Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO

Spencer

“Have a seat,” Spencer said, motioning toward his bed and closing the door behind them.

Mickey paused after a few steps. His shoulders rose and fell a few times before he glanced over his shoulder with a sheepish smile. He sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress and ran his hand over the comforter, back and forth in a lazy arc, pointedly avoiding Spencer’s gaze.

Spencer took a seat beside him. “What did you want to talk about?”

Mickey looked up, and when their eyes met, he inhaled a shaky breath. “So, um…I…uh…” He pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket, unfolded it, and carefully smoothed it flat. “I’d like to – for your birthday – I’d like to take you out to dinner and then go to this.”

He thrust the paper toward Spencer. It looked like something he’d printed off a website – an advertisement for an exhibition in a local gallery.

“It’s a few weeks from now. A show for an art photographer.”

“Kinley Hughes?” Spencer rubbed his chin in amazement. “I love his work. He’s one of the artists I’m inspired by. I have one of his prints hanging in the living room.”

A smile lit up Mickey’s face. “I want to understand more about photography.” He slid closer to Spencer and lowered his voice. “I want to see the world the way you do.”

Spencer swallowed around the lump in his throat. His friends had always expressed polite interest in his photography, but Mickey was the first person who wanted to go deeper. To understand his point of view as an artist. It was difficult to put into words how meaningful that was. “Thank you. This is the best birthday present I’ve gotten this year.” He set the flier beside him on the bed. “In a long time, actually.”

Mickey placed his hand on Spencer’s knee, his touch light. Tentative. “I want…” He tightened his grip. His voice barely a whisper, he said, “I really want to kiss you.”

Spencer cradled Mickey’s cheek and rubbed his thumb along his cheekbone. “Close your eyes.”

Eyelids fluttering closed, Mickey leaned in, and Spencer met his trembling lips in a sweet kiss. A chaste press of lips. The tamest touch Spencer had shared with a man since he was a teenager – yet his heart was thundering in his ears. He brushed his lower lip along Mickey’s and gave him a small peck before pulling back.

Mickey caressed Spencer’s thigh, letting his hand glide upward toward his hip. “You feel good,” he murmured on an exhale. When his amber eyes locked with Spencer’s, the embers of anticipation that had been smoldering in Spencer’s core for weeks ignited into flame.

He lunged forward and claimed Mickey’s mouth with a needy, passionate kiss. A groan of desire rumbled in his throat. Mickey was a surprisingly good kisser, and Spencer was desperate to have him closer, to feel every contour of his body. He slipped his hand under the tail of Mickey’s shirt and pressed his hand against the warm skin of his lower back.

“Straddle my hips.” He pulled Mickey into his lap, and with a whimper, Mickey settled onto Spencer’s thighs.

His eyes shining with awe, Mickey cupped and massaged Spencer’s pecs, rubbing his thumbs over his nipples when they hardened. “Oh my god,” he whispered before crashing their mouths together again.

Every touch from Mickey set fire to Spencer’s skin. He licked Mickey’s bottom lip, teasing him with the tip of his tongue, and moaned when Mickey opened his mouth and allowed the kiss to deepen.

While their tongues rubbed alongside one another, Spencer unfastened two buttons on Mickey’s shirt and spread it open. He ran his hand over the exposed skin, sneaking a hand under the fabric to fondle Mickey’s hairy pec, loving the tickle of the hair on his palm. There was nothing hotter or more masculine than a hairy chest.

He broke their kiss and nuzzled Mickey’s throat, working his way down until he could bury his face in the flushed, slightly sweaty valley between Mickey’s pecs. “Fuck,” he moaned, getting high on the scent of Mickey’s skin. “You’re so hot.” Mickey held Spencer close, one hand on his back, one hand cupping the nape of his neck, while he kissed the top of his head.

Spencer’s dick was hard and aching for friction. He wanted to be patient, to savor the experience, but he couldn’t wait any longer. His hands shot to Mickey’s ass, and he grabbed hold while he bucked his hips upward, grinding his erection against the hard, thick length in Mickey’s jeans.

Mickey’s breath caught on a rapid inhale and his body went rigid and completely still. His heart raced, each beat tapping against Spencer’s cheek. Oh shit.

“Mickey, are you okay?” Spencer asked, his words muffled against Mickey’s chest. When his question was met by silence, he pulled back to find Mickey looking down at him, biting his lower lip. Staring at him with a look of raw vulnerability. A tumult of emotions swirled in Mickey’s eyes. Anxiety. Uncertainty. Fear.

