Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 10

TEN

Spencer

The following Saturday, Spencer found himself in front of an impressive Victorian townhome, tall and narrow, painted light tan with accents of deep red and chocolate brown. He double-checked the address Mickey had texted him. A stone’s throw away from Dolores Park, the beautifully maintained home had to be worth a small fortune. Mickey had failed to mention his boss was rich.

He walked up the steps to the front porch, tucked next to a two-story bay window and shaded by a second-floor balcony, and rang the doorbell. A flutter of pleasant anticipation tickled his stomach.

Spencer peered through the stained glass insert in the front door, which gave him a distorted, red-tinted view of the foyer beyond. There was a flurry of movement, and the door swung open to reveal Mickey, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. His hair was clean and unstyled, falling over his forehead in soft waves – the way it had when they’d first met outside of Heyday. It gave him the appearance of a teenager, rather than a man Spencer guessed was in his mid- to late twenties.

“Hi,” Mickey said softly. He clung to the door, smiling at Spencer.

“Hi.” Spencer rocked back on his heels. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” Mickey opened the door further and motioned with his hand. “Welcome.”

Spencer stepped across the threshold into a foyer glowing with warm hardwoods. A staircase with an intricately carved banister drew his eye to the ceiling, where a crystal chandelier hung from a plaster medallion. He let out a low whistle.

“So this is the Doyle household,” Mickey said.

“Impressive.”

“Well, Greg is a pilot and his husband Ryan was an architect, so they have money.”

Spencer walked over to the banister and stroked the mirror-smooth varnished wood. “Is Greg home?”

“No, he’s out with a friend.”

“And Logan?”

“He’s with his grandparents. Once or twice a month he spends the weekend with Ryan’s parents. It’s important to keep the family together after a loss.”

Spencer nodded and stepped closer to a framed picture hanging near the base of the staircase. A dark-haired man with a beard had his arm around the shoulders of a smaller blond man. In front of them was the young child Spencer recognized as Logan.

Mickey came up behind him. “That’s Ryan, on the right, with the blond hair. About a year before he died.”

“Do you know how it happened?”

“He died in his sleep.” Mickey’s voice trailed off to a whisper. “Brain aneurysm. That’s why I’m here.” He cleared his throat. “I live upstairs.”

Spencer jogged up a few steps before Mickey called up after him. “Oh, no, we have to go up the back stairs.”

Mickey led Spencer down a hallway, past the living room with its wall-mounted flat screen TV, a bathroom, and a closed door that Mickey identified as an office. At the end of the hallway was the door to a spacious, recently renovated kitchen. Spencer ran his hand over the marble countertops as they passed by them. “This place is amazing.”

Mickey chuckled self-consciously. “Don’t get your hopes up. My place is a little less fancy.” He pointed over his shoulder to a back hall. “I’m up this way.”

As they climbed the narrow stairs, Mickey continued. “Before Greg hired me, he partitioned off the back of the second floor for me. This is the only way up, so it’s semi-private.”

The top of the staircase opened into a cozy living space. “This used to be a bedroom, but now it’s my living room. And kitchen.”

Spencer strolled around the room, taking in its details. Mickey’s apartment was alive with vibrant colors and sensual textures. Overstuffed throw pillows and a chunky knitted blanket adorned the cobalt blue loveseat and armchair. The floor sported no less than three area rugs with bold, multicolored designs. Even the small table and chairs in the corner were bedecked with fabric accents: a cheerful yellow table runner and plump seat cushions.

Natural light streamed through the sheer curtains that covered two large windows. Abundant lamps ensured that the room would be warmly lit once the sun had gone down. Overall, the space had a comforting, inviting air.

“I’ll give you the tour,” Mickey said. He led Spencer down a short hallway off the living room. The first door they passed was the bathroom, which was dominated by a large claw-foot tub that had been retrofitted with a shower assembly.

“I have the home’s original bathroom. As part of the renovation, Greg converted his en suite bathroom so that both he and Logan could use it.”

At the end of the hall, Mickey patted the plain white wall and explained, “This wall is new. It divides what used to be the upper hall. Greg and Logan’s rooms are on the other side.” With a forced laugh, he opened the door to their right. “And this is where the magic doesn’t happen.”

