Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Spencer

“That’s a good one,” Richard said, shielding the LCD screen of Spencer’s camera with his hand to better see the picture of him and his husband holding hands on the Rainbow Crosswalk. “We should send it to your sister.”

“I can enlarge it and print it out,” Spencer offered. “One of my friends gives me a break on framing. I’ll throw it in for free.”

“Thanks.” ángel’s voice was wet. It was clear he was choked up and holding back tears as Spencer scrolled through the photos he’d taken of them. Richard put his arm around his husband and kissed his forehead.

To his surprise, Spencer was a little choked up himself.

When Richard and ángel had first approached him about creating a “celebration of love” for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, Spencer had thrown up a little in his mouth. When all was said and done, though, their photoshoot in the Castro had been a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

The couple had lived their entire adult lives in the Castro, and their love story unfolded on its streets. Throughout the morning, Spencer walked with them as they reminisced about their relationship and made sure to stop for photographs at all the places they held dear.

There was the bookstore where they met, and the movie theater where they had their first date. The restaurant where they had their weekly date night. Their favorite antique store, where they’d picked out their wedding bands.

They shared the story of their proposal at Dolores Park, when a nineteen-year-old Richard, with nothing to offer but his love, took a knee and asked ángel to marry him. Spencer recommended a shot they hadn’t originally planned – a recreation of their proposal, complete with the blade of grass Richard tied around ángel’s finger as a placeholder until he could afford a ring.

“I still have that grass ring,” ángel said, looking lovingly at the moment Spencer had captured.

Once the three of them had finished reviewing the thumbnails from the photoshoot, Spencer shook their hands. “Thank you for letting me be a part of this. I’ll have these retouched and ready for you in two weeks.”

Richard and ángel thanked him profusely for his time, then walked off hand in hand.

Spencer lingered over the final photograph of the men in the park, Richard on one knee holding ángel’s hand, a blade of grass tied around his ring finger. The original grass ring was now nearly as old as Spencer. It was almost inconceivable, the idea of being with the same person for twenty-five years.

That evening, when he told Xander about the photoshoot, he would dutifully roll his eyes when talking about the “old married couple.” But it would be for show, because even though Spencer would never admit it to anyone, he’d been moved by Richard and ángel’s love story, touched by the rich history they shared.

What it would be like to have someone look at me the way ángel looks at Richard?

Spencer’s vision blurred with tears. You’re getting soft in your old age.

His phone rang, but he immediately declined the call when he saw it was from an unknown number. Anyone who knew him well texted rather than called. It could be a potential client, but he didn’t have time to deal with it right now. They could use the email contact form on his website like everyone else. The ice cream shop was only a few blocks away, and if he didn’t start walking, he’d be late meeting Mickey.

He closed his camera’s LCD screen and set off, ignoring the notification bell for the voicemail. When he arrived at Rainbow Sprinkles, Mickey was leaning against the building, scrolling on his phone.

“Hi Mick!”

Mickey looked up with a smile, but it slipped away when their eyes met. He was wearing the trucker jacket Spencer had picked out for him, and he pulled it closed over his chest, covering the logo on his light blue T-shirt.

Spencer gathered Mickey into an awkward sideways hug so as not to crush the camera that still hung around his neck at chest level.

“Hi,” Mickey said softly. “I’m underdressed.”

“No, you’re fine!” Spencer had taken special care that morning to look his best for the photoshoot, deciding on a fitted white shirt, wheat-colored trousers, and his shiny brown penny loafers. But he didn’t want Mickey to feel self-conscious. He rolled up his sleeves to be more casual. “I like to dress up for my gigs.”

“You look nice.”

“Thanks.” He pushed the door open and swept his arm in front of him, inviting Mickey to enter first. “Shall we?” They joined the small line of customers queued up at the counter.

Spencer leaned in close, his shoulder pressing against Mickey’s. “The name is kinda dumb, and the interior design is, well, this.” He waved dismissively at the twee wall murals and the pastel pink and baby blue plastic chairs. “But they have the best ice cream in the city.”

“Do you have a favorite flavor?”

