Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 31

THIRTY-ONE

Spencer

Spencer lay on his couch with both legs dangling over the armrest. He tossed a balled-up paper towel into the air and caught it, over and over, not having the energy to do much else. It had been a long week of moping around in a pair of ratty sweatpants, staring at his laptop until his eyes glazed over, and washing down his Chinese takeout with shots of Maker’s Mark straight from the bottle.

Luckily Xander was keeping his distance and spending all his time in his room, so he didn’t have to apologize for smoking pot in the living room and bingeing all the seasons of FBoy Island .

He tossed the paper towel a little higher, but it arced to the side and bounced off his fingers when he tried to catch it. The wadded paper rolled under the coffee table, just out of reach from where he was lying.

With a sigh, he rubbed his dry, gritty eyes. He’d barely slept more than a few hours at a time in the week since he’d watched the elevator door slide closed between him and Mickey. There had been so many times he’d wanted to text, to apologize, to try and explain that he didn’t care about his stupid list anymore.

Their night together replayed in his mind on an endless loop. He experienced every detail again and again: Mickey’s beautiful body, his masculine scent, the awestruck look in his eyes as Spencer made love to him. Not since his first time with Garrett had Spencer used the expression “making love” to describe a sexual encounter, but what he’d done with Mickey had been so much more than fucking.

But that didn’t matter anymore. He was sure Mickey hated him now, and he had no one to blame but himself.

He ran his hand through his greasy hair and groaned in disgust. He was a mess. The soles of his socks were dark grey from ground-in dirt and the T-shirt he’d been living in for the past week was starting to smell, but showering and changing his clothes seemed like a monumental investment of energy. Regardless, he would have to drag his ass off the couch and clean up if he was going to make it to Sunday brunch with the boys.

Xander emerged from his room clad in his standard work uniform: white tank top, grey hoodie, and black athletic pants. He breezed through the living room on his way to the kitchen without even a glance in Spencer’s direction. Apparently Spencer could look forward to another day of the silent treatment. He couldn’t remember a single time in their decade of friendship when he’d gone so long without hearing his best friend’s voice.

“Good morning,” Spencer said, trying, like he did every time he saw Xander, to ease the resentment simmering between them.

Xander ignored him. He pocketed a couple of protein bars and made his way to the door, typing out a message while he walked.

Spencer’s phone vibrated on the coffee table. Certain that Xander had just texted him a snarky message, he sighed and checked his notifications. Xander had actually sent a message to the sex god group chat.

XANDER

Brunch is canceled today

Spencer rolled his eyes. This was the second time since their fight that Xander had unilaterally canceled the group brunch.

Another message came through in the chat.

BLAKE

I’m already here

Xander pulled on his sneakers and left without saying a word. A moment later – no doubt while he was waiting for the elevator – he answered Blake.

XANDER

Enjoy your time with Ethan

“For fuck’s sake,” Spencer mumbled under his breath. Xander was being even more of a dick than usual. This standoff was between him and Xander – their other friends shouldn’t have to suffer, too.

Before Spencer could shut off his phone and return to his game of paper towel catch, it pinged with a notification from Grindr. A message from a generically handsome brunette named Allen: Nice profile pic . He snorted and shook his head. “Seriously, Allen? At 9:25 on a Sunday morning?” The old Spencer would have cracked a joke. The early bird gets the dick. But he no longer had the desire to play the game.

What was the point? Spending hours paging through photoshopped faces and faceless chests, engaging in stilted small talk when everyone was just looking for a dick pic or a hole pic and the answer to two questions: when and where ? It was a lot of work for sex that often turned out to be mediocre at best.

Spencer deleted the app and tossed his phone onto the coffee table. “Fuck it.” He dragged himself off the couch and stripped off his grimy clothes on the way to the bathroom. He couldn’t spend another day sitting around feeling sorry for himself. It was time to get out into the real world again.

After taking a hot shower, brushing his teeth, and dabbing on some under-eye concealer, Spencer felt more like himself. He picked out a nice outfit – a pink sport shirt and tailored khakis – and admired himself in the mirror. He looked good. Maybe not as good as he usually did, but he no longer looked like a troll that had spent a week curled up on the couch marinating in a miasma of pot smoke, whiskey fumes, and the odor of stale sweat.

He grabbed his camera and headed out for a walk in the Castro. At first, he tried his hand at being edgy and photographed the trash littering the sidewalk. A candy wrapper, a cigarette butt, a wad of pink bubble gum, a discarded shoe. He played with framing and filters, depth of focus and shutter speeds. It was fun, but when he scrolled through his gallery all he saw was insipid student work – technically perfect shots devoid of any true inspiration or message.

He was getting ready to pack it in for the day when two young men holding hands passed him on the sidewalk. They were cute – definitely in their early twenties, wearing matching baseball caps and colorful Converse sneakers.

“Excuse me,” he called after them.

They turned and the taller of the two asked, “You talking to us?”

Spencer nodded and held up his camera. “Is it alright if I take your picture?”

The guys conferred for a second before shrugging and walking back to where Spencer was standing.

“I’m Spence, by the way.” He held out his hand for a handshake.

The taller man shook his hand. “I’m Casey.” He had beautiful bone structure – a straight nose and a square jaw – and clear, forest green eyes. “This is my boyfriend Marco.”

Marco shook Spencer’s hand and grinned, which carved deep dimples into his cheeks. His skin was a lovely deep tan, and black curls peeked out from under the brim of his cap. Both of the men were extremely photogenic.

“What should we do?” Marco asked.

“Anything, really,” Spencer said. When the men looked confused, he added, “Just try to act natural. I’ll take a few.”

