Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 4

FOUR

Mickey

Thoughts of the man who returned Logan’s tiger occupied Mickey’s thoughts for the rest of the walk to the park. When he first turned around and saw the lean, beautiful man in the red hoodie jogging toward him, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Could his romantic dreams be coming true? Had a handsome stranger been so smitten that he had to stop Mickey on the street to say hi?

The man’s voice was deep and masculine. “I…would you…?” He paused, and in the space of a breath Mickey completed that sentence in so many different ways.

Would you like to go out sometime?

Would you kiss me?

Would you try to make sure your kid doesn’t throw his stuff on the sidewalk?

The guy was being thoughtful and returning Mister Stripes. The realization shattered the little bubble of joy Mickey had built around himself in those few seconds when he thought someone had finally noticed him.

After that, the man made an awkward escape with his perfect boyfriend. But Mickey would forever hold onto the moment when he’d had a chance to lose himself in the man’s gorgeous brown eyes, rich and dark like chocolate, with little crinkles in the corners.

Goodbye, Beautiful Stranger. We’ll always have the Heyday.

Mickey barely registered their arrival at the park, so he was startled by Logan and Izzy’s shrieks of glee as they climbed out of the wagon and bolted toward the play structure. Mister Stripes’s shiny plastic eyes stared up from the empty wagon, his chubby little legs akimbo. With a fond smile, Mickey parked the wagon behind a bench and picked up the little tiger. He sank onto the bench and balanced Mister Stripes on his lap. What was it like to be held by him, little buddy?

“Mickey, honey?” Jazz’s voice was tinged with concern.

Mickey didn’t look up. His thumb traced lazy circles on the doll’s belly. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” She sat next to him on the bench.

“I’ve just been thinking.”

“About the man we saw on the way over?”

Mickey sighed and set Mister Stripes on the bench beside him. “Yeah.”

“He was attractive.”

Mickey shrugged with a noncommittal hum.

Jazz narrowed her eyes and peered closer. She tapped her cheek. “You’ve got something in your beard.”

He ran his hand through his beard until he found a little hard particle on his cheek. After scratching at it with his nail, he examined the greyish bits in his hand. “It’s oatmeal. Logan used me for target practice this morning.” With a groan he threw his forearm over his eyes and slumped back on the bench. “Oh god, that was there the whole time? Gross. No wonder the guy ran away at the first chance he got.”

Jazz patted his leg. “He didn’t run away. His friend had to drag him away.”

Mickey huffed out a wry chuckle. He appreciated that his friend was trying to build him up, but she was being ridiculous. On the walk to the park, he’d talked himself out of the hope that the guy’s final wave had meant anything. They’d had a polite social interaction, nothing more.

“Jazz, he thought I was a straight dad.”

“Maybe at first. But he lit up when you told him you weren’t married to me. There was something there.” In a singsong voice, she added, “I think he liked you.”

Mickey couldn’t hide his pleased smile. “Shut up.”

“Here, this’ll take your mind off him.” Jazz pulled a Tupperware container out of her purse and peeled off the lid. Inside was a neat stack of sunny yellow lemon squares, each one dusted lightly with powdered sugar. “You’ll like this batch. I used a little lemon zest to add tartness.”

For months now, Mickey and Jazz had been taking turns testing recipes and sharing the results with one another. Both avid bakers, they were always on the hunt for new twists on old classics. Whenever they hit upon something they both loved, they’d carefully copy the recipe onto index cards and store them in matching recipe boxes.

Mickey took a hearty bite of one of the squares. He sighed in pleasure as the buttery shortbread melted in his mouth. The creamy filling was the perfect balance of tart and sweet. “This one’s a keeper,” he said before popping the rest of the square into his mouth. “Logan will love these.”

He glanced toward the play structure, thinking he’d call Logan and Izzy over for a treat. On the walkway in front of him, two young men strolling in opposite directions crossed paths, exchanging smiles and nodding their chins in greeting. After a few more steps, both turned to look back. The guy nearest Mickey tilted his head toward a large rock sculpture shielded by some trees. Using a silent language of smiles and eyebrow raises, the two men reached an agreement and disappeared behind the sculpture.

Mickey scoffed and slumped against the bench. It never ceased to amaze him how easy it was for other gay men to hook up with one another. There had to be a code of some sort, a set of unwritten rules about what each smile and facial expression meant. Signaling your interest in someone couldn’t be as simple as making sustained eye contact for a few seconds. Could it?

