sometimes, the mere fact that Greg was going to work on a regular day would be enough to cause a meltdown. If tossing his crayons on the floor was the extent of Logan’s misbehaving for the day, Mickey would count that as a win.

Greg came back into the kitchen and shook a few breakfast bars out of the box they kept on top of the fridge. “Sorry it’s such short notice. This is the first time since I’ve known him that Steven’s called in sick. Anyway, I’ll be coming back tomorrow morning on a ten a.m. flight.”

“Daddy don’t go,” Logan said, pouting.

“I have to, Logy.” Greg squatted down so he was eye to eye with Logan. “Be good for Mickey. You and he’ll have a lot of fun today. And I’ll be back after one sleep.” He lightly pinched Logan’s nose between his knuckles, eliciting a giggle from his son. “Kiss?” Logan wrapped his arms around Greg’s neck and planted a small, sweet kiss on his lips.

“Bye, Daddy.”

“Bye, Logy. Love you the most.” Greg picked up Logan’s crayons and slotted them back into the box. “Oh here, Mickey, take this for today.” He pulled Mickey aside and passed him a folded one-hundred-dollar bill. “Maybe go to the movies, or the toy store? Anything he wants. And order pizza for dinner? You can keep the rest as my thank you.”

“Thanks, Greg,” Mickey said, slipping the money into his pocket.

Greg called over his shoulder as he walked toward the front door. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll send you information about the hotel when I land.” He turned for a final wave. “You’re a lifesaver!”

Mickey waved and fished his phone out of his back pocket as the door closed behind Greg. “I have a call to make and then we’ll go outside,” he said to Logan as he dialed the rescue shelter where he volunteered on Sunday afternoons.

Logan drew circles in his oatmeal with his spoon, clearly more interested in playing with it than eating it.

“Logy, eat you break—”

“Underdogs,” said the perennially chipper owner of the shelter. “You got Keith.”

“Hi Keith. It’s Mickey.”

“Hi! I have someone here who’ll be excited to see you today!”

“Keith…”

“Pepper’s been down the last few days. Quieter than usual. She’d love to see her favorite volunteer.”

“About that. My boss got called into work, so I’m watching Logan all day. I don’t, um…think I can make it in this afternoon.”

Keith made a humming sound in the phone. Mickey cringed. He hated letting people down. He’d been volunteering at the shelter for months, helping to socialize dogs that the shelter rescued from abusive living conditions. Consistency was good for the dogs – it made them feel safe.

Pepper, a sensitive black Lab, had bonded with Mickey right away, but according to Keith she was still skittish around the other volunteers. His heart sank, thinking about her curled up and trembling in the far corner of her kennel, waiting for a visit that wouldn’t happen.

“Tell you what,” Keith said. “Why don’t you bring Logan with you? I can set him up in the puppy pen, and you and Pepper can get some quality time together.” After a few seconds, he added a drawn out “ Pleeeeease ?”

Mickey chuckled. “Okay, okay. Just a sec.” He held the phone away from his mouth. “Do you want to go see some puppies today?”

“Puppies!” Logan cheered. He barked and panted with his hands held in front of himself. He got down off his chair and lifted his leg. “Look Mickey! I’m peeing on the chair!”

“Very funny. Sit down and eat your breakfast like a good puppy.” Logan kneeled on his chair and leaned over his bowl, lapping at the oatmeal with his tongue. Mickey groaned and brought the phone back to his ear. “We’ll be by. Maybe after lunch?”

“I’ll be here. Sophie brought in some cookies this morning. I’ll save one for Logan.” The phone disconnected before Mickey had a chance to reply. By now Logan had buried the entire lower half of his face in his bowl.

“Hey, Logan, why don’t you eat your oatmeal like a good boy while I call Jazz, yes?” Logan plopped back onto his chair and chewed his next bite of oatmeal with exaggerated motions of his jaw.

Mickey dialed his friend Jasmine, a single mom he’d met at a children’s theater event in the spring. They’d been fast friends ever since. When she answered, he did his best to sound perky. “Up for a walk in the park?”

“I thought it was your day off?”

“Does a nanny ever really get a day off?” Over the sound of Jazz’s knowing laughter, Mickey continued. “Greg is subbing in for a sick co-worker at the last minute. He’ll be in LA until tomorrow morning. Maybe we can all take a walk to the park? The one with the…” Mickey looked over his shoulder to find Logan staring at him intently. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “You know, sightseeing opportunities?”

“You mean the one where all the hot guys walk their dogs?”

“That would be the one. And then maybe lunch after?”

“Sure, gimme about twenty minutes to get Izzy ready. Meet you halfway?”

“Perfect.” A clump of oatmeal whizzed by Mickey’s head and splatted on the cupboard. “Oof. Got to go. I’m thirty seconds away from wearing Logan’s breakfast.”

Mickey hung up and spun to face Logan, just in time to see another gob of cold oatmeal hurtling through the air. “Sugar beet!” He held up his hands but he was too late – the sticky projectile lodged itself in his beard.

“Sugar beet,” Logan parroted, giggling.

Before any more of Logan’s oatmeal could end up in his hair, Mickey swooped in and whisked the boy’s bowl away from him. “I guess you’re done with this.”

Logan laughed, his head thrown back and his eyes sparkling. This was the best part of Mickey’s job – watching a child, who was dealing with a burden of grief that no three-year-old should ever know, lose himself in a moment and connect with happiness again, however fleeting that moment might end up being.

Laughing along, Mickey clawed the clump of oatmeal out of his beard and grimaced at the mess on his fingers. “Let’s both get cleaned up so we can go to the park with Jazz and Isabella.”

“Yay!” Logan cheered as he climbed down from his chair.

“Go brush your teeth and get your shoes on. I’ll be ready in a minute.” Mickey set Logan’s bowl in the sink and cleaned the oatmeal off the cabinet. Since it would be a few hours before they’d eat lunch, he scarfed down a protein bar and chugged a cup of lukewarm coffee.

While he waited for Logan in the foyer, he inspected his reflection in the hall mirror and pawed at the unruly mop on his head. His futile attempts to push his bangs back out of his eyes stirred up a few cowlicks that now stood at attention on the crown of his head, leaving his hair worse off than before.

For a split second Mickey considered changing his clothes. A lot of people would be in the park on such a beautiful day. A lot of men .

He scoffed at the thought. Like it mattered. He didn’t have to worry about his messy hair or his crappy clothes. To other gay men he was practically invisible. He wasn’t still a virgin at twenty-eight because he stood out in a crowd.

Logan was being suspiciously quiet. He called up the stairs, “Logy?”

The boy trudged downstairs, his shoulders slumped, carrying his stuffed tiger. The doll was the last gift his father had given him before he died. It had been nearly a year, but Logan’s emotions were still volatile, washing over him like passing storms.

“Mister Stripes is sad,” Logan said. He hugged Mickey around his knees. “Will you carry me?”

Mickey scooped him up, balancing his weight on his hip. “For a little while.” Logan draped an arm around Mickey’s neck and rested his head on his shoulder. The hand holding his tiger dangled listlessly by his side. “Do you think a little time in the park might cheer up Mister Stripes?”

“Maybe.”

“What if I bring the wagon, so you, he, and Izzy can ride on the walk there?”

Logan nodded and snuffled. Hoping to comfort him, Mickey kissed his forehead.

Forget the men at the park. The sun was shining, and he’d be spending the day with his best friend and two children he loved. That could be enough for him.