Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

Spencer

The Rumpus Room was an unassuming gay bar, perfect for nights when you’d rather hang out with friends than navigate a sweaty, crowded dance floor in search of a hookup. Decorated to resemble an 80s rec room, the bar featured wood paneling, scuffed linoleum tile, and vintage card tables with metal folding chairs. A disco ball spun over the large open area that served as the dance floor. Although there were dart boards and a beat-up pool table in the corner, the main draw was the collection of classic arcade games and pinball machines that lined the back wall.

As soon as Spencer opened the door for Mickey, they were greeted by the upbeat tempo of A-ha’s “Take On Me.” Their friends were seated in the back, near the arcade games. Xander, Quinn, and Henry were chatting over cocktails, but Blake was tapping away on his phone, grinning, oblivious to the world around him.

Xander saw them first. He swallowed quickly, waving them over. “Mick,” he yelled over the music, “I saved a seat for you.” He pulled out the chair next to him and patted its seat.

Mickey slid into the chair and clasped his hands on the table. Quinn and Henry said hello, and Blake grunted a greeting without looking up from his screen.

Spencer rubbed Mickey’s shoulder. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Vodka tonic, please.”

Xander shook his head and grasped Mickey’s forearm. “Mick, my dude. Tonic is soda pop. It makes you taste sweet. You don’t want to taste sweet. You want to taste like a man.” He turned to Spencer. “Basil Hayden’s. Make it a double.” He smiled at Mickey and sat back in his chair.

Spencer raised his eyebrows. “Mickey?”

“It’s okay,” Mickey said. “I’ll try it.”

“Attaboy.” Xander gave Mickey’s forearm an approving pat.

“You guys need another round?” When Quinn and Henry both declined, Spencer turned to Blake. “Hey Larsen, anything to drink?”

“Mmmm,” Blake hummed, holding up a finger. After squinting at his screen, his lips moving silently as he read a text message, he said, “I’m good with whatever.” As soon as the words left his lips, his head shot up. “Beer, though, not some weird fruity cocktail like you got me last time. Just an IPA.” He immediately returned his attention to his phone.

“One pink mudslide coming up.” Spencer turned on his heel and started toward the bar.

“Very funny,” Blake called after him. “Bottle, please. Thank you.”

Spencer placed the drink order and leaned against the bar, keeping an eye on Xander while he waited. The minute he’d stepped away from the table, Xander sidled up to Mickey and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

After Sunday brunch, Spencer had pulled Xander aside and implored him to slow down and let Mickey move at his own pace. Xander told him he was overreacting. Mickey was a virgin, not a child. They didn’t have to handle him with kid gloves. When Spencer questioned that, Xander assured him he was just having some fun. When all was said and done, Mickey was one of the guys now, and Xander would have his back.

So although Xander’s friendly gesture might have been a sign he was warming up to Mickey, Spencer knew to be cautious. Xander could be prickly, keeping people at arm’s length and pushing their boundaries until he fully trusted them. Mickey was sensitive enough that he might not stick around long enough for that to happen.

Alarm bells sounded in Spencer’s head when Xander slipped something into Mickey’s shirt pocket. Spencer threw his card at the bartender to open a tab and hurried back to the table, the three drinks precariously balanced in his hands. He passed the drinks out and shot a steely glance at Xander, who just smirked.

Mickey took a tentative sip of his whiskey, smacked his lips, then shivered.

“Is this the first time you’re tried whiskey?” Spencer asked.

“Yeah. It’s different.”

Spencer clinked his glass against Mickey’s. “It grows on you.”

Suddenly Xander sat bolt upright and smacked his hand on the table. “Son of a bitch,” he growled. “It’s that cum-stain Travis from Grindr. We agreed to meet for a drink last week, but he stood me up.” The group spun to face the door, where a handsome guy in a leather jacket was surveying the bar.

“Watch and learn, boys. Time for Xander’s revenge. I’m going to hit on him, get him hot, get him hard, and then drop him.”

“That is not how I expected that sentence to end,” Quinn joked.

“Well I’m not going to fuck him. We’re here for Mick tonight. Just give me five minutes.” Xander narrowed his eyes, letting his gaze drift up and down Travis’s body. “Make that ten minutes.”

