Spencer Cohen Series, Book Two (The Spencer Cohen Series 2) (6 page)

“Veto.”

I burst out laughing. “No calling veto! That rule has been taken off the table. Not that it matters, because your vetoing tells me it’s definitely the second one. You’ve never experienced another man’s mouth on your arse.”

I could hear him swallow.

“And you want to. And Andrew?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“I’m only too happy to oblige.”

He let out a nervous laugh. “How did this conversation end up in the gutter so quickly?”

“We’re two men who are trying to abstain from fucking each other’s brains out. It’s going to be the topic of conversation until it happens,” I told him. “Probably worse after it does.”

He groaned into the phone. “You’re killing me here.”

“If you tell me you need to end the call so you can wank, I’ll be very disappointed.”

He laughed but it was a pained sound. “What if I said it was because dinner just arrived?”

“I’d call bullshit. And still be disappointed you didn’t let me listen.”

His breathing was heavy in my ear. “Um, do you think tomorrow night when I come over for dinner we could possibly put an end to our suffering?”

“Nope. It’s too soon.” And this was too much fun. “But just so you know, I’m going to rim you.”

His breath hitched and then I heard it. A zipper.

“Did you just unzip yourself?” I asked quietly. “Have you got your hand on your gorgeous cock already?”

“Um…”

I smiled. He totally did. “Good. Fuck your fist like you want to fuck my arse.”

“Oh, Spencer,” he whispered. I could hear the faint slick noise of his hand pumping his cock. The mental image of that sent a surge of precum to the tip of my dick. I slid my hand underneath the waistband of my trousers, and yeah, I was wet at the tip of my dick. I gave myself a quick few pumps, imagining him doing the same.

“And tomorrow night, I’m going to fuck your arse with my tongue.”

He let out a strangled cry as he came. He was obviously trying to be quiet but couldn’t seem to hold it in. “Oh, God.”

“Mmmm,” I groaned, knowing my words had brought him undone. “You’re so fucking hot.”

His breaths were ragged, and he laughed. “I can’t believe I just did that.” Then, before he could be any more embarrassed, his doorbell rang. “Shit! That’s dinner. I’m not even kidding. I have to go.”

I was still laughing when the call ended abruptly in my ear. But I was also still hard. I considered going into the shower but thought
fuck it
. I undid my pants, pulled them down around my hips, and remembering the sounds of Andrew coming so close in my ear, I brought myself to climax.

About two minutes later, I was still lazy-smiling at my lounge room wall when my phone buzzed with a message.

The Chinese food delivery guy thinks I’m weird. I blame you.

I replied.
You’re welcome. And Chinese food on a Monday night, seriously?

Shut up. Its wanton soup and steamed vegetables. But this is the reason I work out so much.

I will teach you how to cook.

Will you be naked?

Yes.

Even better.

I smiled ridiculously at my phone as I replied,
Oh, btw, you totally just made me come.

Talking about cooking naked can make you come?

No, listening to your phone sex sounds totally made me come.

Oh.

Are you blushing?

Veto.

The next morning, I went through Lance’s emails again and took down all the details on paper to get a clearer picture in my head. The school Yanni went to was on Melrose, as was the café he worked at. So I started there. I called, and after a few rings, a girl answered above the clatter and noise of a coffee shop. “Hi,” I started cheerfully. “Wow, you sound really busy. I don’t mean to keep you, but I was wondering if you could tell me if Yanni will be in today?”

“Um,” she stalled. “Hang on one sec.”

The sound muffled, like she put her hand over the mouthpiece. Then a man spoke. “Who is this?”

“My name is Spencer,” I told him. “I have classes with Yanni, and I haven’t seen him. I thought maybe he was still working there?”

“He doesn’t work here anymore,” he replied.

“Oh. Well, do you know where I might be able to find him?” I pushed.

“I can’t help you,” he said bluntly and disconnected the call.

Right, then. Next effort was the college. Which of course was a dead end. The woman I spoke to was like a brick wall. “I wouldn’t give out student personal information even if it wasn’t against the law,” she said, before telling me not to call back. Honestly, I expected nothing less, but I had to try anyway.

I closed down my laptop, pocketed my phone, and went downstairs to help Emilio out in the tattoo shop instead. I actually liked getting in and doing the mundane stuff that Emilio didn’t really have time for. I took a delivery of sterile equipment and restacked the boxes in the cabinets, did a quick stock audit, put in an order for more ink, answered the phone, took bookings, double-checked timeslots, and helped Daniela when she needed a second pair of hands. I fit in there, I belonged. Wearing a T-shirt so my tattooed arms were exposed, people who came in didn’t look twice at me. In fact, I’d come to know most of Emilio’s regulars by name and would chat with them while they spent hours in the chair getting inked or pierced or whatever. Sometimes they just came in to say hi.