“Chocolate fudge. But they’re all good.”

Mickey scanned the brightly colored tubs in the cooler, brushing against Spencer when he leaned over to see the flavors at the far end. “Um, oh…” He straightened up quickly. “I’ll try birthday cake.”

Spencer grazed the back of Mickey’s hand with his pinky and was rewarded with a shy smile. “Good choice.”

Once they had ordered and found a table, Spencer scooped some of his ice cream out of the pink plastic dish and popped it in his mouth. He didn’t even try to muffle his moan of delight. Pointing his spoon at Mickey’s waffle cone, piled high with blue ice cream bursting with colorful sprinkles, he asked, “How is it?”

Mickey licked his ice cream, catching errant drips with the tip of his tongue. “Really good.”

Spencer lifted the strap of his camera over his head and placed it on the table next to him. For a few minutes, neither spoke. They ate their ice cream and exchanged a few awkward smiles.

“Listen,” Spencer said, putting down his spoon. “The guys have been a little out of control lately with all the sex talk. I think they’re giving you the wrong idea about my party. It’s going to be pretty low-key. About twenty-five, thirty guys. I’ll play some music, put out some snacks and booze, and spend some time with my friends.”

“Sounds nice. I’ve only ever been to work parties.” Mickey caught a small clump of sprinkles with his tongue before it slid off his cone. “And kids’ parties, of course.”

“My party will definitely not be like those.”

Mickey forced out a nervous chuckle. “Because people will be having sex?”

Spencer wished he could see the wanton bacchanalia Mickey was conjuring up in his head. “That’s unlikely, unless it’s me or Xander. To be fair, though, once the alcohol starts flowing, some of the guys get a little frisky and might start making out. Would that bother you?”

Mickey’s eyes darted to Spencer’s lips, a quick flash of movement, before he turned his attention back to his ice cream cone. “No.”

His voice soft, Spencer assured him, “You won’t be pressured into doing anything you’re uncomfortable with. I promise. It’ll be a chance to meet some guys in the community. Maybe flirt a little.” Spencer playfully bumped their knees together. “Let everyone know there’s a new sex god on the scene.”

Mickey’s head snapped up. “You’re going to introduce me as a sex god?”

“Well, not exactly,” Spencer said, laughing. “None of us call each other that around other people. But everyone knows we’re a bunch of sex-positive guys.”

“Sex-positive,” Mickey mumbled. “You mean promiscuous.”

Spencer let the word hang in the air between them. It obviously made Mickey uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure yet if Mickey was uncomfortable with sex in general, or if it was more about getting a reputation as someone who slept around. Maybe Mickey was still idealizing sex, seeing it as some exalted thing, a romantic gesture rich with meaning. He could meet Mickey where he was at. After all, what was more romantic than a lovey-dovey couple celebrating twenty-five years of marriage?

“Would you like to see the pictures I took today?” Spencer asked, sliding closer so they could huddle over the LCD screen. He powered up his camera and scrolled through the gallery, letting Mickey examine each thumbnail in turn as Spencer shared the story of the photoshoot. “That’s Richard, and that’s ángel,” he said, pointing to each man as he introduced them.

“They look happy.”

Spencer looked at the men wistfully. “They are.”

“What do you like most about photography?” Mickey asked.

Without looking up from his camera’s screen, Spencer said, “It freezes a moment. Captures details you would have missed. It makes you look with different eyes.” He zoomed in on the picture of Richard and ángel until their faces filled the screen. “You can linger on a touch. Or a glance. Or a smile. It’s intimate. Like making love.” Spencer scoffed and snapped the LCD screen shut. “Ugh, please forget I said that.”

Mickey laughed. “You’re good at it.”

Spencer shrugged and ate another spoonful of ice cream. “I’m alright. Freelance photography isn’t exactly what I saw myself doing when I went to school, but it pays the bills.”

Mickey lapped at his ice cream with a tongue that had already turned blue. “What did you see yourself doing?”

“Fine art photography. It’s like painting with light and shadow.” With his index finger, Spencer traced little circles on the back of Mickey’s free hand. “It’s finding something ordinary in the world and seeing it from a different perspective.”