“Yeah,” Mickey said. He took a deep breath. “I’m okay.” He leaned in for another kiss, but Spencer stopped him with a hand against his chest.

“I think we should stop.”

“Why?” Mickey flinched as if he were struck. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Spencer said, rubbing Mickey’s arms in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “ No ,” he repeated emphatically. “You didn’t do anything wrong. That was amazing. But this is a big step. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Mickey hesitated. “Um…yeah?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We can do stuff.”

Spencer was tempted. He wanted to see Mickey naked, to wrap his hand around that thick cock. To taste him. To watch him come from another man’s touch for the first time. He was so close to checking off the last item on his fuck-it list. It wouldn’t even have to be anal sex – oral would count.

But it was up to him to be the responsible one. Mickey was impaired. A little drunk. High for the first time. And completely inexperienced. In his current state, “ we can do stuff ” could hardly be considered consent.

Spencer ran his hand through Mickey’s hair. Traced the shell of his ear with his thumb. It would be so easy to push Mickey past his limits, even without meaning to. He was eager to please, to prove he was ready. He could get swept up in that, and not know how to say no when things had gone too far.

When they finally had sex, Spencer wanted it to be because Mickey was truly ready.

“We shouldn’t do this tonight,” he said softly.

Mickey’s expression darkened. He adjusted the front hem of his shirt to cover the bulge in his jeans. “Oh.” He hopped off Spencer’s lap and fumbled to button his shirt with shaking fingers. “Yeah, of course. You have guests.”

When Mickey turned to leave Spencer took his hand. “Mickey, it’s not that. It’s just…” Spencer froze. He opened and closed his mouth, hating that he couldn’t get over himself and just say what he felt. I care about you and I don’t want to hurt you.

Mickey waited, but when it became obvious that Spencer had nothing more to say, he closed his eyes and gently pulled his hand out of Spencer’s. “We should get back to the party.”

Spencer leapt to his feet and followed Mickey out of his room. “Mickey, wait.”

Xander was standing at the end of the small hallway that led to the bedrooms. When Mickey brushed past him, hanging his head and mumbling “Excuse me,” Xander narrowed his eyes and studied Spencer. He stretched his arm across the doorway, blocking Spencer from tailing Mickey into the living room.

Spencer sighed in frustration. “What?”

“You’re grumpy.” Xander smoothed down the cowlicks in Spencer’s hair. “Is poor Mick a minute man?”

“Why do you have to be such an asshole?”

Xander planted an exaggerated kiss on Spencer’s cheek. “Aw, you love me. Now that you guys are done though…” He grabbed Spencer’s bicep and dragged him into the living room. “It’s time!”

“Time for what?”

Spencer’s friend Brett hurried around the living room, shutting off the lamps. Before Spencer could process what was going on, the kitchen light went out as well. The only light remaining was a warm, golden glow at the food table.

The guests parted as Xander led Spencer through the room. “Gather ’round everyone! It’s time to wish this old man a happy birthday.” He swept his hand in front of him in a grand gesture when Spencer’s cake finally came into view.

Spencer huffed out a chuckle. “You motherfucker.”

The white sheet cake was decorated with a border of yellow swirls and an insane number of candles – far more than thirty. So many candles had been shoved into the cake that he could barely read the message piped in icing: It’s all downhill from here.

Xander guided Spencer around the back of the table so that he faced his friends as they sang “Happy Birthday.” When the group finished singing, Xander launched into a spirited verse of “What’s your boyfriend’s first name?”

Spencer elbowed him in the ribs good-naturedly. Giggling, he searched the crowd until he found Mickey. He was standing by himself, apart from the group, with a look of sad resignation.

“ Happy birthday ,” he mouthed before opening the front door, slipping into the hallway, and closing it quietly behind him.

Without thinking, Spencer stepped away from the cake, intent on following Mickey and trying to explain why he turned him down. He needed to make things right.

Xander grabbed his arm. “Hey, where are you going? You’ve got to blow out these candles before we have to call the fire department.”

With a half-hearted smile, Spencer nodded and took a deep breath. He blew as hard as he could, sweeping over the cake, but when it seemed he might run out of breath a couple of his friends helped him out.

“Make a wish,” Xander reminded him as the last flame winked out and the room was plunged into momentary darkness.

Spencer closed his eyes and let the sound of cheers and applause wash over him. There was only one thing he wished for in that moment.

I wish I were still in my bed, kissing Mickey.

