Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 32

THIRTY-TWO

Spencer

Spencer zoomed into the driveway of Quinn and Henry’s powder blue home in Noe Valley on his new electric kick scooter, a recent gift from his father. He hopped off the scooter, tucked it under his arm, and jogged up the steps to the porch. Through the open living room window, soothing piano music was barely audible, which meant Henry was home and not locked away in his law office’s library.

When he rang the doorbell and the Westminster chime sounded behind the door, Spencer rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He liked giving Quinn and Henry shit for having the most pretentious door chime in the city.

Henry answered the door, dressed comfortably in jeans and a black cardigan. “Spencer, I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

“Hi Hen, I need to talk to Quinn. He’s expecting me.”

“Come on in,” Henry said, stepping aside. “The scooter’s new.”

Spencer propped the scooter against the wall in the foyer and hung his helmet from one of the handlebars. “Birthday present from dear old Dad.” The scooter was Preston’s way of apologizing for trying to set him up with Garrett and ruining his birthday dinner. Normally, Spencer hated that throwing money around was his dad’s answer for everything, but in this case, he was happy to accept the gift. The scooter would give him more flexibility than mass transit and was a hell of a lot cheaper than an Uber. It was also a fucking blast to ride, even though he strongly suspected that he looked like a complete dork whizzing through the city in his safety helmet.

“Quinn’s down in the Cave,” Henry said. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll let you get back to the piano.”

Henry smiled and hurried into the living room. Before Spencer had made it even halfway down the stairs to the basement, the dreary notes of Chopin’s “Funeral March” filtered down from the living room, becoming the soundtrack for his descent into the Cave. Spencer chuckled to himself. Apparently the word was out that he was in the doghouse.

Quinn and Henry had completely renovated their home’s basement, transforming the previously utilitarian space into Quinn’s office. Dubbed “The Cave,” it resembled a superhero’s secret lair. One entire wall was dominated by Quinn’s desk, with his three large monitors and ridiculously oversized desktop computer.

Quinn was a freelance cybersecurity professional, or an “ethical hacker” as he used to say when he was trying to charm his way into a guy’s pants. Although he worked from home, he was almost always impeccably dressed. This afternoon, however, he was wearing an old T-shirt and sweatpants. Seated on his roller stool, he clacked away on his keyboard, his bare foot tapping restlessly.

Without looking away from his monitor, Quinn said, “Hi Spence. Have a seat.”

Spencer plopped down on one of the Mission-style armchairs. “Working on a Sunday?”

“Yep.” Quinn’s eyes darted from monitor to monitor. “This company thinks they have an ironclad firewall. But I will get through. I always do.” He slammed his hand on the desk. “You tricky dick!” Growling ominously and jabbing a finger at the monitor, he added, “I will break you.”

He rolled his stool over to the end table to grab his vape. After taking a hit, he smirked. “Normally on a Sunday I would’ve gotten dressed up for brunch, but your roommate keeps canceling. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

He offered the vape to Spencer, who declined. Shrugging, Quinn took a second hit. He leisurely exhaled the THC-laced vapor, regarding Spencer with curiosity.

“Come on, just put me out of my misery and say it,” Spencer said.

“Say what?”

“‘I told you so.’ That just like you predicted, my plan blew up in my face.”

“I’m guessing this is about Mickey.” Quinn took a seat in the chair across from Spencer and kicked his roller stool toward his desk. “Xander told me what happened.”

Spencer bristled. Of course Xander had talked to Quinn already. Putting his own spin on the story, no doubt. “He told you how he stabbed me in the back and was a total dick to Mickey?”

“He feels bad about it.”

“He hasn’t apologized yet.”

“Have you apologized to him?”

Spencer stared at Quinn in disbelief. “Me? Apologize for what ?”

“For calling him a whore.”

“I didn’t call him a whore,” Spencer grumbled.

Quinn leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows.

“I called him a slut. Who’s whoring around.”

“Ah,” Quinn said with a look of mock solemnity.

