Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 7

SEVEN

Spencer

“There you are,” Xander said, strolling toward Spencer with two whiskeys.

Spencer stepped away from the check-in table and slapped the name tag onto his left pec.

Xander stopped dead, holding Spencer’s drink midway between them. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Spencer took his whiskey and clinked the glass against Xander’s. “I signed up for speed dating.”

“Why?”

“They needed another guy to even it out. What’s the big deal?”

Hurt flickered across Xander’s face. “I thought we were hanging out tonight.”

“We can hang out afterwards.” Spencer broke into a smile when he saw Mickey. He pointed to his name tag and waved.

Xander followed Spencer’s line of sight. “Really?” His jaw clenched and his gaze froze over. “You’re blowing me off for Captain Cargo Pants?”

Mickey approached them, his movements slow and guarded, disbelief etched into his features. “You signed up for the event?”

“I did. It’ll be fun.”

Mickey responded with a shy smile. “I guess.”

After a dramatic huff, Xander kicked back his whiskey and slammed the empty glass on the nearby table. “Have fun dating,” he sneered, throwing air quotes around the word dating . He poked his finger into Spencer’s chest. “I’m keeping an eye on you. A vulture’s eye.” He leaned in a little closer and with a forceful thrust of his head yelled, “Caw!”

Spencer laughed and pushed Xander’s shoulder. “Go find a perch, sex vulture.”

Xander walked backward, flapping his arms and mouthing a few more caws before taking a seat at the bar.

“That’s my roommate, Xander. Ignore him,” Spencer said.

“Roommate? So you’re not tog—”

The speakers near the tables roared to life with the horn-heavy intro to the 50s song “Seven Minutes In Heaven.”

Madge Maker appeared from behind a curtain, swaying her hands and lip-syncing the opening lyrics. Men cheered and waved bills in their hands.

“Do you have cash for a tip?” Spencer asked.

“Tip?”

“For the queen.” Spencer chin-nodded to where Madge meandered through the crowd, collecting bills and kissing a few of the men on the cheek.

Mickey pulled a tattered canvas wallet out of his back pocket. He fished out a five-dollar bill. “Is this enough?”

“Yep. Hold it up so she can see it.” When Mickey raised his hand, Spencer clocked the slight tremor that caused the bill to quiver. He placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “Relax, she won’t bite. I think.”

The sweet sound of Mickey’s laughter warmed him inside, and he answered with a laugh of his own. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed the mere presence of a man so much.

Mickey was so different from the guys he usually went for. The shy, unassuming man had no guile. There was no posturing or practiced patter. No flirting or blatant overtures. Mickey had an innocence about him that Spencer found refreshing.

Madge approached them, her hips rolling in time to the music. Her gaze darted between Spencer and Mickey, and her heavily painted lips broke into a knowing smile. She took Mickey’s outstretched hand, letting her fingers slide along his while she claimed his bill. Her natural baritone voice joined the lilting female singers on the track as she sang the next line directly to Mickey. “Can we have a little fun tonight?”

Madge blew a kiss to Mickey and continued her circuit, collecting bills and adding them to the bundle in her hand. When the song concluded, she pitched the money into the punch bowl with a dainty flick of her wrist. “You’re all too kind, so I won’t make you wait any longer. Let’s start getting to know each other.”

Madge clapped twice, and the young blond in the mesh shirt came out from behind the check-in table. He moved through the crowd, handing each man a sheet of paper and a stubby pencil.

“Our lovely Danny is passing out your ballots. Hold on to these until the end of the night. There’s space for you to write down your impressions of each date, but try to be nice, you catty bitches.”

Mickey nudged Spencer and whispered, “My friend calls Danny ‘Nipples.’”

Spencer snorted, earning a disapproving glare from Danny as he shoved ballots into their hands.

“All of you have a letter on your name tag,” Madge continued. “For round one, my A’s will be moving from table to table, and my B’s will be staying put, being little pillow princes while the A’s do all the work.” She clasped her gloved hands in front of her. “Will my B’s step forward?”

“That’s me,” Spencer said, giving Mickey a pat on the back. “Catch you later.”

One by one, Madge led each of the B’s to an empty table. Danny followed, applying a small, numbered sticker to each guy’s name tag.

Madge seated Spencer last. “You’re number six, sugar,” she drawled. Danny was lagging behind her, resting his elbows on table five and eye-fucking the guy seated there.

