Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 35

THIRTY-FIVE

Spencer

Spencer studied a close-up of Casey’s eyes from one of the photos he’d shot in the Castro. He fiddled with the hue and saturation sliders until the young man’s natural green eyes became a stunning shade of emerald. Satisfied with the effect, he zoomed back out to the whole photo and contemplated the next enhancement. Shifting Marco’s T-shirt from white to pale blue would give the photo a more nuanced color palette.

While he carefully outlined the shirt, Xander came out of his room and breezed past him on his way to the kitchen.

“Hey,” Spencer said, looking up from his laptop for the first time in hours.

“Hey,” Xander answered from the kitchen island, adding a microscopic chin nod.

In the two weeks since Xander had brought Kinley’s print up from the mailroom, the two had greeted each other whenever they passed in the apartment, but they hadn’t yet had a conversation. The ice was thawing, but slowly.

Xander set two glasses on the counter and poured a shot of whiskey into each. He was dressed up, wearing a gunmetal grey sport shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest level and his tight black jeans.

“Are you having someone over? I can take this into my room.”

Xander shook his head. He strolled over to the couch, took a seat next to Spencer, and handed him a glass. “Bottoms up,” he said, clinking their glasses together.

Stunned by the unexpected gesture, Spencer stared at the glass in his hand with his mouth open.

Xander smirked. “What are you working on?”

“Editing some photos. I’m building an online portfolio to showcase my recent work. Just clean stuff, though,” he was quick to add. “No porn or boudoir photos. And no weddings.”

“May I?” Xander held out his hand.

Spencer toggled from Photoshop to his new website and handed over the laptop.

While balancing the laptop on his thighs, Xander scrolled through the gallery entitled Late Summer, Castro . “Who are these guys?”

“That’s Casey and that’s Marco. A couple of Sundays ago I went down to the Castro to take pictures. Nothing was working until I met these guys.”

“Cute couple.” Xander lingered over every photo in the gallery, pointing out the details that caught his eye. “These are fun. Different from your usual stuff.”

“Thanks. I’m trying a new direction.”

“How many galleries do you have?”

Spencer scrambled to close the laptop. “Oh, just three so far. It’s still a work in progress.”

Holding the laptop out of reach, Xander batted Spencer’s hands away. “Let me see.” He clicked on Galleries in the navigation bar. A menu dropped down, showing three entries: Late Summer, Castro; Celebration of Love, Richard and ángel; and Mickey. He clicked on Mickey.

Watching over Xander’s shoulder, Spencer sighed as his pictures of Mickey appeared on the screen. Xander scrolled through them without saying a word.

There was the selfie from their date at the ice cream shop. A shot of Mickey laughing on a park bench. Pictures from their night out at the Rumpus Room. A group photo of the guys from a Sunday brunch at Heyday, with Mickey in the foreground, the seat next to him vacant – waiting for Spencer to return after taking the picture.

The last photo in the gallery was the first picture he’d taken of Mickey – the one from their shopping trip at the mall. In the photo, Mickey leaned against a pillar near the fitting rooms, his hands in his pockets, beaming and confident in a new outfit.

(You’re far from ordinary, Mickey Briggs.)

Xander closed the laptop and set it on the coffee table. “I’m sorry. About Mick.”

“I’m sorry, too. For calling you a slut.”

Xander shrugged. “I am a slut. But you said it like it was a bad thing, like you were above it. That’s what pissed me off.”

“It was a shitty thing to say. I was just lashing out, trying to hurt you. I was angry that you told Mickey about my fuck-it list. Why the hell did you tell him, anyway?”

Xander swirled his glass of whiskey, avoiding eye contact with Spencer as he muttered his answer. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Spencer huffed out a wry chuckle.

“I swear!” Xander said. “I thought it was better to tell him before things went any further and feelings got involved.” He nudged Spencer’s knee. “But I was too late, wasn’t I?”

“Not that it matters anymore. Just so you know, I threw away my fuck-it list. I don’t care about it anymore. That night he and I shared had nothing to do with the goddamned list.”

“I know that now.” Xander took a sip of whiskey before placing his glass on the table. “I’m going to tell you something I haven’t told anyone. I swear to god, though, if you tell any of the guys about this, I’ll glue the flies shut on all your jeans.”

Spencer drew a cross over his heart. “I won’t say anything, I promise.”

Xander searched his friend’s face and then nodded. “Before Quinn met Henry, when it was just the three of us hanging out, I had a crush on Quinn. I was totally infatuated with him.”