Casey wrapped his arm around Marco’s shoulders and Marco shot his boyfriend a wide, toothy smile.

“Perfect,” Spencer said, snapping pictures as he moved around the couple and tried different angles.

Without warning, Casey dug his fingers into Marco’s side, eliciting a squeal of laughter. The men scuffled, giggling and trying to get the upper hand. In the midst of their roughhousing Marco’s cap was knocked off his head. Casey tousled his hair, bringing life back to the mop of wavy curls that had been flattened by his cap.

“Ew, you’re all sweaty,” Casey said.

“That’s what you get,” Marco teased as he scampered behind Casey and hoisted himself up onto his back, throwing his arms over Casey’s shoulders and wrapping his legs around his waist. He rubbed his damp hair on the back of Casey’s neck.

“You want to play dirty, huh?” In a flash Casey yanked off one of Marco’s sneakers and tickled his bare foot. Breathless with laughter, Marco squirmed on Casey’s back trying to free his foot from his boyfriend’s grasp.

Spencer kept taking pictures, laughing along with them, basking in the joy of the moment, capturing their youth, and exuberance, and love.

“Truce!” Marco yelled.

Casey released Marco’s foot and looked at him over his shoulder. “Had enough?”

Marco’s expression grew fond. “Never,” he whispered. He turned the brim of Casey’s cap to the back and took his lips in a soft, sweet kiss.

Spencer snapped a final photo, a close-up of their faces – their eyes closed, their lips gently brushing. He studied the picture on the LCD display. The lighting and composition were flawless. It was a one-in-a-thousand shot, one that would require almost no editing. A perfect addition to his portfolio.

His elation was short-lived, though, because his thoughts turned immediately to the night of the sex lesson, when Mickey fell asleep on his chest after asking a question he hadn’t stopped thinking about since: “Don’t you ever get lonely?”

I did, before I met you.

“Sorry we got a little carried away there,” Casey said with a chuckle. He squatted so Marco could climb down.

“Don’t be sorry,” Spencer assured them. “You two were great. Here, have a look.”

Marco retrieved his cap and pulled his sneaker back on, then he and Casey checked out the photos as Spencer scrolled through his gallery.

“These are awesome, man,” Casey said.

“Thanks. They’ll be better after a little editing and retouching. I can send them to you if you like.”

“Please.” Marco reached for his wallet. “Can we pay you?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I had fun.” Spencer shut off his camera and replaced the lens cap.

Marco pointed his thumb in the direction they were originally heading. “We were on our way to get ice cream. There’s a place just up the road. We could get you a cone?”

Less than a block away, the sandwich board for Rainbow Sprinkles was set up on the sidewalk. Like the rest of the shop’s decor, the sign was a pastel monstrosity, with cartoon cats and dogs dancing in a rain shower of ice cream sprinkles. He smiled at the memory of meeting Mickey there after one of his photoshoots. They’d come so close to kissing that afternoon.

He wished he’d figured out then that he and Mickey were on their first date.

“No thanks,” Spencer said. “I should get going. I’ll have these ready for you by the end of the week.”

Casey shared his contact information, and he and Marco each hugged Spencer goodbye before thanking him again and heading off to the ice cream shop.

On his way home, Spencer’s thoughts were consumed by Mickey. He replayed their final argument again and again. Why hadn’t he fought harder to prevent Mickey from walking away?

Given another chance, Spencer would have followed Mickey into the elevator, still wrapped in his bedsheet, determined to make things right, even if it meant following him naked and barefoot onto the streets of San Francisco.

On the elevator ride to his floor, a new fantasy took shape in his mind. Taking Mickey in his arms before he could step into the elevator that morning. Explaining, “ This wasn’t about my stupid list. Last night meant something to me. ” Pulling Mickey into a hug and whispering, “ I lo— ”

Ding.

The elevator doors opened, and his fantasy dissipated like smoke in the wind.

Having worked himself into a foul mood, he plodded down the hall, angry at himself for turning down Casey and Marco’s offer of ice cream. An afternoon of sugar and porn was exactly what he wanted.

When he entered their apartment, he was surprised to see Xander in the living room talking on his phone, a towel around his waist, his wet hair combed back off his forehead. “Just a sec,” he said before tapping his phone screen. “Hey.”

Spencer closed the door behind him and slipped off his loafers. “Hey.”

Xander tilted his head toward a package propped against the wall near the front door. The nondescript square box was wrapped in plain brown paper. “There was a package for you in the mail room,” he said in a low voice. “I brought it up for you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Xander nodded and disappeared into his room without saying another word.

Spencer carried the package to the couch. The return address was the Newkirk Gallery. His chest tightened with the realization that the box contained a souvenir from the best night of his life, the night before everything had fallen apart.

He carefully slid the picture frame out of the box and unwrapped the protective layer of spongy packing material, revealing Kinley’s print, The Grey Door , in an elegant black enamel frame. On the frame’s cardboard backing, Kinley had written a message in his loopy, expressive script:

Happy Birthday, Spencer!

It was a delight meeting you and Mickey. Keep taking photos – the world needs your point of view. Life’s too short to not go after what you want.

Yours,

Kinley

Spencer smiled, even though his vision was clouded by a film of tears. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the gallery on that night, standing in front of this photograph, holding Mickey at the moment when he saw the picture of the door as something more – a work of art.

It was incredible, how something that had seemed so ordinary at first glance had turned out to be so surprising, and beautiful, and extraordinary.

Go after what you want.

Spencer pulled his phone out of his back pocket and fired off a text message to Quinn.

SPENCER

Are you free this afternoon?