Spencer jumped at the chance to talk to Madge while she was alone. “Can you seat me with the guy I was talking to? His name is Mickey.”

Madge patted Spencer’s hand. “Good things come to those who wait.” Her saccharine smile wilted when Danny’s laughter rang out at table five. She clapped her hands together briskly. “Danny. Chop-chop!”

Danny grudgingly plodded over and slapped a sticker on Spencer’s name tag. “You’re B6.”

“B6?” Spencer feigned disappointment. “You sunk my battleship.”

“Oh, I’ve never heard that one before.” Danny’s words dripped with sarcasm. “B4 beat you to it. Try harder.”

“Bingo?”

“For Chrissake,” Danny mumbled, rolling his eyes before catching up with Madge and the A men.

Mickey was seated at table one, which meant their date would be the last one in the round. It didn’t take long to figure out that Madge had given them the most strategic placement. It would be easy to carry their date over into the intermission. Share a drink. Keep the conversation going. If he played his cards right, he could end the night by sneaking Mickey into a dark corner for a blow job. The anticipation caused his dick to stir.

“And here’s A6,” Madge said, interrupting Spencer’s fantasy.

A tall, dark-haired man slid into the seat opposite. His bulky muscles strained against a skintight polo shirt. Danny placed a “6” sticker on his name tag, lingering on his pec and gushing about his muscles, before shooting a snide glance at Spencer and following Madge back to her microphone.

The guy held out his hand. “I’m Peter.”

“Hi Peter, Spencer.” Peter crushed his fingers with an obnoxiously firm handshake. When he was finally released, he shook out his tingling hand. “Nice meeting you.”

“Seven minutes on the clock,” Madge announced. The large wall-mounted digital screen behind her flashed to life, displaying 7:00 in red against a black background. Danny pressed a buzzer, and the numbers on the digital display started counting down. “Let the games begin!”

By his fifth date, Spencer was rethinking his impulsive decision to sign up for the event. He was stuck with a guy dressed in a gaudy yellow floral shirt who was droning on about his job at some indie start-up. Almost three minutes had gone by since the last time Spencer said a word, but his date was more than willing to carry on the conversation himself.

Spencer sighed in relief when the buzzer sounded.

“Have a nice night…” He’d already forgotten the guy’s name.

The guy studied Spencer for a moment. Realizing their interaction wouldn’t be leading to anything more, he shrugged and moved on to the next table.

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew Spencer’s attention away from Mr. Yellow Shirt’s retreating form. Mickey smiled and slipped onto the stool across from Spencer. “Hi,” he said in his quiet, diffident way.

Spencer smiled in return. “Finally, huh?”

Before Mickey could answer, Danny hit the buzzer. The sudden, jarring noise startled Mickey. “Sugar beet!” He winced, clearly embarrassed by his outburst. “I can’t get used to that buzzer. It makes me jump every time.”

“Yeah, it’s like a bad game show,” Spencer said. “So, where does ‘sugar beet’ come from?”

Mickey’s knee bounced under the table, brushing against Spencer’s with every restless movement. “I try not to swear, because I work with children,” he said, his voice trailing into a mumble. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but then grimaced and shook his head. His shoulders rolled forward, a rush of air leaving his lungs as if he were deflating. “It’s the sixth date and I still don’t know what to say.”

“Let’s start with the basics. Is Mickey…”

“Not like the mouse,” Mickey blurted.

“What?”

“Not like the mouse,” he repeated. “I’m not named after Mickey Mouse.” He worried at his lower lip again, a little quirk that Spencer found endearing. “I get asked that a lot.”

“I was going to ask if Mickey is short for Michael.”

“No. It’s just Mickey. My dad liked crime novels.” When Spencer cocked his head in confusion, Mickey clarified. “I was named after the author Mickey Spillane.”

“I’m not familiar with the name. I’ll have to look him up.”

“Okay. Take your time,” Mickey said quietly. He folded his hands on the table.

“I didn’t mean right now.” The utter defeat in Mickey’s posture spoke volumes about how the men in the club had been treating him. Spencer’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Have your other dates been ignoring you?”

A pink flush stained Mickey’s cheeks. He shrugged. “It’s alright.”

“It really isn’t.”

“I just wasn’t their type, I guess.”

