Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 5

FIVE

Spencer

As a freelance photographer, Spencer accepted that weddings were his bread and butter, but it was racier gigs like boudoir photography and porn shoots that fed his soul. He’d been on set recently with one of his favorite porn stars and had captured some amazing stills. He scrolled carefully through the photo thumbnails, searching for the gems where everything came out perfect – from the lighting to the actors’ facial expressions to the visibility of the penetration. Not a bad way to spend a Tuesday night.

His phone pinged with a notification from Grindr. Another generic Hey, I like your profile. Horny from looking at dozens of porn pics and hungry for a distraction, he opened the app to check out the guy who had messaged him. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

He recognized the guy immediately. Although the man was attractive in a somewhat generic way, he stood out because of a port wine stain shaped like a boot over his right eye. Zack . They’d fooled around last summer in the back room at the Manhole. Spencer didn’t expect his hookups to write ballads about their short time together, but he did expect the guys to remember him. Spencer might have been many things, but forgettable was not one of them.

SPEwingCum

Dude. We already hooked up.

ZackAttak9

Really?

SPEwingCum

I deep-throated your cock and stuck three fingers up your ass until you came on my face.

ZackAttak9

That was you?

What are you up to tonight?

Spencer tossed his phone onto the table with an exasperated groan. Returning to his work, he scrolled down to the end of the photo gallery and clicked on a picture of two men fucking in a nondescript bedroom, both drenched in sweat and flushed from exertion as the scene neared its climax.

He zoomed in on the bottom guy’s face, contorted in exaggerated ecstasy. His name was Holden Cox. After the scene wrapped, Spencer and Holden had slipped away for some private one-on-one time. Holden’s genuine sex face was far hotter than any of the acting he did for the camera.

Xander strolled out of his room, buttoning up a sleek black sport shirt. “What’re you up to?”

“Touching up photos.”

“Wedding or porn?”

“Porn.”

“Oooh.” Xander launched himself onto the couch next to Spencer and leaned in to look at the screen. “May I?” He batted Spencer’s hands away from the laptop and turned the screen toward himself. “Damn, Holden is hot.”

Xander zoomed in until Holden’s cock, rock hard and glistening with lube, filled the screen. It was an impressive cock, thick and uncut, with a graceful curvature. “I still can’t believe you fucked Holden Cox.”

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised. He’s not the only porn star I’ve slept with.”

“I know, I know. I remember when you came home with a sore ass after Will Hardin pounded you senseless.” Xander patted Spencer’s thigh and walked into the bathroom, raising his voice so Spencer could hear him over the fan. “When you put both ‘top a porn star’ and ‘bottom for a porn star’ on your fuck-it list, I thought you were setting yourself up to fail, but damn man, you did it.”

“It’s not the huge accomplishment you’re making it out to be,” Spencer called out. “Blake was a porn star, and you slept with him.”

“Yeah, but he’s Blake .”

“Porn stars are just regular guys, Xander.”

Xander reappeared with his expensive cologne. “Sure, regular guys.” He spritzed the air a few times and walked through the mist.

“You’re putting in a lot of effort for a hookup.”

“I’m not meeting a hookup. I’m going to a speed dating event at the Blind Tiger.”

Spencer couldn’t remember the last time his roommate had used the word “dating” in a sentence. “Speed dating?”

“Yeah, you should come along.”

Spencer clucked his tongue. “You sound like Quinn.”

“What do you mean?”

“At brunch he was telling me I should think about settling down.”

Xander narrowed his eyes. “I knew he was up to no good.” He held up two pairs of black shoes. “The Venetian loafers or the driving mocs?”

“The mocs,” Spencer suggested. “Anyways, where did you hear about a speed dating event?”

Xander slipped on his shoes and took a moment to check his hair in the mirror by the front door. “Blake mentioned it. Apparently, he’s been going for a few months now and has been holding out on us.”

“Are you meeting Blake there?”

“Nah, he’s…remember our server from Sunday? Ethan? He slipped his number to Blake. They’re hanging out tonight.”

“Like, as friends?”

Xander shrugged. “You should come out with me. You’ve been moping around the house for days.”

“Fuck off, I’m not moping.” Spencer had not been moping . Sure, he’d been a little quieter than usual, but he chalked that up to the dread of his impending birthday. “Even if I have been down, I’m not sure speed dating is the answer. Since when do you date, anyway?”

Xander scoffed and rolled his eyes. He sat in the armchair across from Spencer and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’m not going for the event itself. Blake says it’s worth waiting until the end. Not everyone gets paired off, and the guys who don’t get picked for a second date are usually down to fuck.”

“So you’re scavenging, like a vulture.”

Xander threw his arms out to the side and yelled, “Caw!”

“Stop it,” Spencer said, breaking into a smile. “That’s not the sound vultures make.”

“C’mon, Spence.” Xander joined him on the couch again and threw his arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “If you’re set on finding a virgin, you’re going to have to try new things. You’re not going to find one on Grindr. And I highly doubt virgins are hanging around porn sets. But you might find one at a pretentious speakeasy.” He closed Spencer’s laptop. “It’ll be fun. Come be a sex vulture with me.”