“Well, there go two men for a midmorning hookup,” Mickey said glumly.

“You know, you could come here on your day off,” Jazz said. “Hang out, see if a guy looks your way.”

“Sure.” Mickey gazed at the sculpture, picturing what was going on in the shadows behind it. “But none of the guys who come through here are going to be interested in me. I give off straight dad vibes, remember?”

“Please, you give off young, eligible bachelor vibes.” When Mickey shook his head, she added more emphatically, “You do . And don’t take this as a reflection on you, just an observation. We’ve been watching guys here for a long time. Most of them don’t seem that picky.”

Mickey kicked a small rock back and forth between his feet. “I don’t think I have what gay men are looking for.”

“I hate when you get down on yourself. Look, do you have a penis?”

Mickey’s mouth fell open in shock. “Yes?”

“Does it work?”

“Yes,” he hissed, looking around to make sure no one was overhearing their conversation.

“Do you have a personality?”

“Yes.”

“Does it work?”

He chuckled. “Most of the time.”

“Do you have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met?”

Mickey bit his lower lip and hung his head.

“Honey, you have everything men are looking for.” The Blow Job Guys stumbled out from behind the sculpture, laughing and zipping their flies. “Okay, maybe not those guys. But there are going to be guys who like you, Mickey. Someday, someone will fall in love with you, just as you are. He’ll see how amazing you are.” She nudged his knee with hers. “He’ll see what I see.”

Mickey rested his head on her shoulder. “Thanks, Jazz.”

She rested her head against his. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve built this up too much in your head, and now it feels overwhelming. How long have you been in San Francisco? Six, seven months?”

“Closer to eight, now,” Mickey said. “But I’ve been busy, you know? Getting moved in, and building trust with Logan, and learning Greg’s sched—”

Jazz put a finger to Mickey’s lips to silence his excuses. “It’s time to put yourself out there. Just jump in and get it over with. It’ll only get harder the longer you wait. Once you lose your virginity, sex won’t seem like that big a deal anymore. If it takes the pressure off, the first guy you sleep with is rarely ‘The One.’ He’s more like a test drive. No obligation to buy.”

Mickey hugged Mister Stripes to his chest. “I know, you’re right. I don’t have to be in love for my first time. But it would be nice if it meant something, even a little bit? I don’t think I’m an ‘eff a complete stranger behind a statue’ kinda guy.”

“Got it. Knowing his name and a little about him is important. I’m on it.” Jazz busied herself on her phone, muttering to herself as she scrolled through screens and typed in new search ideas. “This is it!” Her fingers danced over her keypad. “First name: Mickey. Last name: Briggs. Age: twenty-eight. Sign?”

“Pisces” Mickey answered cautiously. “What are you up to?”

“Description: Hopeless romantic looking for Mr. Right Now. And send.”

Mickey broke into a cold sweat. “ Send ? Jasmine, what did you do?”

“Signed you up for a speed dating event on Tuesday night. Greg is off the schedule until Thursday, right?”

“Speed dating? Have you lost your mind? I haven’t done… slow dating yet!”

“Relax, Mickey. It’s perfect. It’s low stakes. You get to talk to a bunch of guys with no expectations. And who knows, maybe you’ll hit it off with a guy who wants more.”

Sure. And maybe instead of being rejected by one guy, I’ll be rejected by an entire room of guys, all at once, on the same night.

In a small voice, he said, “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“You’ll never feel ready. Sometimes you have to dive into the deep end and trust you’ll learn how to swim.”

That morning, for a fleeting few seconds, he’d allowed himself to hope his chance encounter with the blond stranger outside of the diner might lead to something more. That maybe they’d date, and he wouldn’t be so lonely anymore.

It was a foolish thought. He couldn’t just sit around waiting for the right man to come along and immediately fall in love with him. That only happened in his romance novels.

Jazz had a point. He needed to put himself out there.

“Okay,” Mickey said with a resolute nod. “Speed dating. Tuesday night.”

The bell over the door to the Underdogs shelter tinkled as Mickey and Logan stepped into the cheery and inviting reception area. Afternoon sunlight streamed through a bank of windows, casting a golden glow on the putty-colored walls. Red cardboard letters spelling Kennel of Fame adorned the wall behind the front desk. Countless photos of lucky dogs who’d been adopted were pinned in neat rows, their names and adoption dates scrawled on the photos with black marker.