And it helped to keep my mind off my newest case. Well, I thought it did. “Everything okay, Spencer?” Emilio asked. “You keep cleaning that glass counter top, you’ll wear it out.”

I hadn’t really even realised I was still rubbing it. I looked at the paper towel in my hand to find it worn through. “Oh, yeah. Just this new client,” I said.

“It’s bugging you too much,” Emilio said. “You need to tell the client you can’t help him.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Lola came through from the back. Her pink hair was styled in 1950s victory rolls, which matched the rockabilly style black dress and her pink high heels matched her hair. I’d never not seen her look a million dollars. I hadn’t even noticed she was here, a sure sign of just how distracted I’d been. I relayed my findings, or lack thereof, on the guy called Yanni.

“I’m heading downtown tomorrow,” Lola said. “I could drop you off at the college if you want?”

“It can’t hurt, I guess,” I said. “Thanks, that’d be good.”

Lola eyed me cautiously. “Sure it’s not something else bothering you?”

“Like what?”

“Andrew.”

“What about him?”

She smiled. “Was he okay with it?”

“Yeah. In the beginning he was concerned, but in the end he was fine. I think he just kind of forgot what it is I do.” I shrugged. “I’m seeing him tonight, so we’ll talk about it more then, I guess.”

“Ooh, any plans?”

“I’m cooking him dinner,” I said proudly. “I’m going to attempt to teach him how to make spaghetti bolognaise. Nothing too fancy, but considering he can’t make toast, I thought it was best to start with the basics. Which reminds me”—I looked at my watch—“I better go to the store. Anybody need anything?”

“Nope,” Lola answered. “Not me. I’m heading off soon myself, but I’ll pick you up out front tomorrow at eight.”

I kissed her cheek. “You are the light of my life.”

She fluttered her eyelashes and posed like a fair-maiden. “Why thank you, but I’ve seen the way you look at another, and I think I’ve been rendered to second place.”

I put my hand to my heart and faked a gasp. “Never! My heart is yours and yours alone.”

Lola put the back of her hand to her forehead and played along. “Alas, if only we were born to another time.”

I bowed in front of her. “If only your heart didn’t belong to another.”

Lola curtsied. “If I only had a penis.”

Everyone laughed. Even Emilio had to stop tattooing; not only was he laughing, but the guy getting tattooed laughed as well. Lola and I were always joking around with each other like that.

I kissed Lola’s knuckles, like a true gentleman, before walking to the door. I called out, “Last call for anything at the grocery store.”

No one wanted anything so I walked out, still with a smile on my face. I tried not to think about how good life was right now. I didn’t want to jinx it. But I couldn’t remember ever feeling this happy. Not for a lot of years, anyway. I also tried not to read too much into my relationship with Andrew. Sure, he was great and made me happy, but my entire happiness wasn’t hinged on him. I wouldn’t allow it to be. Because, if for whatever reason he decided I wasn’t right for him, then I wouldn’t allow my world to fall apart.

I couldn’t let that happen again.

I guessed it was part of the defence mechanism I’d learned to put up around my heart. And I couldn’t deny it. If Andrew did decide I wasn’t the one for him, then I’d be devastated. I knew it was only early days, but he was a remarkable guy. He knew my family history and was still interested in getting to know me, in spending time with me. And that made me incredibly happy. But I could compartmentalise enough to know that the fact I was letting someone past my defensive walls was a huge thing for me.

It showed me I was ready, finally after all these years, to move on with my life.

I wasn’t worthless, like my father had told me. I wasn’t unlovable, like he’d implied.

And so even if Andrew and I didn’t work out, I’d made incredible groundwork that my old psychiatrist would have been proud of. I’m sure she’d have told me exactly what Lola had said. I deserved to be happy. And I was happy. My life here in LA was great. I had the best friends, who doubled as my family, and Andrew was just the icing on the cake.

Mmm, cake.
I wondered what kind of cake was his favourite. Did he even like cake? It was something I’d never thought to ask… When I arrived at the store, I headed straight for the bakery section and pulled out my phone. I shot him a quick text.

Do you like cake?

His response took a minute.
Is that a euphemism?

I laughed at the screen, not caring what the people standing next to me thought.
LOL No. Actual cake. Chocolate, caramel, vanilla?

Um, cake with fruit?

I squinted at his reply.
What? Nobody likes fruit in their cake. Except old people. At Christmastime. It’s like a crime against humanity.

My phone rang almost immediately. Of course it was him. There was no hello or anything. “Crime against humanity?”

“Yes. No cake should have fruit in it. It’s an insult to the cake part.”

He laughed. “Where are you?”

“In the cake aisle at the shop.”

“At the shop?”