Mickey

On the ride home, Mickey sagged in the back seat of the car, staring out the window and wiping his eyes whenever they filled with tears. He responded to his Uber driver’s small talk with lifeless, one-word answers until the guy took the hint and turned on the radio instead.

His father’s voice taunted him, cruelly repeating the injured man’s favorite question, his preferred way of cutting down his son: Who’s ever going to love you, Mickey?

Not Spencer, apparently.

Their kiss was everything Mickey had fantasized it could be, and more. For the first time, Mickey truly understood the phrase “turned on.” Every one of his nerve endings sparked to life, until he was drowning in a sea of delicious sensations. The warmth of Spencer’s body, the clean smell of his hair, the taste of his lips – it was almost too much.

His dick had never been harder, throbbing in his jeans with a sweet ache. Overwhelmed and fuzzy from alcohol, his brain switched off and he floated, weightless, as if he were in a dream. A beautiful, wet dream…

But when Spencer grabbed his ass and ground their erections together, Mickey crashed back to earth and froze. Just long enough to give Spencer the opportunity to change his mind. Long enough to serve as a handy reminder that the man he was kissing had no idea what he was doing.

Mickey trudged up the steps to Greg’s front door. The light was on in the living room, so Greg was still awake. He sighed and used his sleeve to dry the tears on his face. The last thing he wanted right now was to explain to his boss why he was crying on his way home from a friend’s birthday party.

He took a fortifying breath. Everything would be okay. He’d say good night to Greg, retreat to his apartment, pull up a romance novel, and jerk off. If he happened to fantasize about the feel of Spencer’s body or the smell of his cologne, so be it.

He fished around for his keys and groaned when his phone vibrated again. This was the third time since he’d left Spencer’s apartment. Reluctantly, he pulled his phone from his back pocket and checked his messages.

SPENCER

Are you okay?

Can we talk?

Text me when you get home?

Mickey locked his phone and let himself in. Greg was chatting with someone, his voice barely audible, but Mickey was certain he heard him say, “He’s growing up so fast.”

“Greg?” Mickey peeked into the living room. “Were you talking to someone?”

Greg was alone on the sofa, slumped forward, his forearms braced on his knees. He inhaled a shaky breath, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he studied the photograph in his trembling hands.

“Hi Mickey.” Greg tucked the photograph between the pages of an album before he closed it. “Sometimes I talk to Ryan. Catch him up on what’s going on with Logan.”

Greg talking to his dead husband trumped his personal pity party about blowing his chance with Spencer. “Do you want to be alone? I can head upstairs.”

Greg wiped his eyes and sniffed. “No. Come on in. Have a seat.” He picked up an empty glass from the coffee table and walked to the liquor cabinet, which was unlocked and open. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Sure,” Mickey said as he took a seat in the armchair facing the couch.

Greg wiped the dust out of a rocks glass. “What are you drinking lately?”

“Whiskey, I guess?”

“I have a bourbon from a local distillery,” Greg said, selecting a bottle filled with a lovely caramel-colored alcohol. “It’s very smooth. I think you’ll like it.” He poured two fingers worth into the glass and handed it over.

Mickey took a hearty sip. The bourbon was delicious, but at this point he would have drunk anything – including hand sanitizer – to dull the memory of his humiliating failure at seduction.

After refilling his own glass, Greg returned to the couch and moved the photo album to the side table. “How was the party? I wasn’t expecting you home so early.”

“It was fine.” Mickey took another sip of bourbon and stared blankly at a box of loose photos on the coffee table. The picture on top showed Greg and Ryan sitting together on the edge of a pool, holding up tropical drinks in a toast. “Things didn’t go the way I planned with Spencer.”

“Sorry to hear that. Dating can be hard.”

Mickey scoffed. “I’m guessing it’s a little easier when you’re a gorgeous, rich pilot.” He snapped his mouth shut. It was true – Greg was a gorgeous, rich pilot – but throwing that fact in his boss’s face was probably not the best strategy for ensuring his continued employment.

Greg took it in stride, though, and chuckled. “Fair point. Finding guys who want a quick hookup is easy enough. But so what? I have awkward sex that means nothing with a guy I’ll forget about the next day? That doesn’t interest me anymore. I had enough of that life before I met Ryan.”

“I was out of line. I’m sorry.” Mickey swirled his drink and took another sip to fill the awkward silence.

Greg shook his head. “Don’t be.” He stretched his arm along the back of the couch and crossed his legs, resting his bare ankle on his knee. “So, yeah, getting laid is easy. But dating? Dating is tough. It can be hard to find a guy who wants the same things you do. Remember Noah?”

