Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 30

THIRTY

Mickey

“You didn’t tell me you were dressing up,” Mickey said, glancing down at his green plaid shirt, jeans, and suede sneakers. Beside him, Jazz sashayed down the sidewalk in a slinky black cocktail dress and stiletto heels. A shiny gold purse dangled from her shoulder.

She brushed off his concern. “Honey, I don’t get to go out all that often, so once in a while it’s fun to dress up. You’re perfectly dressed for where we’re going.”

It’d been a week since Xander had dropped his bombshell and provoked a guilty confession from Spencer. A week Mickey spent mostly hiding out and crying in his apartment, humiliated by his na?veté. The volume had been turned up on every insecurity he’d ever harbored, and the resulting chorus of inner voices was deafening and all-consuming.

Taking care of Logan, as well as the occasional conversation with Greg, had at least provided a much needed distraction. But now Logan was gone until Sunday afternoon, on the way to visit his grandparents, and Greg was gone on an overnight flight. Mickey had been dreading the thought of spending Friday night in an empty house, so he was overjoyed when Jazz invited him out for a friend date – just the two of them – to an undisclosed venue that would remain a mystery.

On the agenda: drowning his sorrows with copious amounts of alcohol and bitching about men. One man in particular.

Mickey kept pace with the steady clack of Jazz’s heels while he took in his surroundings, looking for clues to their destination. The buildings they passed seemed familiar but Mickey wasn’t sure why. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“You’ll see.” She took his hand as they stepped around the corner. A bar Mickey knew all too well came into view. “Here we are.”

Mickey stumbled backward and Jazz caught his arm. “ The Blind Tiger ? The place where I met Spencer?”

“You’ll have to make new memories here eventually.”

“There are other gay bars in San Francisco where I can make memories.”

Above them, the foppish tiger painted over the entrance to the bar stared down in haughty disdain. Yes, Mickey, the tiger whispered in his mind. But are you gay enough for those other bars? I’m sure you’d fit right in at the Manhole.

With a sigh of resignation, Mickey scratched the back of his neck. “Don’t you think it’s a little soon?”

“For you to visit your friendly neighborhood gay bar? No. Besides, you know what they say – the easiest way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

“Jasmine,” Mickey chided. He pawed at his hair, anxious to make himself more presentable.

She batted his hand away and smoothed his hair back into place. “I’m just teasing. No pressure. We’re just here to have fun.” She unfastened the third button on his shirt. “But if a guy hits on you, I’ll be your wingwoman.”

With a good-natured groan, he followed her into the club. It was early, so there were still plenty of stools available at the bar. Jazz glided to the bar with an exaggerated roll of her hips and dropped her purse next to a guy in a mesh tank top picking up drinks. He did a double take and fanned himself. “Damn, girl! You are snatched for the gods.” He winked and awkwardly balanced three drinks on the way back to his table.

Preening, Jazz slipped onto the stool. “I love gay bars.”

Mickey chuckled and climbed onto the stool next to hers. Jazz was amazing, always able to turn men’s heads – even in a gay bar – while he felt completely invisible. He wished he had even half of her confidence.

Jazz hailed a bartender. It was the same guy he’d met the night of the speed dating event – Nathan – with his perfect nose, winning smile, and a tight black sport shirt that looked like it had been painted onto his muscular pecs. Mickey re-buttoned his shirt and crossed his forearms, resting them on the bar.

“Hi Nathan,” Jazz said with a flirty lilt. “It’s been a while.”

“It has. Nice seeing you again.” After several uncomfortable seconds, he finally acknowledged Mickey with a slight nod. “What can I get you both?”

“Can I get a shot of Basil Hayden?” Mickey asked.

“Sure.” Nathan turned to Jazz and flashed his megawatt smile. “And for you?”

“I’ll take a Sex on the Beach.” Jazz trailed a finger along the low-cut neckline of her dress.

“Coming right up.” Nathan stepped away to pour their drinks.

“You know the bartender?” Mickey asked under his breath.

“We chatted a bit last time we were here.”

“He seems…attentive.”

Jazz rifled through her purse and selected a credit card. She leaned in close and whispered, “He’s bi.”

Nathan returned with their drinks. Mickey was certain he’d undone at least two more shirt buttons. The tan, hairless cleft between his pecs was now on full display. “Here you are,” he said, sliding their drinks toward them.

“Thanks.” Jazz took the cocktail umbrella between her thumb and forefinger, tapped it against the rim of the glass twice, and then slowly licked the length of its stem before dropping it on the bar. She handed her card to Nathan. “You can start a tab.”

Mickey snorted, trying to suppress a giggle. He sipped his shot and spun around on his stool, having had his fill of Jazz’s masterclass on seduction for the time being. His gaze roamed over the club. He felt out of place. An imposter waiting to be discovered. Even though he’d done everything Spencer had told him to do, he still felt like he didn’t belong.

He studied the bar’s patrons with the detachment of an anthropologist discovering a new breed of humans. In one of the booths, a group of friends laughed and threw their arms around one another, clinking shot glasses and singing along with the Lady Gaga song playing from the speakers positioned over the bar.

A pang of longing clenched his heart. He missed Blake and Quinn. Henry too. He hadn’t just lost Spencer. He’d lost the first group of gay men who’d accepted him as a friend.

Near the booth, a man stood by himself, leaning against a pillar near the open area that doubled as a makeshift dance floor. He was attractive, with shoulder length brown hair and a neatly groomed beard. When they locked eyes, he raised his beer and smiled. Mickey smiled sheepishly in return. He suspected it was a signal, an opening gambit in the game of hooking up.