“In my defense, he is a slut. We both are.”

Quinn laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s the point, Spence. Christ, you’re both so stubborn.”

Spencer scrubbed his face and pushed his hands through his hair, interlocking his fingers when they came to rest on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Your old life. Being slutty. Now that you’re married, do you miss it?”

Quinn considered his question carefully, crossing his legs and setting his vape pen back on the table. “Sometimes. We had a lot of fun back in the day. But it was worth it, leaving that life behind to be with Henry.”

Spencer had always assumed the prospect of leaving behind his lifestyle of carefree indulgence would be terrifying. But now, on the brink of doing exactly that, he wasn’t scared. He was confused. He’d been barreling through life penis-first so he could keep his heart protected. Had he been protecting it too well?

Had he done such a good job of convincing himself that love was a lie, that he wouldn’t recognize love if it was standing right in front of him?

“How did you know Henry was the one?”

“Oh. Well, I wanted to be around him all the time. Whenever he looked at me or laughed at something I said, I got this…” Quinn wiggled his fingers in front of his sternum. “This fluttery feeling in my chest. Butterflies, I guess.” He chuckled softly.

“I didn’t know how he felt about me, so when he asked me out, I was excited. And nervous. I wasn’t the most experienced at dating. It was nice, though. Talking over dinner and getting to know more about him. It opened my eyes. I mean, I knew Henry was an attractive guy. But when we finally got to be alone, without any distractions, and I got to really look at him, I saw how beautiful he truly was. I was sitting across from this buttoned-up lawyer, and he was beautiful.”

Spencer thought back to his dinner date, and the way Mickey’s amber eyes shone like gold in the subdued candlelight. Was he the only man to ever appreciate how beautiful Mickey was?

“Anyway,” Quinn continued, “after dinner we went dancing. When the first slow song played, he held me around my waist, and even before we kissed, I could tell he was special. That my life wasn’t going to be the same after that dance.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “Sometimes, you’re with the person who’s meant to be yours and you just know.”

“You two make it look easy.”

Quinn smiled and swept his bangs off his forehead with a practiced flick of his wrist. “That’s nice to hear, but it’s not easy. Listen, Henry and I have our share of problems.” When Spencer snorted, Quinn began counting off points on his fingers. “We fight about money. He has a habit of borrowing my shoes without asking. Our sex drives are different.” He lowered his voice. “I jerk off a lot.”

They shared a laugh, and Quinn gripped his friend’s knee. “Love isn’t always rosy. It can be a lot of work. But it’s always worth it.”

Spencer nodded, his face screwed up into a pensive scowl.

“If you’re following along,” Quinn said, his expression growing fond, “this is the part where you tell me you have feelings for Mickey.”

Spencer picked at his fingernail. “I do. I have feelings for Mickey. It doesn’t matter, though. He hates me now.”

“I don’t think he hates you. He’s hurt, and confused. Have you talked to him since that morning?”

“No.”

“Might be a good place to start.”

Spencer opened his text history with Mickey. It had been silent for weeks, but at one point they’d texted every day. The last message in their conversation was from the afternoon before their date at the art gallery:

MICKEY

I’m excited about tonight!

Spencer typed Can we talk and hit send.

Delivered.

Read.

Then nothing.

He locked his screen and dropped his phone into his lap. “He read it, but he’s not answering.”

“Give him a minute.”

Spencer could practically hear the seconds ticking away in his head as he waited for a response that would probably never come. He hung his head. “I blew it, Quinn. I fucked up, and I hurt him.”

Quinn stood and held his arms out. “Bring it in.” Spencer closed the distance between them and fell into his friend’s embrace. Resting his head on Quinn’s shoulder, Spencer mumbled into his T-shirt, “What do I do now?”

“Tell him you like him. Apologize for not telling him about your list. Tell him a good friend warned you it was a bad idea.”

“There it is,” Spencer said, with humor in his voice. “The ‘I told you so.’”

Quinn chuckled and kissed Spencer’s cheek. “Suppose you talk it out and he forgives you. What do you want then?”