The stunning man with the piercing blue eyes and the perfect butt? That Noah? Yeah, I remember him. Mickey nodded.

“After dating for a few months, I was ready to introduce him to Logan. That’s when he told me we’d had a good time together, but he didn’t want to meet my son. He didn’t want to be a stepdad. So we broke it off.”

It hadn’t occurred to Mickey that Logan might be the reason Noah stopped coming around.

“Most men don’t want to date a guy with a kid,” Greg continued. “Especially one as young as Logan. It made me realize how careful I have to be. I can’t introduce anyone to Logan until I’m sure he’s going to stay. I won’t put my son through that again. Losing another father.” Greg’s voice cracked on the word father . “I have no regrets though. Even if I never find another husband, it was worth it. Having the chance to love Ryan – I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“I wish I’d had a chance to meet him.”

“Me too.” Fresh tears gathered in Greg’s eyes, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “It’s too bad things didn’t work out with Spencer. But you’re a good guy, Mickey. You’ll find someone you click with and it’ll be great.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said, shrugging a shoulder. He didn’t have the energy to argue how being a “good guy” seemed more like a consolation prize than an asset. “I’m going to head upstairs. Thanks for the bourbon.”

“Sure thing. Keep your chin up. The man for you is out there somewhere.”

“Thanks, Greg.” Mickey pushed himself to a standing position. “Good night.”

“G’night.”

Mickey made his way through the kitchen and climbed the back stairs in the dark, allowing his muscle memory to guide him. However well-intentioned Greg’s assurances might be, they felt hollow. He’d just finished saying how hard it can be to find someone who was compatible and wanted the same things. And he’s Greg . Tall, handsome, worldly, successful Greg.

If Greg had trouble finding a man, what chance did he have?

God, he needed Spencer’s help. He whined with regret. He’d been a dick tonight, sneaking out of Spencer’s birthday party and then ignoring his texts. Hopefully he could smooth things over by extending an olive branch.

At the top of the stairs, he kicked off his sneakers and sent a quick text to Spencer.

MICKEY

I’m home.

He didn’t expect an immediate answer. Spencer was in the middle of his party. Entertaining guests. Possibly entertaining another man.

He shuffled into his bedroom and fell forward onto the mattress. Turning on the light would take more energy than he was willing to expend. Same for taking off his clothes. So he lay face down in the dark, fully clothed, willing himself to fade into the sweet oblivion of sleep.

When his phone rang, he groaned and rolled onto his back to answer the call. Guess we’re doing this now. “Hi.”

“Hey. You left the party before we had a chance to talk. Is everything alright?” Mickey cringed at the genuine concern in Spencer’s voice.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m sor—”

Laughter and cheers rang out in the background. “I can barely hear you. Let me go someplace quieter.” The background noise receded, and Mickey heard the click of a door closing. “That’s better. What were you saying?”

“I’m sorry for leaving. I was embarrassed after what happened.”

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed. I was having a good time. It was just—”

A loud knock interrupted Spencer. He sighed when a muffled voice called his name. “I need a minute,” he called out. Undeterred, the party guest knocked again and must have opened the door, because his voice was clearer.

“ There you are! ”

“Jason, I’m on the phone,” Spencer said.

“ Come on, man. Xander’s bringing out Cards Against Humanity. Your answers are always the best. ”

“Okay, okay. Deal me in. I’ll be right there.”

“ He’s coming, ” Jason yelled before the door closed again.

“Sorry about that,” Spencer said. “The guys are getting rowdy. Anyway, what I was going to say—”

“You should get back to your party,” Mickey blurted out. “I’m sorry about tonight. I don’t want things to be weird between us. Can we move past this and still be friends?”

“Oh.”

After an uncomfortably long pause, Mickey asked, “Spencer?”

“Um, yeah.” Spencer cleared his throat. “Of course we’re still friends. If that’s—”

More banging on the door drowned out Spencer’s words. “ Dude, you coming? ” The voice might have been Xander’s this time.

“In a minute!” Spencer yelled back. “God damn it,” he mumbled. “Can we talk again tomorrow?”

“Sure. Are we good?”

Warmth returned to Spencer’s voice. “We’re good.”

They said their goodbyes and Mickey shoved his phone onto his nightstand. He stared at the ceiling. The room was too quiet, his bed too empty. Intensified by the alcohol, his loneliness threatened to suffocate him.

He undid his fly and slipped his hand into his underwear, seeking comfort. Stroking listlessly, he managed to get himself half hard before he passed out, a fantasy about Spencer winking out in his mind.