Spencer Cohen Series, Book Three (The Spencer Cohen Series 3) (5 page)

Andrew blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears. He cleared his throat at the same time he kicked me in the shins under the table. “I um, I spend an hour in the gym every day so I can eat what I want, like an entire piece of pie that I’m not sharing.”

I laughed, despite the sting in my shin. “Yanni? How’s life with the Landon’s going?”

“Oh, it couldn’t be better,” he said. “They’re just the nicest people, ever.”

“But they’re driving him crazy,” Andrew added.

Yanni laughed and shook his head vehemently. “No, no. They’ve been very generous. I really do owe you everything, Spencer. If it weren’t for you…”

Peter looked at me questioningly, but it was Yanni who explained. “My ex hired Spencer to track me down and…
befriend
me. He… wasn’t a nice man, and Spencer took me in. He saved me.”

Oh.
“Well, I don’t know about that. I couldn’t leave you where you were, that was for certain. It was Andrew’s parents who took you in.” Peter was staring at me so I looked at him and said, “I kinda just did what was right.”

“You’re one of the good ones, Spencer,” he said. Then, with a heavy sigh he gave Yanni and Andrew a sad smile. “My
ex
is exactly that. My
ex
. It was confirmed tonight that he has no interest in returning to me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Andrew said. Yanni nodded sympathetically.

Peter simply shrugged. “Well, if he can move on so easily, it should be easy for me to do the same, right?”

“If only it was,” Yanni answered quietly.

Peter smiled at him. “So very true. Anyway, Spencer here very graciously offered to keep me company, for which I’m grateful.”

Just then, the waitress brought over plates of pie, saving me from further embarrassment in the form of compliments and acknowledgments. I collected my teaspoon from the side of my barely-touched coffee and tried to angle a piece of Andrew’s pie. He smacked my hand away and pointed his fork at me. “Don’t even try it.”

I laughed, and while he was distracted by looking at me, I quickly scooped a corner of his pie onto my spoon. I shoved it in my mouth before he could argue. Andrew’s mouth fell open in feigned offense, or maybe it was real, I wasn’t sure. “Quality control,” I told him. “I had to make sure it was fit for your consumption. You may now proceed to eat.”

“I hate you,” he said.

“No, you don’t.”

Peter and Yanni were looking at us, so I explained, “He just says that. He doesn’t really mean it.”

“I can see that,” Peter said fondly.

I cleared my throat and sipped the putrid coffee, all the while pretending I wasn’t blushing.

Andrew saved me by prompting conversation with Yanni and Peter, and when they were chatting away, Andrew eyed me and smiled. “I can’t believe you ate my pie,” he whispered.

“I had one bite.”

“You owe me.”

I quirked an eyebrow suggestively, my interest piqued. “Oh, really?”

He chuckled but didn’t reply. Not that it mattered, because I already planned to take him up on whatever he wanted. Peter and Yanni were now talking about the classic movies of the silent era, debating the man that was Charlie Chaplin. It was great to see Peter smile, and Yanni was a different guy than the one I met a few weeks before.

The conversations lasted until our coffee cups were empty. Peter clapped my shoulder. “Well, I should be going. But thank you for this evening.”

“No worries at all,” I said, starting to slide out of the booth seat.

“If you want to catch a movie,” Yanni said, “there’s a cinema in West Hollywood that plays silent films.” I don’t think he realised how it sounded, like he’d just asked Peter out on a date.

“Oh,” Peter said, clearly surprised. He swallowed hard and spoke kindly. “I’m truly flattered, but I’m not looking for that right now. I think I need to give my old heart some breathing room.”

Yanni looked horrified. He paled and his mouth fell open. Not in fear, like I’d seen on him before, but in the mortified kind of way. “I didn’t mean…” He shook his head and turned to Andrew for help. “I didn’t mean… Oh God.”

Andrew gently put his hand on Yanni’s arm before he could have a meltdown of some sort, but he looked to Peter when he spoke. “I don’t think Yanni meant it like a date.”

Yanni shook his head again and swallowed almost violently. His eyes were wide and held a flicker of panic I’d been unfortunate enough to witness in him just two weeks before. “No, I’m so not ready for that. Like really,
really
not ready for that. But my therapist said I should try and make new friends. You like silent films, and I love them, and I just thought, well, I don’t even know what I thought.”

Thankfully, Peter could read the situation, and from what very little he knew of Yanni, he knew enough to tread gently. “Yanni,” he said warmly. “I’d love to see a film with you. Spencer and Andrew can come along if they’d like”—he looked to me and nodded before turning back to Yanni—“if you’d prefer. Because having
friends
sounds perfect to me right now. Well, friends, popcorn, and Charlie Chaplin.”

Yanni let out a breathy smile, visibly relaxing. He nodded. “Okay.”

“Spencer can give you my phone number and email,” Peter said to him.