“I want…” I want to stop pretending Mickey is just a pal, or a friend with benefits, or a one-night stand. I want to stop trying to convince myself that I’m not falling for him.

I want to hold him and tell him I was meant to be his.

“I want another chance. To see if we can be something more.”

Quinn pulled back from the hug but kept a hold of Spencer’s biceps. “I’ve gotten to know Mickey fairly well, and I get the impression he’s looking for something real. Someone to date, not a buddy to fool around with. You’d have to leave the hookup scene behind.”

“I know, but I’m nervous. What if we get together and he…” The words lodged in his throat like burrs.

“Fucks around on you behind your back and breaks your heart? Mickey’s not like Garrett, and I think, deep down, you already know that.” A notification pinged on Spencer’s phone. “Is that him?”

Spencer checked and shook his head. “Nope.” He sighed and slipped his phone into his back pocket.

“Look, I’m not saying that things will automatically work out if you and Mickey get together. Sometimes relationships work and sometimes they don’t. But if you have feelings for him, you have to figure out if it’s worth taking a risk. Are you willing to put it all on the line for him?”

“I think so.”

Quinn ducked his head so he could make eye contact with Spencer. “You think so?”

Spencer broke into a smile. “Fine. Yes. I’ll take the risk. I’m willing to put it all on the line for Mickey.”

“Okay then.” Quinn playfully slapped Spencer’s arm and sat back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk. “It took a while, but we got there.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and laughed. “Well, Mr. Relationship God, what do I do now?”

Quinn picked up his vape pen and took a hit. “If it were me, I wouldn’t sit around waiting for a text.”

“I should go talk to him in person.”

“Yes,” Quinn said, nodding his head and holding out his hands as if that answer should’ve been self-evident.

“Okay. Okay,” Spencer said, shaking out his hands. “I’m doing this. I’m going to talk to Mickey. Thanks, man.” He clapped Quinn on the shoulder on his way by but froze at the base of the staircase. “What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“He might not. But you won’t know unless you try.”

“Right.” Spencer nodded his chin firmly, then jogged up the stairs.

Quinn called after him, “Tell your roommate we’re having brunch next weekend, with or without him.”

When he got to the foyer, Spencer peeked into the living room. Henry was swaying with his eyes closed, playing a spirited rendition of Sara Bareilles’s “Brave” on their baby grand piano.

“I’m heading out,” Spencer said.

Henry played a final note and spun around on the bench. “Did you guys work everything out?”

“Yep. All good.”

While Spencer was fiddling with the chin strap on his helmet, Henry closed the piano’s keylid and strolled over to the foyer. “Are you going to talk to Mickey?”

Spencer opened the front door and leaned against the doorframe, breaking into a wide grin. “Seems like everyone is taking quite the interest in whether Mickey and I make up. Do you guys have a betting pool going or something?”

“Nothing like that. We just like Mickey. And we like the person you are when you’re with him.”

“Thanks Henry,” Spencer muttered, turning quickly to hide the quiver of his lower lip. The last thing he needed was to get all emotional before he bared his soul to Mickey. “I’ll let you and Quinn know how it goes.”

He hurried down the stairs and hopped on his scooter.

From the doorway, Henry called, “Good luck! And remember you can’t ride those things on the sidewalk!”

Spencer waved in acknowledgment without looking back, zooming down their driveway and taking a left turn into the street. He had no idea what he was going to say to Mickey when he finally saw him again, but he had time on the way over to practice his speech.

Once they were face-to-face again, things would be alright.

Mickey would have had some time to cool off, so hopefully his anger had subsided. They’d sit down, Spencer would apologize, they’d talk it out, and things would go back to the way they were before.

He had to believe that. The alternative was too painful to consider.

It was a beautiful afternoon, mild and bright. A perfect day for a reconciliation. As he rode down the street, with the wind whipping past him and the sun warm on his skin, he allowed himself to hope that he and Mickey might end the day in one another’s arms.