He rubbed his crotch a few times before sauntering over to where Travis had taken a seat at the bar. Spencer chuckled at Mickey’s astonished expression. “To chub up,” he explained.

Blake finally set his phone down. He knitted his brow in confusion. “Where’s Xander?”

“Seriously, dude?” Spencer said. “What’s up with you tonight?”

“Nothing.” Blake took a swig of beer and almost choked when his phone rang. “Oh shit. Sorry, guys, I’ve got to take this. I’ll be back in a minute.” He sprang up from the table, picked up his beer with an apologetic grin, and jogged over to the corner near the dart boards.

Quinn speared the cherry in his Manhattan and chewed it thoughtfully while looking between Spencer and Mickey. “Hey, Hen,” he said, nudging his husband’s shoulder. “Play a round of Pole Position with me?”

Henry glanced at his barely-touched martini. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Quinn said. With a complete lack of subtlety, he nodded toward Mickey and Spencer. He dragged Henry to a standing position. “Please excuse us, guys.”

As the two made their way to the arcade games, Mickey sighed. “Should I feel bad that everyone is bailing?”

“Nope. I think Quinn is trying to be helpful.” Spencer glanced over at the Pole Position game, where Henry was climbing into the machine’s cockpit. Quinn smiled at Spencer, raising his eyebrows and mouthing “ Talk to him. ”

“Helpful? How?” Mickey took another sip of whiskey and grimaced.

“He’s giving us a moment alone.” Spencer rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Oh yeah,” Mickey said, disappointment creeping into his voice. “Why would we need a moment alone?”

Shit . Spencer had been making fun of Quinn’s obvious attempt at meddling, but Mickey must have interpreted his eye roll as a slight. Eager to change the subject, he asked, “What did Xander say to you when I was at the bar?”

Mickey reached into his shirt pocket and produced a condom and a packet of lube. “He told me I’m a sex god now, so I should always be prepared.”

Spencer exhaled a sigh of relief. “I think that means that he accepts you.”

“Well, he wasted a perfectly good condom. He would’ve used it long before I’ll ever get a chance to.”

Spencer rested his arm along the back of Mickey’s chair. “We’re going to help you with that. But it probably makes sense to know more about your past experience. How many guys have you fooled around with?”

“What?” Mickey furrowed his brow. “None. You know that.”

“Oh,” Spencer said, stunned by Mickey’s admission. “When you said you were a virgin, I thought you meant you’d never had anal sex. You’ve never had a blow job?”

“No.”

“How about jerking off with someone?”

“No, Spencer. I’ve never done anything.” A crimson flush spread over Mickey’s cheeks. “I’ve never even kissed a guy.” He hung his head. “Pretty pitiful, huh?”

“No, stop. It’s not pitiful. I just didn’t realize.” Spencer moved his knee until it brushed up against Mickey’s. “Can I ask why, though? I mean, how…” He paused, working through a delicate way to ask his question.

Mickey spared him the trouble and voiced the awkward question himself. “How does a man get to be twenty-eight years old without even kissing someone?”

Nearby, Quinn crouched near the Pole Position cockpit, cheering Henry on as a back seat driver. “Floor it! Slow down on the curve. Sign! Sign !”

Both men groaned loudly over the sound of an explosion from the game, signaling Henry’s collision with one of the billboards along the racetrack. At the sound of the accident, Mickey’s gaze darted toward the arcade game. His haunted eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“When I was seventeen, my father and my sister Veronica were in a bad car accident on the way home from her dance class. She died in the crash. She was only fifteen.”

Spencer held Mickey’s hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Mickey’s lower lip quivered, and when he finally spoke his voice cracked. “It was a long time ago.” He closed his eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and sipped his whiskey before continuing. “My father barely survived the accident. He had a severe brain injury. Was in the hospital for months.”

“Did he recover?”

Mickey shook his head. “When he finally came home, he was different. His personality changed. He was mean. Took a lot out on me. Called me names. Called me a …” His voice trailed off, and after clearing his throat he was able to whisper, “Called me a faggot.”

“Mickey…”

“My mom had to take care of him, but it was too much for one person. She started drinking and taking all kinds of pills for anxiety and depression. They didn’t help. They just made her tired. After a while she could hardly take care of herself.”