Spencer’s phone pinged. He unlocked his screen and was greeted by a dick pic from ZackAttak9. Clearly, one message was all it would take for a repeat performance with him. But Xander was right. He wasn’t going to find a virgin if he stuck to the tried-and-true places experienced men went looking for sex. A classy bar might be the best place to begin his search.

With a sigh, he turned off his phone and ran his hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll go be a sex vulture with you.”

Xander flapped his arms. “Caw! Caw!”

“Give me ten minutes to get changed.”

On the way to his bedroom, Xander called after him, “Wear that white shirt I bought you.”

“It’s see-through.”

“Pecs get sex!”

“I’m not in the mood to have a bunch of horny guys staring at my nipples all night.” He closed his door to muffle the sounds of Xander’s cawing and occasional shouts of “Sex vultures!” After switching out his everyday boxer briefs for a pair of bulge-enhancing black briefs, he rooted through his closet and settled on a long-sleeved burgundy sport shirt and a pair of tight dark-wash jeans.

As soon as he stepped back into the living room, Xander spritzed some cologne in his face. Spencer coughed and waved both hands in the air. “What the hell, dude?”

“Sex vulture pheromones,” Xander deadpanned. “Very important for our mating rituals.”

“Oh my god, don’t make me regret this.”

Mickey

Mickey looked between his phone and his reflection, comparing his outfit to the inspiration image that came up when he hastily Googled casual date outfits for men .

He should have picked an outfit for the speed dating event as soon as Jazz signed him up for it, but denial was one of his best defense mechanisms. Pretending like Tuesday night was going to be a regular night like any other was the only way he’d survived the last few days without throwing up.

But now he was out of time. Since Jazz was on her way to pick him up, he had no choice but to wear the outfit he’d cobbled together at the last minute.

Although he didn’t look anything like the guy in the picture, he didn’t look terrible . His older brother Colin had recently sent him a box of hand-me-downs, and in that haul, Mickey had found a nice green and blue plaid shirt and some dark jeans.

Socks were another matter, though. Most of Mickey’s socks had thin, threadbare patches in the soles, and almost all of them had at least one hole. His nicest pair was the baby blue novelty socks Logan had given him for his birthday. They sported a pattern of paw prints and human footprints and the message “Toe-tally Paw-some!” in cartoonish yellow balloon letters. Thankfully the words would be covered by his jeans.

With his outfit sorted, he turned his attention to his hair. Even freshly washed and slightly damp his hair found a way to stick up in cowlicks.

He fetched the small tin of pomade he’d borrowed from Greg and pulled off the cap. The product inside was fragrant, like pine needles. He scooped up two fingers full and started working the oily substance through his thick, unruly hair.

“Hi, I’m Mickey,” he said, rehearsing his introduction. Boring .

“Me? The name’s Briggs…Mickey Briggs.” Dumb .

“I’m Mickey. Mic- KAY ” He shot finger guns at the mirror. “How the heck are you?” He groaned. “Why can’t I just be normal?”

He went back to styling his hair, which to his horror was a greasy, sticky mess. It was plastered to his scalp like he was an understudy for Danny Zuko in Grease . “Oh Fudgsicle!”

Mickey ran to his bathroom and briskly rubbed his hair with a hand towel, trying to absorb as much of the pomade as possible. The towel removed a lot of the grease, but now his hair was standing up in clumpy, shiny spikes. “Oh god, I look like a porcupine.”

He tossed the towel in the corner and used a comb and his hand to smooth his hair into a slicked-back style. His hair was still greasy to the touch, and although the hairstyle didn’t complement his bushy beard it looked sort of intentional. That was the best he could hope for at this point. He could always wow them with his repartee.

“Hello. I’m Mickey.” He smiled at his reflection. “What do I do for a living? I’m a nanny. I, um…I…” His smile faltered and tears filled his eyes as memories of his father clawed their way into his consciousness. The man was long dead, but his harsh, hateful words survived him. They’d seared themselves into Mickey’s brain, ready to play on an endless loop whenever he was the most vulnerable.

Who’s ever going to love you, Mickey? A grown man who plays with children all day? Fucking hell.

Mickey snuffled and wiped away the tears. “I take care of children,” he said with a shaky voice. “With grief. I help children who are dealing with grief.”

Grief. Outstanding topic for a first date. Real crowd-pleaser.

“I’m a childcare professional.” He wrung his hands. This was going to be a disaster.

His phone chimed in the other room. He raced over to it and was relieved to see it was Jazz. His words tumbled out before she even had a chance to say hello. “Help, I’m freaking out.”

“Honey, take a deep breath. I’m walking up to your front door now. We’ll be a little early and can get you liquored up beforehand. You’re going to be great, I promise.”

He took a deep breath and blew it out in a long, noisy exhale. “Alright. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Mickey?” Jazz’s voice took on a soothing cadence. “Everything’ll be okay.”

After pulling on his sneakers, Mickey made his way downstairs. If he defined “okay” as getting through the night without vomiting or passing out, then yes, there was a slim chance everything would be okay.