Mickey’s tongue slowed to a stop and hovered over his ice cream a beat until he closed his mouth and swallowed thickly. “Why did you stop?”

“Someone told me it was a waste of time. That I didn’t have a point of view as an artist.”

“A teacher?”

“No, an ex-boyfriend.” In response to Mickey’s surprised expression, Spencer added, “Long time ago.”

“Well, I don’t know what it means to have a point of view, but your pictures are special. You understand people, like, what makes them…them?” Mickey pulled his eyebrows together in frustration. “Sorry. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Spencer took Mickey’s hand. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

The silence stretched between them as they held hands. Spencer was aware of a subtle current, the energy that always buzzed under his skin whenever they touched. Mickey’s gaze dropped to their hands, and he turned his hand so that they were palm to palm. He feels it, too.

“Would you, um, take a picture of us with my phone?” Mickey asked, using his elbow to slide his phone across the table to Spencer.

Spencer tilted his head until Mickey’s beard tickled his cheek. “With selfies, it’s all about the angle.” He held the phone aloft and angled it down until they were centered in the screen. “Smile.”

He snapped the pic and turned to face Mickey.

Mickey’s eyes, wide and imploring, met Spencer’s. His lower lip quivered, as if words danced there but couldn’t find the courage to take flight.

This was the moment Spencer had been waiting for. He leaned in, brushing the tip of his nose against Mickey’s. The smell of chocolate and sweet cake filled the charged air between them. Their lips barely touched, a featherlight contact, and Mickey didn’t back away. He’s ready.

I’m ready too.

Spencer inhaled sharply when something cold touched his chest. He sat back quickly, exclaiming in surprise at the mess on his shirt. In the prelude to their kiss, Mickey’s cone had tipped in his slack hand, spilling melted ice cream and rainbow sprinkles down Spencer’s left pec.

“Oh sugar beet!” Mickey sprang into action, pulling a napkin from the dispenser and dabbing at the stain. It was no use, though. The artificial blue dye streaked across Spencer’s shirt like a comet, surrounded by little multicolored stains from the sprinkles. “I’m so sorry. You should get some water on this.”

Spencer put his hand over Mickey’s to still his fruitless dabbing, which was probably just spreading the ice cream around. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a little ice cream.”

Mickey placed the dirty napkin on the table. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really. Be right back.”

Spencer hurried to the small bathroom that was decorated with a mural of purple cats and green dogs. He wet one of the rough brown paper towels and started wiping the ice cream off his shirt.

The blue dye was going to be stubborn. He pulled out his phone to see if YouTube had any tips on stain removal and saw the notification for his voicemail. He put his phone on speaker and brought up the message.

“First message, sent today at 1:54 p.m.”

A different voice spoke then, one that Spencer hadn’t heard in nearly a decade. One that sent a chill racing down his spine.

“Hi Spence, it’s Garrett. Don’t hang up. I’m in town and got your number…”

Spencer slammed the seven key to delete the message. He swayed with a sudden rush of vertigo. Who would have given Garrett his number? More importantly, why would Garrett think he had any right to contact him?

Spencer forced a few deep breaths, then fired off a text to Xander.

SPENCER

911. Somebody gave Garrett my number.

He’s here.

Mickey

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind Spencer, Mickey sent their selfie to Jazz.

MICKEY

I think you’re right. I think I’m on a date.

It took him a few tries to type the text, since his hands were jittery from the anticipation of picking up where they’d left off when Spencer got back. I’m moments away from my first kiss. Suddenly self-conscious, he swished his mouth with water, wiped off his lips with a napkin, and checked his hair in the reflection of the chrome napkin dispenser.

When the bathroom door opened, Mickey sensed immediately that Spencer was different. That smirk that always hovered on his lips was gone, replaced with a frown. He took his seat without saying a word, staring at his phone with a blank expression.

“It didn’t come out,” Mickey said.

“What?” Spencer looked up at him, confused, his forehead tense and creased.

“The stain.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Spencer’s phone pinged, and with a grimace he typed a reply and let his phone clatter to the table.