“So you had to help her.”

“I did what I could. My older brothers were at college, so they couldn’t help. It was up to me to raise my younger brother and sister. Make sure they ate, got to school, did their homework. I promised both of them I would stay at home until they were old enough to move out. They needed a buffer from my father.” A tear rolled down Mickey’s cheek. He snuffled and wiped his eyes with his cuff.

“Has your relationship with your father improved as you’ve gotten older?”

“He died five years ago from an overdose of pain meds.” Mickey laughed, a harsh, sardonic snicker devoid of humor. “When you learn about grief, they never tell you it’s harder to grieve someone you know you should love, but don’t anymore.”

Spencer scooted his chair closer to Mickey, until their knees and forearms touched. “Head injuries can change people. They can do and say things they never would have before. You know it wasn’t really your dad saying those things.”

“That’s what everyone told me. That it wasn’t really him. But in another way, it was. His mind came up with those thoughts. What if that was always how he saw me, and he held it in until the brain injury took away his inhibitions?”

A siren on a nearby pinball machine roared to life, splashing red light across their table. The whine of the siren and the machine’s peppy theme music seemed to snap Mickey out of his thoughts. He sat up straighter, ran his hand under his nose, and plastered an unconvincing smile on his face. “There you have it. Raising my brother and sister and working to support my family. That’s why I didn’t have time for dating.”

Spencer reflected on how that car accident and its aftermath had robbed Mickey of a normal life. Losing his sister, nearly losing his father, essentially losing his mother as she dulled herself with drugs and alcohol – the hits kept coming. It was clear now why Mickey shuffled through the world with his head down. He never got to find himself. He was saddled with responsibility when he should’ve been carefree and wild, having fun, getting high, and discovering sex.

A group of men staggered by their table, arms thrown around each other, singing along to the music and spilling beer on the floor as they weaved their way toward the dance floor.

Mickey’s forced smile slipped away. “Sorry. We’re supposed to be having fun tonight.”

Spencer squeezed Mickey’s hand. “I’m sorry all that happened to you. You did what you had to do, and you got through it. Now it’s in the past. Now you get to be you.”

“Thanks,” Mickey said. “I’m okay. I promise.”

With his shoulders hunched up and his chin tucked to his chest, Mickey absentmindedly swirled the whiskey in his glass. He looked so vulnerable, as if he were a turtle pulling into his shell. Maybe the first step for Mickey wasn’t going to be about sex at all. He needed to learn how to move through the world in a new way. To take up space. To express himself, even at the risk of rejection.

He needed to learn how to dance.

Mickey

The bar vibrated with the opening synth beats of a remix version of Erasure’s “A Little Respect.”

“I love this song,” Spencer said. “Dance with me?”

Mickey glanced warily at the handful of men gyrating on the dance floor. “I don’t know how.”

“I’ll teach you.” Spencer stood and extended his hand – a gentle invitation to join him, not a demand.

Every voice in Mickey’s head told him to sit this one out. To keep a low profile and not make a spectacle of himself. But where had that approach gotten him in life? Now you get to be you. He placed his hand in Spencer’s, but before he stood, he downed his whiskey with three big gulps. The rush and sudden buzz from the alcohol gave him the courage he needed to follow Spencer to the center of the dance floor, right under the disco ball.

“Listen,” Spencer said, keeping his eyes locked with Mickey’s. “Find the bass beat.” He nodded in time with the music.

The music thrummed though Mickey like a heartbeat. It started to make sense, how he could let that beat move his body. How he could ride it like a wave. He nodded along with Spencer.

“Good. You got it. Now, feel it in your knees.” Spencer bent his knees and bounced to the beat.

Mickey’s heart pounded in his chest, and his brow broke out in a cold sweat as he bounced in time with Spencer. He hadn’t been this nervous in a long time. He tried to shut out the rest of the club and focus on Spencer’s warm smile, a smile so broad it caused the skin around his eyes to crinkle.

“Add some movement. Step side to side.” Spencer demonstrated a simple step-touch, encouraging Mickey to follow his lead. Mickey mirrored Spencer’s movements, but he was stiff – almost robotic – compared to the effortless way Spencer’s body flowed with the beat.

