Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Mickey

“Every man needs a good barber he can trust. Felix is one of the best. He’s been my guy for five years now.” Spencer stopped in front of a small shop with a classic barber pole to the right of the door. “Here we are.”

He motioned for Mickey to take the lead and followed him through the door. A small bell signaled their arrival. The shop’s decor was warm and masculine, with exposed brick and black laminate countertops.

“I’ll be right with you,” said a tall man sweeping up hair from around a gleaming steel barber chair. After he’d swept the clippings into a long-handled dustpan, he looked over his shoulder and waved. “Spencer!” He jogged over and pulled Spencer into a hug, thumping his back twice. “It’s good seeing you.”

The man held out his hand to Mickey. “You must be Mickey. I’m Felix. It’s a pleasure meeting you.” Despite his cordial demeanor, Felix had an imposing presence. His arms and chest were thickly muscled, and tattoos covered his pale forearms and disappeared under the hem of his short-sleeved shirt.

Mickey shook Felix’s hand, struggling to wrap his fingers around the other man’s beefy palm. “Nice meeting you, too,” he murmured, momentarily mesmerized by Felix’s hairstyle. The hair over his right ear was clipped almost to the skin, allowing the faint outline of a nautical star tattoo to peek through the stubble. The rest of his hair was swept to the side, cascading to his chin in thick, black waves.

“Spencer told me you’re on a journey of self-discovery.”

“I, um,” Mickey spluttered. He turned to Spencer, who nodded and grinned. Swallowing down the anxiety that flared in his gut, Mickey answered, “Yes. I’m zhuzhing.”

Felix raised a confused eyebrow.

“You know.” Spencer tousled Mickey’s hair. “Zhuzhing up his look.”

“Right!” Felix said, leading Mickey to his chair. “You’re in the perfect place for that. Let’s get you in the chair and see what we’re working with.” Once Mickey had eased into the chair’s comfortable leather upholstery, Felix fastened a white barber cape around his neck. He ran his hands through Mickey’s hair, holding it up and examining the ends. “When was your last haircut?”

“Before I moved here in November. I’ve been letting it grow out.”

“Great. Gives me plenty to play with.” Felix made eye contact with Mickey’s reflection and grimaced, holding up a section of hair cut in a crooked line. “When was the last time you trimmed your hair yourself?”

Mickey groaned. “A couple of weeks ago.”

“It’s okay. We’ll fix it. From now on, though, leave the cutting to the professionals, yeah?” Felix placed his hands on Mickey’s shoulders. “Did you have your heart set on a particular style, or can I try something out?”

“I don’t know. What do you think would look good on me?”

“I have something in mind.” Felix set to work laying out his comb, shears, and clippers. He fitted his clipper with a guard and turned it on. Mickey buzzed like the clipper, quivering with apprehension. A clipper meant business. A lot of his hair was going to fall to the floor. Fast. Perhaps sensing his anxiety, Felix asked in a gentle voice, “Do you trust me?”

No! I don’t know you!

Mickey caught Spencer’s gaze in the mirror. Completely at ease, Spencer was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and one knee bent. He nodded once and winked.

I trust Spencer. If Spencer trusted Felix, then he could as well. Mickey took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I trust you.”

Felix smiled broadly. “I got you, Mickey. It’s going to be great.” He ran the clipper over Mickey’s lush beard, thinning it until it resembled a week’s growth, rather than a year’s. Next he buzzed the sides of Mickey’s head, almost as high as his natural part line. “There we go, that’s the most dramatic change for today.”

While Felix cleaned up his neck with the clippers, Mickey contemplated the locks of dark hair dusting his shoulders. There was no going back now. His knee bounced under the cape. It’s just hair. It’s not the end of the world. If I don’t like the cut, I can wear a baseball cap until it grows back.

“You have amazing eyebrows,” Felix said, returning to his bench and exchanging his clippers for a pair of shears. “I’m just going to give them a little trim. Try to hold still.”

