Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 27

TWENTY-SEVEN

Spencer

Spencer rocked on his heels, studying the picture entitled The Grey Door and finding additional nuance in the play of light and shadow at the edges of the frame. It was a truly masterful shot.

A man behind him asked, “You like this one?” His voice was honey-smooth, with a charming Irish brogue.

“Yes, it’s my favorite in the show.” Spencer turned around and his mouth dropped open. “You’re Kinley Hughes!” He shook Kinley’s hand enthusiastically and introduced himself. “I’ve followed your work for years. I love your point of view. You’re one of the artists who inspired me to pursue photography.”

“High praise, indeed,” Kinley said. “Always a pleasure to meet other photographers. Do you have some examples of your work?”

“Oh my god, really?” Spencer quickly pulled up his Dropbox account, where he stored his most recent work online, and handed his phone to Kinley. “I have a portfolio for my wedding clients, but this is where I keep work I’m more proud of. This is my last photoshoot. Richard and ángel. They’re celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary.”

Kinley scrolled through the pictures, pausing now and then for an appraising nod. “These are grand. Retouched?”

“Yes. I did some color correction. Some eye retouching and frequency separation on the close-ups.”

Kinley zoomed in on one of the photos. “Impressive,” he mumbled to himself. He scrolled through a few more pictures and his eyebrow shot up. He glanced at Mickey. “These are pictures of you.”

“Oh yeah,” Spencer said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Please play it cool, Kinley, and don’t reveal to my friend the embarrassing number of pictures I have of him in the cloud. “Most of those are snaps from my phone. Mick’s a great, um, subject.”

“Your muse,” Kinley said with an impish grin.

Mickey was blushing, his ears turning fire-engine red, as he gazed bashfully at Spencer. Beautiful, innocent Mickey, who wore his heart on his sleeve and walked through the world with a pure and vulnerable honesty. How could he not be inspired by this man?

Suddenly every detail of their evening together came into crisper, more vivid focus. Every touch, every glance, every smile. Everything they’d shared seemed to burn brighter, the way a candle flame flares more brightly right before it flickers out.

I want to capture this moment forever. To remember us this way, on this perfect night, before I have a chance to ruin it.

“Can we have a picture with you?” Spencer asked.

“Certainly.” Kinley motioned Mickey closer but clucked his tongue when he ended up in the middle. “That won’t do. I don’t want to come between a happy couple.”

Spencer’s skin prickled with a sudden rush of heat. A happy couple . Of course Kinley and everyone else in the gallery would assume they were here together. He’d been hanging all over Mickey like he was his boyfriend.

Kinley thinks we’re a couple.

Does Mickey?

Before he could clarify the misunderstanding, Kinley had stepped aside and was nudging Mickey closer to Spencer. “Now, Spencer, put your arm around Mickey’s shoulders. Good. Mickey, put your arm around Spencer’s waist. Heads together. Perfect.”

Kinley leaned in and snapped a few photos, trying different angles, his instincts as a photographer taking over.

An image from dinner flashed through Spencer’s mind. Mickey by candlelight, relaxed and happy.

The happy couple.

“Smile, Spencer,” Kinley said, pausing to adjust the settings on the phone’s camera.

Spencer forced a smile and stared blankly at his phone screen as it flashed and clicked with the fake shutter sound.

Click. Click. Click.

“There you are. I got some good ones.” Kinley handed the phone back to Spencer. He beckoned to a man in a black suit standing near the back of the gallery. “Someone let me know you just had a birthday.”

When the man joined them, Kinley addressed him. “I’d like to send this young man a print of The Grey Door .” To Spencer, he said, “Leave your address with William and I’ll take care of the rest. Happy Birthday, Spencer. I hope I’ll be coming to one of your shows someday.”

William whispered into Kinley’s ear. Spencer made out the words “ potential buyer .” He discreetly pointed to a dour man standing stiffly in front of a photo of a cracked and pitted asphalt road dotted with wildflowers.

“My public awaits. Wish me luck,” Kinley said with an eyebrow waggle before leaving to meet with his patron.

After giving the curator his contact details, Spencer wandered over to the refreshment table and twisted open a fancy bottle of spring water. He drank the entire bottle in one go without stopping to take a breath, to give himself a moment to sort through the tangled mess of thoughts in his brain.

When Mickey joined him, he spread some brie on a biscuit and popped it into his mouth. “Wow. That was cool.”

“I know, right? I had no idea Kinley would be here.” Spencer screwed the cap back onto the water bottle and picked at the label with his fingernail.

“Are you alright?”

Spencer winced at the concern in Mickey’s voice. “Just a little starstruck, I guess.” He dropped the bottle into the wastebasket under the table. “Ready to go?”

In the Uber on the way to Mickey’s house, Spencer’s mind reeled as red-hot lust battled with the softer, warmer feelings of friendship and protectiveness. It was a tug-of-war that was threatening to tear him apart.

Mickey reached across the seat and touched his hand. Spencer laced their fingers together and rested their joined hands on his thigh, but he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with Mickey. He offered a half-hearted smile and turned to watch the city lights pass by the car’s window.

I’m leading Mickey on.

All night long, he’d been flirting with Mickey, sharing intimate moments. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off him. They were so comfortable together, so compatible, that it was easy to get swept away in the moment.