“Huh.” Spencer was taken aback. The three of them had been practically inseparable when they first met Quinn, but he couldn’t remember anything that would have suggested Xander’s feelings toward their friend were more than platonic. “I had no idea.”

“Well, I hid it, because I didn’t want anything to come between you and me. I take our sex god thing seriously. No dating, right?”

Spencer winced, a twinge of pain pinching his chest. Sex gods don’t date . At age nineteen, those words seemed imbued with wisdom, a creed to live by. A reminder of what was important. Pleasure. Sexual freedom.

Sex gods don’t date. Because sex is a game to be played with abandon.

Sex gods don’t date. Because love is a lie.

Sex gods don’t date.

Don’t date.

Don’t date.

Lately those words were nothing more than an echo, mindlessly repeating themselves as they bounced around the lonely expanse of his heart, losing meaning with each iteration.

“I got over it,” Xander continued. “Henry can be a drip sometimes, but he’s a good guy. He’s good for Quinn.” His expression darkened. “I never had sex with him, you know. I fooled around with you and Blake, but not with Quinn. Because it would have meant something. So when I saw what was happening between you and Mick…”

Xander took a sip of whiskey and shot Spencer a sidelong glance. “After my dad disowned me, I lost most of my family. You and the guys are my family now. And one by one I’m watching each of you move on. Once you’re all paired off, I’ll be left alone.”

Spencer wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “You’re my best friend, Xander. I love you. You’re not going to be alone. You’ll always be a part of my life. No matter what.”

“I hope so,” Xander said. “Because if you think I’m ever moving out of this apartment you’re crazy.” The two broke into much needed laughter that dispelled any remaining ill will. “Come out with me tonight. It’ll be good for you.”

“Ugh, I don’t know. Where are you going?”

“The Blind Tiger. It’s another speed dating night. We can be sex vultures together.”

After everything that had happened the last couple months, having sex with a stranger was the furthest thing from Spencer’s mind. And the Blind Tiger? The thought of stepping foot into the bar where he and Mickey officially met – where he felt the first stirrings of affection for the kind, gentle man – made him sick to his stomach. “No thanks. I don’t feel like hooking up tonight.”

“I understand.” Xander kicked back his whiskey, then took Spencer’s drink and kicked that one back as well. He shuddered and put the empty glass in Spencer’s hand. “Love you, man.” He kissed him on the cheek, hopped off the couch, and stepped into a pair of black loafers. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me,” he said before closing the door behind him.

“ Caw! Caw! Sex vultures! ” Xander’s voice carried throughout the entire hallway on his way to the elevator. It was a wonder they didn’t receive more complaints from their neighbors.

Chuckling, Spencer took their empty glasses out to the kitchen. When he got back to the couch and opened his laptop, the picture of Mickey filled the screen.

He slid his phone closer and pulled up his text history with Mickey. Even though he’d given up hope a week ago, part of him still wished that a reply might have magically materialized since the last time he’d checked.

Before he could stop himself, he typed out a new message.

SPENCER

You may not want to talk. I get it. But I need you to know I’m sorry. I wish things could go back to the way they were. I’m falling

His thumbs froze before he could finish that thought. What are you doing? He’s dating Keith now. He’s moved on.

Let him go.

With a sigh, he deleted the text and locked his phone. After a parting glance at the image of Mickey on his computer screen, Spencer closed the laptop, his heart heavy with his unspoken goodbye.

Wherever Mickey was, whatever he was doing, Spencer hoped he was happy.

Mickey

By the time Mickey and Jazz arrived at the Blind Tiger, men were already assembling for the speed dating event. They gathered in loose clusters, chatting and laughing, sipping on beers and fancy cocktails.

Mickey hovered by the doorway, taking in the scene, anxiety skittering around inside his chest like a hopped-up hamster. This was always the most intimidating part. Making an entrance. Walking through the front door and boldly claiming, through your presence, I belong here .

Jazz nudged him with her shoulder. “Ready?”

He took a deep breath and shook out his hands. “Ready.”

As they made their way to the bar, several men stopped in mid-conversation and checked him out, their gazes raking over him from head to toe. Heat rose to his cheeks. Their scrutiny made him self-conscious, but he was nonetheless elated by the attention. He’d learned a lot since the last time he’d come to this event, and he was putting every bit of that hard-earned knowledge to use.