Sophie, a young woman with blue hair and a disconcerting number of facial piercings, looked up from the computer. “You must be Logan,” she said when Logan bounded up to the desk. “Are you ready to meet some puppies?”

Logan squealed with delight when Sophie led him to the zone of the waiting room that Keith affectionately referred to as the “puppy pen,” a five-foot square carpet of soft fake grass surrounded by a short picket fence. Sophie had filled the pen with six puppies of various breeds that the shelter was socializing. The puppies yipped and panted, dancing on their hind legs while their tails wagged furiously, excited to meet the new friend Sophie was bringing their way.

Sophie lifted Logan over the fence and placed him gently on the kelly-green turf. Immediately, the puppies pounced, pawing at Logan until he wilted to the floor, dissolving into a fit of giggles as the puppies licked his face and gamboled around the pen.

“Have fun, Logan. I’ll bring over some treats for the puppies in a few minutes.” Sophie returned to the front desk and produced a napkin-wrapped chocolate chip cookie the size of a saucer from under the counter. “That’s for Logan’s walk home. I’m trying a new secret ingredient.” She leaned over the counter and whispered, “Butterscotch extract.”

“Not so secret after all,” Mickey teased.

Sophie shrugged. “What fun is a secret if you never tell anyone? I’ll let Keith know you’re here.” With barely a turn away from Mickey, she yelled over her shoulder, “Hey, Keith! Mickey’s here!”

Keith jogged into the waiting room and patted Mickey on the shoulder. “Come on back! I’m glad you were able to make it.” He caught a glimpse of Logan in the puppy pen, hugging a tiny Corgi pup to his chest. “Logan’ll be good for twenty minutes or so.” He wrapped an arm around Mickey’s shoulders and led him down the small hallway to the private meeting rooms.

Keith was a mystery. Mickey had been trying to get a read on his sexual orientation for months, but the mixed signals kept jamming what little gaydar he possessed. Keith was an attractive man with pale skin and lush auburn hair swept back and flawlessly styled. One check mark for the “possibly gay” column. But, if it was possible, he had even less of a fashion sense than Mickey. Every time Mickey went to Underdogs, Keith was wearing jeans with worn-out knees and the same scuffed-up sneakers. One check mark for the “possibly straight” column.

When they arrived at the meeting room nearest the back of the shelter, Keith gave Mickey’s bicep a brief squeeze before letting his arm fall to his side. See? Is that kind of comfort with physical touch a check mark for the gay column or the straight column?

“I’ll go get Pepper,” Keith said, giving Mickey a wink before disappearing into the hallway. One more check mark for the “possibly gay” column. Mickey took a seat in an old armchair with garish floral upholstery – no doubt a donation from someone who figured the ghastly chair was more suited for dogs than humans.

Moments later, the soft tapping of nails against the hallway’s linoleum floor announced Pepper’s cautious approach. When she peeked her head around the corner, her big brown eyes lit up and she gave a happy bark. She hurried toward Mickey, her tail wagging, and rested her head in his lap.

“Hiya girl,” Mickey cooed. He scratched the silky black fur behind her ears, eliciting small whimpers of joy from Pepper. He pulled a crochet afghan off the back of the armchair, an aqua, purple, and lime-green monstrosity. “Is it alright if I put this on the floor?”

“Sure.” Once Mickey had spread the blanket on the floor and lay down on it, Keith held up his hands. “It’s covered with dog hair.”

Mickey chuckled. “I’m sure my Gucci cargo shorts will be okay.” He patted the blanket, and Pepper snuggled up next to him, her head near his. He stroked the fur on her back – short, fine hairs that were filling in an area she had once anxiously chewed until it was bald. Gradually, her breathing slowed to a relaxed rhythm. “You’re safe now,” he whispered into her ear. “Nobody’ll ever hurt you again.”

Sophie’s voice rang out from the front desk. “Keith! Eli is here!”

Keith pushed off the wall. “I’ll give you and Pepper some alone time. I think Eli is almost ready to adopt. I’m going to flirt a little and see if I can seal the deal today.” With another wink, Keith slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Okay. Even my underdeveloped gaydar pinged from that. Keith’s status is being upgraded to “probably gay.” Let’s tack on “probably out of my league.”

Mickey hugged Pepper close. “You don’t care if I’m not all muscly and tan, right?”

Pepper responded by licking Mickey’s cheek.

“I love you too, girl.” Mickey closed his eyes, synchronized his breathing with Pepper’s, and dozed off while daydreaming about the handsome stranger from Heyday.