His sex god training tried to kick in. Go over there. Strike up a conversation. Flirt a little. Seal the deal. But for what? A frantic hand job or blow job in the bathroom? He definitely wasn’t ready to leave with the guy. Any sex they had wouldn’t hold a candle to what he’d shared with Spencer.

It suddenly all seemed so hollow and performative. Just a game , as Spencer liked to say. Maybe he wasn’t wired for casual sex. He’d taken Spencer inside of himself and now he was supposed to pretend it didn’t mean anything? He was supposed to walk away without looking back? He didn’t know how to turn off his feelings like that.

He spun back around on the stool, drained his shot, and set the glass on the bar a bit too forcefully.

“Mickey?”

Mickey studied the middle-aged bartender who’d addressed him. He looked familiar. Something about his eyes… “Madge?”

“Yep, it’s me. Madge Maker, queen of the Blind Tiger. It’s Jack when I’m in boy drag, though. Welcome back.”

“Thanks. You tend bar, too?”

Jack nodded. “I do a little bit of everything. I own the place.”

“Oh, cool.” Mickey twisted his empty glass on the counter.

“You alright?”

Jazz nudged her shoulder against Mickey’s. “He’s healing a broken heart.”

“I’m getting over a breakup,” Mickey explained. “That wasn’t even really a breakup.”

“Not sure I follow,” Jack said.

“Remember Spencer, the guy I was talking to at the speed dating event? My height, blond hair?”

“I remember him.”

“We hooked up. I thought it was more. I was wrong.” A lump rose in Mickey’s throat. “He was, um, teaching me to be a…sex god.”

“A player,” Jazz clarified.

“Ah,” Jack said with a knowing smile. “Is that what you want?”

Mickey shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”

A cheery laugh to his right caught his attention. An older couple was sitting a few stools away, smiling and chatting while they sipped martinis. Their intimacy was comfortable. Easy. Shoulders pressed together. A hand on a knee. Their love was clearly visible in the effortless way they shared space.

That’s what I want.

Mickey didn’t want sex for sex’s sake. To rack up encounters until he could prove to himself that he was good enough to fuck, or that he’d finally had enough sex to be a real man. He wanted friends. He wanted a man to hold him, and make love to him. He wanted a man to choose him, for everything he was and everything he wasn’t.

More than anything, though, he’d wanted to be the exception to Spencer’s rules.

“His friends hook up a lot,” Jazz said, bringing his attention back to the moment. “Like, a lot .”

Jack chuckled. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that life. A lot of men choose it. But it’s okay if it doesn’t feel right for you, Mickey. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from owning this bar, it’s that there are as many ways to be gay as there are gay men.”

Jack wiped the bar absentmindedly. “Hooking up was never my scene either. I dated a bit, and eventually married a man named Sam. We built the Blind Tiger together.”

“Does Sam work here too?”

Jack smiled and shook his head. “We’re not together anymore. After twenty years of marriage, he had a midlife crisis and started an affair with a twink named Bryton. He moved to Palm Springs with his boy toy, and I got the Blind Tiger in the divorce.

“I was a wreck after that. I wasn’t sure how I was going to live without Sam. But my friends helped me through it. I almost sold the bar, but they encouraged me to keep it open, and they were right. It gave me a sense of purpose, a reason to go on.”

A young man in obscenely tight skinny jeans stepped up to the bar next to Mickey and ordered a beer. While Jack poured his beer, the man pulled out his phone and scanned the faces of the men sitting around the bar. Jack put his pint on a cocktail napkin and slid it toward him. “Who are you looking for?”

The guy held up his phone. Jack studied the small profile pic and pointed toward a table near the front door. “Over there.”

“Thanks,” the man said, dropping a few bills on the bar before making his way over to his date.

“I see a lot of hookup culture here,” Jack said, turning to face Mickey again. “But I never stopped believing in love. It’s why I started the speed dating nights, so that other men could find their special someone.” He pointed out a cork board behind the bar. “We have nine couples now who’ve met at ‘Seven Minutes In Heaven.’”

Mickey squinted at the pictures mounted on the cork board with push pins. They brought a smile to his face, and for a moment he imagined that a picture of him and Spencer was tucked in among the other happy, smiling couples.

“You’ll find someone who wants the same things you do,” Jack said. “Until then, spend some time with the people who love you. They’ll help you heal.”

Jazz gave Mickey a side hug and a peck on the cheek. “That’s me, honey,” she said, coaxing a chuckle out of Mickey.

“When you’re ready, come back to the speed dating nights. I’d love to see you again.” Jack poured Mickey another shot of whiskey and rapped his knuckles on the bar. “On the house,” he said, before moving along to another patron.

Jazz raised what was left of her cocktail and clinked her glass against Mickey’s. “You know I love you, right?”

Mickey nodded. “Love you too.”

She finished her drink and held up her index finger to get Nathan’s attention. “Let me get another of these and then we can bitch about men.”

While Jazz flirted with Nathan, Mickey sipped his whiskey. Something Jack said stuck with him – how after his marriage ended he’d found a sense of purpose, something to focus on so he didn’t wallow in heartache and self-pity.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed a text to Keith.

MICKEY

I’m ready to adopt Pepper.

He wasn’t expecting an answer right away, but within a minute Keith texted back.

KEITH

Awesome! Wanna meet for lunch on Sunday?

There’s a cafe near the shelter. We can go over the paperwork there.

For Jack, his sense of purpose had come from a bar. For Mickey, it would come from a dog who desperately needed someone to love her.