For Spencer, physical touch was how he expressed friendship and trust. If he and Xander watched a movie together, nine times out of ten Spencer would rest his head in his best friend’s lap. He’d play footsie with Quinn at dinner parties. Hop onto Henry’s back for a piggyback ride. Hell, on more than one occasion he’d spooned with Blake on drunken sleepovers, waking up with his morning hard-on pressed against Blake’s ass.

His boundaries between friendship, flirting, and sex were fluid. Sometimes nonexistent. Casual intimacy was his way of being close to the people he cared about. It wasn’t laden with any deeper meaning – it was just the way his mind worked.

He was fairly certain, though, it wasn’t the way Mickey’s mind worked.

The driver pulled up to the curb. “Can you wait?” Spencer asked. “I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going to the Mission” The driver nodded, and Spencer pretended not to see Mickey’s flinch of disappointment out of the corner of his eye.

They slowly climbed the steps to Greg’s porch and lingered near the door, bathed in the yellowish glow of the porch light. “I had a great time tonight,” Spencer said.

“Me too.”

Spencer gathered Mickey into a hug, but gently pulled back before he let himself get lost in it. Mickey studied him with curiosity, his amber eyes capturing the light from the globed fixture above and crystallizing it into flecks of gold and copper.

Cradling Mickey’s jaw, Spencer rubbed small circles on his cheek with his thumb. “This might have been my best birthday ever.” He wanted to kiss Mickey so badly it physically hurt to resist the urge, like a knife slowly sinking into his heart.

“Spencer?” The confusion in that single word drove the knife home.

It would be so easy to push what they had past friendship. To give in to the sexual tension crackling between them. To kiss Mickey and let go . Let his mouth, and hands, and hips take over.

It would just be sex. But Mickey deserved more than that, and Spencer wasn’t convinced he was the man who could give him more. He lived his life by a code. A code that sex was nothing more than a game.

There were rules to being a sex god, rules which demanded that once he and Mickey slept together, that was it – Spencer wouldn’t pursue anything more. The hookup lifestyle wasn’t always easy. Sometimes it hurt people, but it protected his heart.

He couldn’t let someone in. He refused to be that vulnerable again. The last time he let himself love, it had broken his heart. And now he was teetering on a precipice. If he let himself fall, this time it wouldn’t only be his heart that shattered. He’d take Mickey with him.

Spencer motioned toward the waiting car. “I should—”

“Do you want—” Mickey said at the same time, while fishing his keys out of his pocket.

When Spencer took a step back, Mickey knitted his brow. “Oh,” he muttered, chewing his lip and fiddling with his keys. “Okay.” His hand trembled as he tried to unlock the front door, his key clinking against the doorknob as he repeatedly missed the keyhole.

“Have a good night.” Spencer forced himself to turn away and walk down the stairs, wincing when Mickey uttered a meek “Good night” to his back.

At the car, he paused with his hand on the door handle and looked over his shoulder. Mickey was still on the porch, framed in the open doorway. Spencer waved, plastering an overly bright smile on his face.

Mickey returned a half-hearted wave before ducking inside the house and closing the door.

Spencer slid into the car’s back seat and gave his address to the driver. As they pulled away from the curb, Spencer sighed and gripped his forehead, digging his thumb and fingers into his temples. He could tell the driver to stop. I’ve made a mistake, take me back! But no.

The bitterness of self-contempt curdled in his stomach.

He’s better off without me.

When Spencer got home, the kitchen light was on, but the apartment was quiet. “Xander?” he called out while he kicked off his shoes. Receiving no answer, he dropped his keys on the shelf by the door and padded to the kitchen in his bare feet.

He took a clean glass from the dish drainer and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

On his way to the couch, he stopped at the hallway leading to their rooms. “Xander? Are you home?” He listened intently, but there were no sounds coming from Xander’s bedroom. Xander was probably not the most sympathetic person to talk to about the evening – he would gloat that he’d been right about Spencer waiting too long to make his move – but it would have been better than moping alone in the dark.

He slumped on the couch. Why didn’t you just kiss him?

Spencer took off his shirt and draped it over the back of the sofa. The cool air in the apartment felt good against his bare skin. He brought up Dropbox on his phone. Sipping his whiskey, he slowly scrolled through his photos of Mickey, stopping on the first one he ever took – Mickey leaning against the pillar in the clothing store. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry I pulled you into this,” he whispered.

A notification from Grindr flashed on his screen. An uninspired “What’s up?” His thumb hovered over it. A hookup would definitely take the edge off. He hadn’t had sex in weeks – one of his longest dry spells ever. Tonight, though, he couldn’t find the energy to care. He ignored the notification and tossed his phone on the coffee table.

He let his head drop back on the sofa cushion. His phone vibrated with another notification. “Take the hint, dude.” When he undid his belt and the button on his pants, his dick perked up with interest. Maybe a quick jack-off sesh before bed was what he needed.

He grabbed his phone to look for some porn and saw he had a text from Mickey.

MICKEY

Are you still awake?

Intrigued, he texted back: Yes

A knock on the door startled him. Xander had probably forgotten his keys in his haste to meet up with a guy. “Just a minute,” he yelled. He re-buttoned his pants but pulled his belt off and dropped it on the sofa.

When he opened the door, Mickey was standing in the hallway, wringing his hands and biting his lip. His face broke into a smile the moment he laid eyes on Spencer. “Hi.”