Mickey closed his eyes and willed his knee to stop its restless shaking. The coolness of the metal shears and their crisp, staccato clips were comforting. They brought to mind happy memories of his childhood haircuts. The last Saturday of every month, Mickey and his siblings would line up, youngest to oldest, for their turn in the kitchen chair. For their special one-on-one time with Dad.

He vividly recalled his father telling him jokes and cutting his hair into the side part he wore for years until…

(Until the accident)

…until he got older and used a Flowbee or trimmed his hair in the mirror when it got long enough to tickle his eyelashes.

“All set. You can open your eyes.” Felix wet Mickey’s hair with a small spray bottle. “The shampoo you’re using is too harsh. It’s stripping your hair. I’ll send you home with a sample of a product specially formulated for dry hair. It’s bourbon-scented. Very popular with my clients.”

He drew a comb through the hair on Mickey’s crown, holding up each section and examining the mangled ends. “I’m going to keep this long, I’ll just clean it up a little.”

Spencer pushed away from the wall and sauntered over to Felix. While they chatted, the quick, precise snips of Felix’s shears transformed Mickey’s shaggy mop into a sleek comb back.

Felix paused for a moment to assess his work, then set down his shears and fetched a towel from a table-top cabinet. The towel he draped over Mickey’s chest radiated warmth, like a loving embrace.

“That’s nice,” Mickey said with a relaxed sigh.

“The towel warmer was the best purchase I ever made.” Felix mixed up some shaving cream in a wooden bowl. “Have you ever shaved with a straight razor?”

“No. They’re a little scary.”

“They can be,” Felix agreed. He painted foam onto Mickey’s neck with his soft-bristled brush. “I’m a pro, though. Been doing it for ten years and haven’t decapitated anyone yet.” They shared a laugh, which unknotted the remaining tension in Mickey’s shoulders.

“You have a good, strong jaw. Shaving your neck close and keeping a clean line here,” Felix said, tracing his pinky along the edge of Mickey’s jaw, “will accentuate your jawline.”

Felix changed the blade in his razor and held it up so Mickey could inspect it. “It’s just a bigger version of what’s in a safety razor. Trust me?”

“Yes, I trust you.” This time Mickey said it with confidence.

“Great, tilt your head back and relax.” Mickey closed his eyes and let himself absorb the experience. The fresh, soapy scent of the shaving cream, the sweep of cool steel along his skin, the careful way that Felix shaved around his Adam’s apple – it was soothing in a way he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t just being shaved. He was being taken care of.

“There you go.” Felix used the towel to clean up the residual shaving cream and dropped the towel in a hamper.

Spencer whispered into Mickey’s ear. “You’re looking good.”

Mickey couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed being the center of attention. But this morning, in this little unassuming shop, he had two men lavishing attention on him and it made him feel special in a way he hadn’t for a long time.

Felix worked a little paste into Mickey’s hair and smoothed it back. Satisfied with the effect, he removed the cape with a flourish. “Behold! The new Mickey. Ready to take on the city.”

Mickey leaned forward to inspect himself in the mirror. He ran his hand over his jaw and touched the side of his head where his hair had been buzzed short. The haircut was stylish and modern, nothing that Mickey would have ever thought to pick for himself, but one that looked like it was meant to be his all along.

Felix gave him a hand mirror so he could see the back. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. I can’t believe that’s me.”

Felix rested his hands on Mickey’s shoulders, and for the first time Mickey realized the word LOVE was tattooed across the knuckles of his left hand. “Sometimes people hide behind their hair. I just reveal what was there the whole time. Come on over to the counter. I’ll get you a sample of that shampoo.”

While they walked to the counter, Spencer rocked into Mickey and nudged his shoulder. Mickey smiled and nudged him back.

Felix handed Mickey a small blue bottle. “There you go. If you like it, I sell it here, along with a few other products that have the same scent.”

“Thanks, I’ll let you know.” Mickey reached for his wallet. “How much do I owe you for today?”