The outfit he’d chosen was simple but sexy – a crisp white shirt worn over a tank, tight jeans that hugged his ass and made his package look huge, and the classic black boots he’d bought on his shopping trip with Spencer. That morning he’d gone to Felix for a fresh haircut and beard trim. He was even wearing a spritz of cologne.

Although he didn’t yet have the confident swagger of a man in full command of his sexuality, he weaved through the sea of men with his head held high, proud of the progress he’d made.

Tonight, for the first time, he felt like he belonged here.

At the bar, Jazz lifted up on her toes to kiss Nathan on the lips.

“Hi, beautiful,” he said, his voice a sultry drawl.

“Hi yourself.” She traced her finger down his smooth chest from his throat to the vee of his shirt’s neckline. “Did you miss me?”

Mickey cleared his throat and Nathan straightened up, turning to greet him with a smile. “Hey, Mickey. Shot of Basil Hayden?”

“Yeah.” With the flash of insight that he wasn’t trying to impress anyone anymore, and could order whatever drink he wanted, he held up his hand. “Wait, actually. Can I have an Absolut and tonic instead?”

“Sure thing.” Nathan tapped the bar in front of Jazz. “Sex on the beach?”

“Only if sex on the bar isn’t an option.”

Nathan’s eyes flashed with heat, and he licked his lower lip. “Don’t tempt me,” he murmured before pouring their drinks.

Mickey leaned closer to Jazz and waved his finger between her and Nathan. “How long has this been a thing?”

“A couple of weeks. We’re just having fun. Some texting. Some flirting. Nothing serious.” Nathan returned, placed their drinks on the bar, and winked before moving on to the next customers. “Yet,” she added.

“It’s good to know at least one of us can pick up a guy in a gay bar.”

She slapped his arm playfully. “I feel good about tonight. You’re going to meet the man of your dreams.”

“We’ll see,” Mickey said with a chuckle. He surveyed the crowd gathering around the chairs arranged in pairs for speed dating. The first time he came to the event, the men had seemed impossibly gorgeous – toned, tanned, and dressed like GQ models. All of them out of his league.

But tonight, subtle details caught his eye. An arm positioned to hide a belly pooching over a belt. A hank of hair combed over a balding crown. The men weren’t flawless after all. Well-groomed and well-dressed, for sure, but they were just men.

And as he studied them, he saw more. One man gripped the neck of his beer bottle so tightly his knuckles were white. Another’s face was tense with a forced smile, while the man he was talking to shifted from foot to foot. Some of these men were as nervous as he was.

It was like he was finally seeing past the glamour and peeking at the hidden code behind the Matrix.

I belong here.

“I should go get signed in.”

“Okay, I’ll be here at the bar if you need anything. And honey, coming out tonight was a big step. If you want to leave at any time, we can.”

Mickey glanced quickly at the men he no longer found so intimidating. “I think I’m good.” He hugged his friend and made his way over to the registration table.

He’d no sooner slapped a name tag onto his shirt than he heard his name. “Mickey, my dear!” Madge Maker sashayed over, draped in a sparkly silver gown. Her hair was swept into a baby blue updo, and comically oversized crystal drops hung from her ears. She pulled him into a hug and gave him an air-kiss to each cheek.

“Hi Madge.”

“I saw your name on the list. I’m so glad you came.” She cupped his cheek with a silky gloved hand. “Look at you. My baby bird has spread his wings.”

Charmed by the praise, Mickey smiled bashfully. “Here’s hoping I don’t nosedive straight to the ground.”

Madge shook her head, her gaze fond. “No, my sweet boy. You’re going to fly.”

From across the room, one of the bartenders called out, “ Jack !”

Madge sighed. “A woman’s work is never done. Excuse me, dear. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” Then, in his boy voice, he yelled back, “On my way!”

Mickey watched Madge saunter to the bar with an exaggerated roll of her hips. Too late, he caught a glimpse of a man out of the corner of his eye, drunk and tripping over his own feet. A split second later the man plowed into him.

The scent of citrus exploded between them. Orange juice flowed down Mickey’s arm in a sticky river, soaking his sleeve and running off his fingers onto the floor.

“Oh! Oh no! Sorry,” the man slurred. He pawed ineffectually at the spreading wetness on Mickey’s sleeve.

Mickey pushed his hands away. “It’s fine. Leave it.” A hush had fallen in the immediate vicinity, and all eyes were on the scene unfolding between them. Mortified and mumbling “Excuse me,” Mickey squeezed past the man and raced to the bathroom.