Mickey’s bedroom was small, with only enough room for a chest of drawers, a cheval mirror, and his queen bed, which was unmade and wedged into the far corner. Mickey slipped past Spencer and scurried to his bed, throwing a comforter over the rumpled sheets and kicking a pair of dirty sneakers underneath it.

“Do you have a pet?” Spencer asked. When Mickey answered with a confused expression, he pointed to some clothes heaped on the floor near the mirror. “That looks like dog hair or cat hair. Either that or you shed.”

Mickey smiled. “It’s dog hair. I volunteer at a rescue shelter. Do you like animals?”

“Hmm. I don’t think about it much. Cats are pricks, but dogs are okay. Except for the little yappy ones. They can fuck off.”

Mickey wrung his hands. “Do-you-want-a-cup-of-tea?” he asked, his words rapid and slurred together.

“Sure.” Spencer followed Mickey back to his living room.

“Make yourself at home,” Mickey said as he busied himself in the tiny kitchen area.

Spencer settled onto the loveseat and fluffed up a throw pillow before sitting back against it. He picked up the Kindle on the coffee table and skimmed the page on the display. “What are you reading?”

Mickey’s hand froze on the cupboard door. “Nothing,” he answered, his voice high-pitched and reedy.

“Wait, is this a romance novel?” Spencer clicked over to the library screen and was greeted by rows of book covers featuring sexy shirtless men. On one cover was an especially muscular gent with dog tags dangling between his sweaty, hairless pecs. “Oh my god, Fire in the Hole ?”

“Spencer!” The cupboard door swung shut, and moments later Mickey was racing toward the loveseat.

“Oh you bookmarked a page. ‘Victor groaned as Talon slid inside him with a single stroke, stretching his hole with his massive cock.’ Wow…I had no idea these things were so porny.”

“Don’t read that!” Mickey’s face was beet red, but he was laughing as he lunged for his Kindle.

Spencer draped himself over the armrest and held the tablet just out of reach, first low to the ground, then high over his head. “His balls are slapping against Victor’s ass. Hot!”

Mickey climbed onto the loveseat and wrestled with Spencer, trying to pin him down. “Come on, please stop!”

“At least let me read until he comes. We don’t want Talon to get blue balls.”

“I didn’t want to resort to this,” Mickey said before digging his fingers into Spencer’s flank and tickling him.

Spencer dissolved into hysterical laughter, thrashing and struggling to catch his breath. “No fair!” He tried to squirm out from under Mickey, but his new friend was surprisingly strong and easily held him in place while he continued his relentless tickle torture. “Truce. Truce !”

Spencer held out the Kindle and Mickey plucked it from his hand. “Works every time.”

For a moment, they lay there, bodies pressed together, smiling and gazing at one another while they caught their breath. But then Mickey’s eyes widened, and he scrambled to sit up and put space between them. He placed his Kindle back on the table.

“The books are about more than sex,” he said quietly.

Spencer fixed the hem of his shirt where it had ridden up during the tussle. “Even if they weren’t, who cares? You read erotica. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Nope.” Spencer scooted closer and gripped Mickey’s knee. “That ends now. No more embarrassment around sex.”

With a small nod, Mickey mumbled, “Okay.” When the tea kettle whistled, he leapt from the loveseat and hurried into the kitchen area. “I hope English Breakfast is alright.”

“That sounds great. Two sugars please.”

Mickey brought over the two steaming mugs and set one on the table. He looked at the space next to Spencer on the loveseat and chewed his lower lip, his brows drawing together. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a seat on his armchair, clutching his mug with two hands as if it were a lifeline.

Spencer dunked his tea bag a few times. “Look, porn and erotica are fun every once in a while, but you shouldn’t rely on fantasy as a substitute for the real thing. If you’re going to be a sex god, you have to start thinking like one. We should start with the rules.”

“Rules?”

“Rules, guiding principles, whatever you want to call them. Number one: After a hookup, don’t invite the guy to sleep over. If you’re at the other guy’s house, leave.”