Not my type. How many times over the years had Spencer casually dismissed a guy with that line, when he meant, “Since I don’t want to fuck you, you aren’t worth my time”? In truth, Mickey might have been one of those guys if they’d met under different circumstances. Now, in the gentle man sitting across from him, Spencer saw every shy guy he’d ever ignored. Every man he’d turned his back on for not looking like a GQ model.

Every guy who deserved the simple kindness of being spoken to and being heard.

His throat suddenly thick with emotion, Spencer said, “Fuck those douchebags.” He downed his last sip of whiskey and held out his hand. “Fresh start. Hi, I’m Spencer.”

The edge of Mickey’s mouth pulled into a smile, carving a dimple in his cheek. He shook Spencer’s hand. “I’m Mickey Poppins.”

A laugh burst out of Spencer. “Like Mary Poppins?”

The flush on Mickey’s cheeks deepened and extended to the tips of his ears, which burned cherry red. “Because I’m a nanny. Sorry, it’s dumb.”

“It’s funny.” Spencer leaned forward, resting his crossed forearms on the table. “What drew you to childcare?”

“Well, I took care of my brother and sister when my parents couldn’t manage anymore. I was good at it, so I took jobs in daycare centers. That got me interested in nannying.”

“Is it something you go to school for?”

“Yeah, there are training programs. I also got certified in childhood grief counseling.”

“That sounds heavy.”

“It is. But it’s really rewarding. That’s how I got the job taking care of Logan. His dad Greg needed help when his partner passed away. Live-in jobs are hard to find, especially for men, so I was lucky the opportunity came along.”

“Is there a reason you went into grief counseling?”

Mickey’s eyes darkened, and Spencer immediately regretted his question. The most likely reason was painfully obvious.

“My sister…” Mickey dropped his gaze and made a troubled humming sound deep in his throat.

Spencer moved his hand across the table until it brushed against Mickey’s. He hooked their pinky fingers together. “Sorry.”

Mickey closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. When he opened his eyes again, any hint of distress was gone. He took a sip of his cocktail, crushed one of the ice cubes between his teeth, and offered Spencer a soft smile. “What do you do for a living?”

Taken aback by the abrupt change in conversation, Spencer did his best to shift gears. “I’m a photographer.”

“What kind of pictures do you take?”

“Right now, mostly weddings and professional headshots.” Spencer made a gagging gesture. “Those pay the bills. But for fun I do boudoir photography.”

“Boudoir?”

“People hire me to take sexy pictures of them. Wearing lingerie. Or sometimes less.”

Mickey leaned closer and looked side to side before whispering, “You mean, like, porn?”

Spencer held back a grin at Mickey’s na?veté. “It’s more like erotica. I do sometimes film porn, though. I was on set a few weeks ago.”

Mickey visibly swallowed. “You take pictures of people having sex?”

“Yeah. It’s wild. Imagine being hard and horny for hours on end. Watching guys fuck is a total rush.” Rubbing his thumb over the back of Mickey’s hand, Spencer asked, in the huskiest voice he could manage, “While we’re on the topic of sex, are you a top or a bottom?”

“Oh, um, hmm,” Mickey spluttered. “That’s a sex question, and I thought this was just a date.”

“Well, sex and dating often go hand in hand.”

“Oh. I…” Mickey rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I’m a top or a bottom. I’ve never, um…done that, before.”

“You’ve never had anal sex?”

Mickey shifted in his seat and shook his head.

“You’re a virgin?”

The buzzer sounded again and Mickey flinched. “Fudgsicle,” he mumbled under his breath.

A smile crept across Spencer’s face. Mickey was adorable. And a virgin. I’ll be damned. Trying something new actually worked.

“Okay boys,” Madge said, “That’s the last date for round one. Time for a quick intermission, so grab another drink, pop your Viagra, and get back here in fifteen minutes.”

Light laughter rippled through the crowd of men as they dispersed and headed toward the bar or the bathroom. Spencer stood and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to get another drink. Can I get you anything?”

Mickey’s eyes lit up. “Sure, maybe a vod—”

Xander swooped in and interrupted Mickey by holding up his index finger. “Excuse us, Mikey.”

“First of all, it’s Mickey,” Spencer said. “Second of all – hey!” Xander grabbed Spencer’s shoulder and started pulling him in the direction of the bar. “What’s the matter with you?”

Xander called over his shoulder, “I need to check in with my roommate.”