“Grocery store. Seriously, American people need to learn Australian. And they don’t even have fruity cakes for sale when it’s not December.”

“Yes, they do.”

“No, there was a petition. All the real cakes, like chocolate and buttercream, decided that fruitcake didn’t qualify as a cake.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “No?

“Nope. It was decided that fruitcake contained more fruit than cake, therefore it was not eligible.”

“Really?”

“Yep, really. But then it didn’t technically fit into the fruit section either. And the alcohol section certainly didn’t want it.”

“Is this conversation going somewhere?”

“Yes. It’s going back to the chocolate cake section.”

Andrew laughed. “Chocolate cake it is, then.”

“Do you even like cake?”

“Um, not really.”

I stopped walking. “But you said you did.”

“Well, I thought I had to pick one. Like it was a trivia question or, well, I don’t even know.”

“Dear God. You’d pick
fruitcake
?”

He laughed again. “If I were to pick dessert, it wouldn’t be cake at all. I would choose ice cream. Gelato, actually.”

I turned toward the dairy section. “Now, gelato I can certainly do. What flavour’s your favourite?”

“Is there a right and wrong answer?”

I chuckled into the phone. “Yes. But I’m not telling.”

“Well then, I would choose lemon gelato.”

I stopped walking again. “Seriously? What is it with you and fruit?”

He was still smiling, I could tell. “If you’ve never had lemon gelato, you are surely missing out.”

“Do I need to try it?”

“Absolutely.”

“All right. But if it’s gross, you owe me chocolate cake.”

He laughed. “Deal.”

“And the good stuff. I like mud cake with the ganache. Not some supermarket bought one.”

“You were going to get me a store-bought one.”

“Well, true. But that was before. Anyway, if you don’t cook at home, it’s not like you’d go to a store anyway.”

“I go to the store,” he said defensively. “Just not for… food that requires cooking.”

I laughed. “Well, you’re cooking tonight.”

He groaned. “Really?”

“Yep. What time will you finish work?”

“I’ll get to your place around seven. Is that okay?”

I looked at my watch. It was almost five. “That’s fine.”

“I was hoping you were joking about the cooking thing. I thought…”

“You thought what?”

He cleared his throat. “Oh, never mind. I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”

The phone offered only silence in my ear. I figured he must have had a co-worker walk in, so I finished my shopping, lemon gelato included, and went home.

At five minutes to seven there was a knock at my door. With the jazz funk album he chose for me playing softly in the background, I opened the door to find Andrew standing there, all fucking gorgeous and smiling. It had been, what? Not even two days since I’d seen him? And he was somehow even better looking than I remembered. I wanted to grab his knitted vest and drag him inside so I could kiss him, but instead, because I had manners, I stepped aside. “Please, come in.”

He walked in and shoved his hands in his pockets like he was nervous. “You’re playing the album I got you.”

“I am.” I closed the door behind him and stepped right in up close, so our lips were almost touching. He smelled fresh-showered and delicious, and I breathed his scent in. “Hello,” I whispered.

He kissed me, and I had to stop myself from pushing him back against the door and kissing him until he couldn’t stand up. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I pulled my mouth from his, all ragged-breaths and swollen lips, and could offer no more than a one-word sentence. “Dinner.”

Andrew frowned, or possibly pouted. He looked right at my mouth and licked his lips. “We could order in. I’ll pay.”

I laughed and took a step back from him. He was so damn intoxicating. “Tempting. Really fucking tempting, but no. I promised I’d show you how to cook.”

He looked into the kitchen. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”

I shook my head. “No. Why did you think I was joking?”

He blushed from his cheeks right down underneath his collar. It was then I noticed he had showered before he came over. I remembered back to our conversation about dinner tonight and how it evolved into a conversation about rimming…

“Did you think dinner was a euphemism for something else?” I asked.

His eyes flashed to mine, and his voice squeaked. “Um. Maybe?”

“As in dinner would be
eating
something else? Like arse.”

He barked out a laugh. “Don’t just say it like that!”

I grabbed his hand and led him into the kitchen, or more precisely to stand in front of a chopping board that had all the ingredients for tonight’s dinner on it. He looked down at it like it was a Chinese trigonometry equation, and trying not to laugh, I stood behind him. I put my hands on his hips and my lips at the back of his ear. “First we eat dinner, then I eat you. Deal?”

“You can’t just say stuff like that to me,” he said gruffly. He half turned his head so his cheek was touching my nose. “Or we won’t be cooking dinner.”

God give me strength. He was killing me. I playfully gnashed my teeth at his neck. “Later. I promise. Now, pick up the knife, Andrew,” I urged him. “We need the onion to be finely chopped.”

He hesitated to pick up the onion. “Um.”

“Have you ever cut an onion before?”