Once again, silence stretched between them, but now, instead of being charged with sexual tension, it felt cold and hollow. “Um, do you need to call someone?”

“No, it’s Xander. It’s…” After struggling to find a word, Spencer mumbled. “Nothing. Never mind.”

Mickey had hoped the ice cream spill wasn’t a huge deal. That it was something funny they could laugh about later, but clearly it had ruined their date. Now Spencer was texting his friend, probably asking for a rescue. Xander, text me in five minutes and tell me I need to leave. This date is going nowhere. It was a mistake.

“Xander…” Desperate to get the conversation going again, Mickey latched onto the only lifeline he could see. “Is he mad at Henry?”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“When you work in childcare, you have to keep a close eye on group dynamics. You never know when someone is going to start picking on someone, or steal a toy, or play near an electrical socket.” Mickey laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but it had no effect on Spencer’s glazed-over expression. Realizing he was losing Spencer, he cut to the chase. “Xander snipes at Henry a lot. Quinn, too, actually.”

“Oh, he’s not mad at them. Well, sorta. It’s…complicated.” Spencer pressed into his temples with the heels of his hands. “Xander and I met Quinn five years ago. He was inexperienced sexually, so we offered to show him what it was like to be a sex god.”

“Like what you’re doing with me?”

A smile flickered across Spencer’s lips, there and then gone. “Yeah. Quinn was a quiet guy, but he got wild. Fast. The three of us were inseparable. Drinking, getting high, and fucking our way through the city. Then he met Henry, and he didn’t want to go out as much. We saw less and less of him as things got more serious with Henry. He was settling down, and it hurt Xander’s feelings. He felt betrayed.”

“Betrayed? Why?”

“Because sex gods don’t date. And they definitely don’t fall in love.”

Spencer was always honest about who he was. Mickey had only himself to blame if he’d built this into something it wasn’t. The tiny, hopeful thread that had been growing stronger in his heart – the hope their arrangement might blossom into something more – snapped, causing a twinge of pain so palpable he flinched.

Spencer listlessly stirred his melted ice cream. “He’s gotten over it, but he likes to give them a hard time.” Spencer’s phone pinged again. After reading the message, he rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Xander just got home. I need to talk to him about something. Ready?”

Mickey glanced down at his half-finished cone. He’d completely lost his appetite. “Sure.”

They threw away what was left of their ice cream and stepped out into the afternoon sunshine.

Spencer smiled, but it was a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He raised his camera, snapped a picture of Mickey, and lowered it to his chest again. “The light was good.”

He searched Mickey’s face, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. His lips parted, and as he drifted closer his phone pinged with another notification. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Mickey’s with a wry, humorless chuckle.

“See you at my party on Saturday.” Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket and headed down the street, typing out a text.

Was he getting ready to kiss me?

Again?

Mickey couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow he’d messed things up. Maybe it was the ice cream spill. Maybe it was something he said, or didn’t say.

He wished they could go back to the moment when things were going well, when everything seemed perfect. Mickey opened his phone’s gallery and studied the selfie of him and Spencer, the two of them smiling, seconds away from leaning in close…

He zoomed in on the picture and froze.

Although he’d covered up his T-shirt when Spencer arrived (suddenly doubting Jazz’s advice to “ be himself ”), he’d relaxed while they were talking, allowing his jacket to fall open. Revealing the logo on his baby blue T-shirt. His stupid T-shirt from the daycare center where he used to work.

For the entire time they were together, a cheery cartoon teddy bear had been smiling up at Spencer.

It all made sense now. Spencer was babying him.

Quinn got wild. Fast.

When Quinn became a sex god, there was drinking, drugs, and sex. For Mickey, there’d been shopping trips, an ice cream date, and chaste almost-kisses. He had to let Spencer know he was ready for more.

Mickey fantasized about running up to Spencer and leaping into his arms, wrapping his legs around his waist, and kissing him senseless. It was the wildest, most impulsive thing he could think of in that moment. If Spencer looked back, he might just do it.

Three blocks away now, Spencer slipped his phone into his pocket and disappeared around a corner.

He never looked back.