Felix held up his hand. “No charge. Spencer covered it today. But let me give you my card. I’d love to have you as a regular client.” He pulled a small business card out of his breast pocket.

The design of the card was reminiscent of Felix himself, with black letters standing out against a white background the way Felix’s tattoos stood out against his pale skin. Felix Lakatos. Barber.

“I’ll definitely be back,” Mickey said, slotting the card into his wallet. “Thanks, again.”

“You bet.” He shook Mickey’s hand and pulled him into a hug. “Try not to break any hearts out there.”

Spencer said his goodbye to Felix, and then he and Mickey stepped out into the early afternoon sun. An excited energy buzzed under Mickey’s skin. He felt light, maybe even a little high, which seemed silly given that the only thing different about him was his hair. But it was so much more than that. Spencer was already starting to work his magic, making good on his promise to make Mickey better.

“Spencer?”

A young, attractive man walked toward them. His white linen shirt hung unbuttoned on his lean frame, revealing his smooth, tan chest. He pushed his mirrored sunglasses to the top of his head. “It is you! How have you been?”

Spencer knitted his brow. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but apparently couldn’t find any words of greeting.

“Do you two know each other?” Mickey asked.

“I’ll say. We met at Bruce’s pool party last month. In the cabana?” When Spencer still said nothing, the guy turned to Mickey, grasping his forearm with a casual intimacy that made Mickey bristle. “He bent me over the bar and gave me what was probably the best rim job of my life before fucking my brains out.” After a sigh of satisfaction at the memory, he tried again with Spencer. “It’s Devon, remember?”

A light flicked on behind Spencer’s eyes. “Devon! Of course, how could I possibly forget?”

But he had forgotten. That much was clear to Mickey, even if Devon seemed blissfully unaware of the fact. While Devon shared the latest gossip about Bruce, his hands dancing in the air to accentuate every lurid revelation, Mickey’s mind reeled as he remembered Spencer’s words at the Blind Tiger.

I’ve had a lot of sex, Mickey. A lot of sex.

It hadn’t occurred to him that Spencer and his friends had so much sex that they couldn’t even remember the names of some of their partners. Then again, why bother getting a guy’s name if you’re only going to sleep with him once?

For the first time since Spencer made his offer, what it meant to be a “sex god” was starting to sink in.

Mickey had been hoping that Spencer’s flirty winks and fond glances were signs their friendly arrangement might blossom into something more, but that was obviously a na?ve fantasy. Spencer was helping Mickey find the confidence to date other guys – guys who weren’t Spencer.

If Spencer had found him attractive, they would’ve slept together the night of their speed date and wouldn’t have seen each other again – until Mickey ran into him months later, registered the blank look in Spencer’s eyes, and asked, as his heart broke, “ It’s Mickey, remember ?”

Devon must have run out of gossip, because he touched Spencer’s bicep and said, “It was so good catching up.” He turned to Mickey and extended his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

Mickey plastered on a smile. “Mickey.”

Devon shook his hand, but lingered after Mickey loosened his grip. His mouth curved into an unctuous smile, revealing teeth so obnoxiously white that they practically glowed. “Hope to see you around.” He lowered his sunglasses, his twinkling eyes disappearing behind the mirrored lenses, and strolled up the street.

“Well, that was Devon.” Spencer chuckled. “I certainly remember him now. Bit of a talker.”

“He seemed nice,” Mickey mumbled, reluctantly looking at Spencer only when the weight of his focused stare became uncomfortable.

Spencer was no longer laughing. “Is everything okay?”

Mickey took one last glance at Devon’s retreating form. I can’t compete with guys like that. “Yeah. I guess I’m just getting hungry.”

“Let’s grab lunch, and then we’ll go clothes shopping. Nothing lifts your spirits faster than new clothes.”

They went to catch the streetcar, and although Spencer engaged him in small talk, Mickey was preoccupied with cataloging all the differences between him and Devon.