“Isn’t that rude?”

“It’s a courtesy.”

“How do you figure?”

“No one wants a stranger sleeping in their bed. And the conversation the next morning is always awkward as fuck. No one has time for that shit.” Spencer took a sip of his tea and hummed. “The tea is good, thank you.”

Apparently at a loss for words, Mickey simply nodded.

“On to number two: Don’t hook up with the same guy more than once. That means dating is out of the question.”

“What if…” Mickey set his mug on the table and wrapped his arms around himself. “What if you like a guy?” he asked meekly.

“Best to not get too attached.” Spencer’s expression softened. Mickey was so innocent, with his hopeful eyes and the slight flush on his cheeks. The sooner Spencer could prepare him for the harsh realities of the hookup scene, the better. “Dating is overrated. Most guys won’t stick around anyways. After you have your fun, it’s time to move on. Rule number three: Try everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yep. Everything – at least once.” Spencer seesawed his hand. “Well, within reason. There’s some stuff out there that I’m not interested in doing. It’s more, like, if you’re curious about something, try it rather than making excuses or talking yourself out of it.”

“That makes sense.”

“Number four: If you don’t talk about it, it didn’t happen.”

“Talk about it with who?”

“The other sex gods. That’s what we do at Sunday brunch. We share stories, cheer each other on.” Spencer reached across the table so he could lift Mickey’s chin and look him in the eye. “It helps overcome shame. No one should be embarrassed about sex and think it has to be kept a secret.”

Mickey nodded but remained silent.

“Last rule, and it’s a big one.” Spencer paused for effect. “Never fall in love.”

Mickey flinched in surprise. “Never fall in love?”

“Nope. Life is short. We’re here to enjoy ourselves. Sex is a game and we’re meant to play it. Love is just a distraction. It’s a lie.” Spencer held up Mickey’s Kindle. “Romance novels? Rom-coms? Valentine’s day? None of them are real. They’re all part of the Romance Industrial Complex, whose sole purpose is to make us feel bad for following our true nature.”

“Wait. You’re a wedding photographer, and you don’t believe in love?”

Spencer shook his head. “As the photographer, I fade into the background for most of the night. I see things. The little cracks in the relationship that booze and expensive clothes can’t hide. At my last gig, I caught the groom fucking one of the bridesmaids before the cake cutting ceremony.”

“Did you say something?”

“Why bother? Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. They’ll just be part of that statistic. The other fifty percent end up as codependents. Take my parents, for instance. Total marriage of convenience. My dad’s a self-centered asshole who comes into the city ‘for business,’ which is code for screwing his mistress of the month. I live in the apartment he used as his bachelor pad when he was younger. My mom stays with him because it’s easier than being alone.”

“You don’t think your parents love each other?”

“They might have thought they did once. What about your parents?” Spencer asked, his voice carrying a hint of accusation. “Did they have a good marriage?”

Mickey paused with his mouth open. Staring past Spencer with a vacant look in his eyes, he pulled a throw pillow into his lap and absently twisted one of its corners. “It was fine before…” he said, his voice trailing off to a choked whisper. He tightened his arms around the pillow, hugging it to his chest.

After several tense moments of silence, Spencer asked, “Mickey?”

“No,” Mickey said, his knee bouncing with restless energy. “It wasn’t good.”

“Look, I’m sorry if all that sounded harsh. It’s just the way it is.”

Mickey squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.

After gently dislodging the throw pillow from Mickey’s grasp, Spencer rested his hand on Mickey’s forearm. “Are you alright?”

Mickey’s knee abruptly stopped moving. “I’m fine.” In an instant his expression shifted to something purposefully neutral, and his body relaxed, as if he’d kicked whatever was bothering him into a closet in his mind and slammed the door. “So. How do we do this? You know, make me into a sex god?”

Spencer brightened, more than happy to shift the conversation to something lighter. “I’ve got so much in store for you. I’ll zhuzh up your look, teach you the art of flirting, get you started on the hookup apps…Sorry, I’m getting carried away. Tell you what.” He ruffled Mickey’s shaggy hair. “We’ll start with something simple.”