Spencer placed his hands on Mickey’s hips. “Free up your hips. Let them roll with each step. Like this.” Spencer made his movements bigger, his hips and shoulders tracing lazy, loopy figure-eights as he stepped side to side.

A sudden rush of anxiety made Mickey’s head swim. He had spent years, nearly a decade, training movement out of his hips. Remaining constantly vigilant against any possible swish in his step. He scanned the dance floor, wondering how many sets of eyes were on him, waiting for him to slip up and do something gay . “What if people make fun of me?”

“What if they do? Who cares?” Spencer used his hands to swivel Mickey’s hips gently but firmly while he moved. “Seriously, though, no one is watching you. Take a look around. Half the guys here have no rhythm. Dancing is about letting loose and having fun. You can’t really get it wrong.”

Spencer let go of Mickey’s hips and raised his forearms in front of him letting them sway, opening and closing, moving forward and back. “Add your upper body now.”

Mickey copied Spencer, tentative at first, but slowly gaining confidence as the music swelled to a crescendo. Blue and purple spotlights switched on, striking the disco ball and exploding into hundreds of points of spinning light.

“Now let go!” Spencer yelled, flailing his arms like an inflatable man at a used-car lot.

Mickey burst into laughter, jumping in place with his hands raised over his head. Any thoughts of the other men judging him faded away as endorphins flooded his system. This was a freedom he’d never felt before. He was no longer watching from the sidelines. He was right in the middle of the action, music buzzing through his body, colored lights dancing on his skin.

Spencer draped his arms over Mickey’s shoulders, pressing their chests together until they were close enough to kiss. He leaned in to speak, his lips brushing Mickey’s ear. “I thought you said you didn’t know how to dance.”

Before Mickey could answer, a new song asserted itself with dramatic opening chords and the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Spencer excitedly pumped his fist. “‘It’s Raining Men!’ You haven’t lived until you’ve danced to this song in a gay club.”

The spotlights changed color, and red, yellow, and green light dappled the dance floor. At the bar, Xander kicked back a shot of whiskey and bellowed, “Woooo!” He danced his way over to them, peeling off his T-shirt and swinging it in a circle over his head. “Spence and Mick, tearing it up on the dance floor!” He tucked his shirt into the back of his waistband and cut loose, his chiseled pecs and biceps flexing and releasing with every movement. “Blake! Get your ass over here!”

Blake was at their table, reading something on his phone. When Xander yelled his name, he looked up and smiled. He typed a quick text and then jogged to the dance floor, pocketing his phone on the way. “I love this song!” He sang along to the chorus while his fists punctuated each word with staccato jabs as if he were boxing the air.

Xander cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Quinn! Henry! C’mon!” The two made their way to the dance floor hand in hand. With their arms around each other’s waists, they swayed in time with the music, looking for all the world like an old married couple out past their bedtime.

Throwing his hands in the air, Xander groaned in frustration. “For fuck’s sake.” He leveled his gaze at Quinn. “Prove to me you’ve still got it.”

Quinn flipped Xander off, then grabbed Henry’s ass. He rolled his hips, grinding his pelvis against his husband. Heat flashed in Henry’s eyes. He unbuttoned Quinn’s shirt and licked his throat from the vee of his open neckline to the tip of his chin, before claiming his lips for a smoldering kiss.

The group cheered at the unabashed display of lust, and Mickey joined in by putting his index finger and thumb in his mouth and blowing a loud wolf whistle.

“Finally!” Xander yelled. “Let’s show them how it’s done, boys!”

The six men danced in a circle, wild and uninhibited, giving themselves over to a song about men raining from the heavens. When Xander and Blake slung their arms around Mickey to belt out the final chorus, Spencer spun in place and threw himself to the floor, sliding on his knees with his chest pushed forward and his head thrown back.

Mickey wanted to imprint every detail of this night into his memory. The flashes of colored light. The vibrations of the bass beat in his feet. The scent of men’s cologne and fresh sweat swirling in the air around him. Everything was so deliciously overwhelming, and he surrendered to the sensations, letting them wash over him while he danced.

He thought Spencer might have been right, that he hadn’t really lived until this moment. Because this – laughing and moving and being free, dancing with a boy he liked, goofing around with new friends who welcomed him into their tight-knit circle – this felt like coming to life.