He rinsed his hand in the sink and inspected the orange stain that covered most of his left arm. It was glaringly visible on his white shirt. “Damn it,” he muttered, pulling a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and blotting at the wet fabric.

In the stalls behind him, a man moaned in pleasure, and moments later came the unmistakable sound of bodies slapping together. Mickey’s enthusiasm for the evening was fading fast. Maybe it was time to call it a night.

The bathroom door opened, and when Mickey saw the man who was now standing behind him his stomach dropped. “Xander?”

“I saw what happened.” Xander held up a squat bottle. “Club soda. It’ll lift the stain.” He joined Mickey at the sink. “Hand me your shirt.”

Mickey hesitated, unsure if he trusted Xander’s motivations.

“I come in peace,” Xander assured him.

Mickey unbuttoned his shirt and reluctantly slipped it off. Wearing a tank top as an undershirt had seemed like a good idea when he got dressed. He’d reasoned that the outline of the tank showing through the white shirt would look sexier than a regular T-shirt. But now he was standing in the bathroom of a gay bar wearing only a tank top, uncomfortably exposed, his arms and shoulders completely bare, his nipples visible through the sheer cotton.

Xander poured some soda on his shirt and began working out the stain. “You look good in a tank.”

Mickey gnawed on his lower lip and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You don’t think it shows too much body hair?”

After an appraising glance, Xander shook his head. “Nope.” He returned to scrubbing the shirt. “Are you excited about speed dating?”

The guys going at in the stall groaned and grunted, the slapping of their bodies growing louder and faster. “Not as excited as them.”

Laughing, Xander turned on the tap and rinsed the sleeve with fresh water. “There are some hot guys out there.”

“I guess.”

Xander carried Mickey’s shirt to the hand dryer and punched the chrome button, causing the dryer to whirr to life. While he moved the sleeve through the stream of hot air, the two guys stumbled out of the stall, sweaty, disheveled, and reeking of sex. They made their way to the sink, fastening their belts and buttoning their shirts.

“Bravo,” Xander said as they washed their hands. “Sounds like you really stuck the landing there.”

One of the guys scoffed. “At least I’m not the pervert listening to other guys fuck.”

“Dude, the guys at the Manhole heard that performance.”

“Whatever.” The guy looked between Xander and Mickey. “The stall is free now if you want to fuck your little boyfriend.”

“No thank you,” Xander said casually. “Mick is a classy guy. We only fuck in the bathrooms of five-star restaurants.”

With a disgusted grunt, the two guys stormed out of the bathroom, one of them muttering dick as the door closed behind them.

Xander handed Mickey his shirt. “It’s still a little damp, but it should dry out before the end of the first round. I got most of it out. Wash it on cold, and don’t put it in the dryer until you’re sure the stain is completely gone.”

“Thanks,” Mickey said. He wasn’t used to this side of Xander. His eyes didn’t have the hard-edged glint that always reminded Mickey of a predator sizing up its prey. Tonight his gaze held an unfamiliar warmth. It was disarming.

Mickey studied his fingers while he buttoned his shirt. He couldn’t look at Xander when he asked this question, no matter how inexplicably nice he was being. “How’s Spencer?”

“He’s been a little down, after everything that’s happened,” Xander said, his tone gentle.

A sudden thought occurred to Mickey, causing his heart to leap in his chest. “Is he here with you?”

“No. He hasn’t felt much like going out lately.”

Could that mean Spencer hadn’t been with another man since their date? Knowing Spencer, Mickey had no reason to suspect that was the case – he didn’t have to go to a bar, or even leave the house, to find a hookup on a dating app. But if it was true, if Spencer hadn’t slept with another man, maybe their time together had meant something after all.

“Will you tell him I said hi?” Mickey asked.

Xander nodded. “I will.” He folded down Mickey’s collar and patted him on the shoulder. “You should get back out there. They’ll be starting in a few minutes.” Something flashed in Xander’s eyes, there and then gone. “Good luck, Mick.”

A guy burst into the bathroom and speed-walked to the urinals. Before the door swung closed, Mickey heard “Seven Minutes In Heaven,” the song Madge lip-synched to start the event.

“I’m going to, um…” He pointed over his shoulder and took a few steps backward. “Yeah.” He turned and hurried out of the bathroom, breaking into a light jog so he’d make it to the other side of the bar before the first dates began.