“I can,” I agreed. I slid out of the booth and waited for Peter to do the same.

He put his jacket back on before straightening up again. “Are you right to get a lift home with these boys?” he asked me.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I told him. “Peter, I’m sorry tonight didn’t go as planned.”

He offered a more genuine smile and a small nod of his head. “I’ll be in touch,” he said. He said goodbyes to Andrew and Yanni, and when he’d walked out the door, I fell back into the seat with a sigh.

I threw my jacket on the seat beside me. “Man, I wanted him to be one of my success stories.”

“He’s a nice guy,” Andrew offered.

“He is. Decent and honest. Which is rare these days.”

“Except for me.” Andrew sniffed indignantly. “I was honest and decent, right?”

I laughed. “Honest, yes. Decently indecent. In the best of ways.”

Andrew threw his scrunched up napkin at my face. “Just because you’re looking all hot in your tux with your bowtie off and buttons open doesn’t mean you can say those things.”

I looked to Yanni to tell him Andrew had a thing for James Bond, but he was biting on his bottom lip and picking at his nail. “Yanni? You okay?”

He looked up startled. “Oh, sure. Well, not really. Do you think I should have done that? Asked Peter if he wanted to be friends? I mean, who even does that outside of kindergarten? But he seems like a nice guy? Doesn’t he? I know my ability to see people for what they are isn’t great, but we like the same movies, don’t we? No one else I know loves silent films.”

He was rambling nervously, every statement sounding like a question. He was still so insecure and probably rightly so. But he was trying. He was trying to make his life better, seeing a shrink, and seeking to broaden his social circles. He was trying to get back everything his abusive ex, arsehole boyfriend had taken away.

“I think you and Peter would be good friends,” I told him. “I’ve only known Peter a week, but we’ve talked a lot. I’ve asked him a bunch of personal questions, and he was honest with me every time. I’ve been to his house, I’ve been in his car, and I felt 100% comfortable with him at all times.”

Yanni’s eyes flinched, but he nodded and took a deep breath. “Good.”

“And you didn’t ask him if he wanted to be friends,” I added. “You asked him if he wanted to hang out sometime. And that’s what new friends do. You did good.”

He smiled this time, and when I glanced at Andrew, I found him staring at me with those dark, heavy-lidded, “I want to fuck you” eyes. I raised an eyebrow at him in question, but he shook his head and laughed me off. Then he straightened up and said, “We better get going. It’s getting late.”

I grabbed my jacket and paid the tab, and we walked out together. “Are you sure you’re right to drive me home?” I asked as we made our way to Andrew’s car.

Yanni stopped walking. “If you two wanna go, I can…” He looked off down the street.

Andrew sighed and looked at us both over the roof of his car. “Would you two just get in?”

Yanni opened the back door, leaving me to get in the front passenger side. “He’s always bossy like that,” I told him as we all got into the car. “Don’t let his geeky sweater vests fool you. He was on the cover of
Bossy Geeks
and everything.”

Andrew started the car and stared at me. “I hate you.”

I took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “No, you don’t.”

I glanced back to Yanni to see him smiling at us. “You two can stop being so cute now.”

“Well, Spencer can,” Andrew deadpanned. “I, unfortunately, am cute all the time.”

I laughed. “It’s true. He is.”

We dropped Yanni back to Andrew’s parents’ house and said a quick, quiet hello to Mrs Landon. She was up reading over some report, looking glamorous as ever, even at such a late hour. The fabric of her overshirt flowed behind her like a stage performance as she kissed Andrew’s cheek, then to my surprise, she kissed mine. She noticed my half-undone tux. “It’s been an eventful night,” I said by way of explanation.

She smiled, seemingly delighted. “I can see that.”

Andrew took my hand and pulled me back toward the car. “We’ll see you at one next Sunday.”

She sighed into the night, then looked at me. “Spencer, please be here at eleven. Don’t let him tell you any other time.”

Andrew laughed as he got into the car. I waved her off, and Andrew drove us down to the gate where he entered in the security number and proceeded out onto the street. I took his hand again and held it on my thigh. “It was nice of you to take Yanni out tonight.”

“He’s had two weeks of solitude and therapy, not to mention living with my parents. I just thought he needed to get out of the house.”

“He’s trying to get his life back on track.”

Andrew nodded. “And you were great with Peter tonight. He obviously needed to talk.”

“He needed to not be alone,” I amended.

“And what you said to Yanni…” He looked from the road to me, then back to the road. “You’re so good with people. You say all the right things to make people feel better about themselves. You don’t do it to be patronising at all; you do it because you’re a good person.”

“I said those things to Yanni tonight because it was the truth.” I remembered how Andrew looked at me, all dark eyed and sexy. “You liked me saying those things.”

“I happen to find compassion and genuine empathy… appealing.”

“Is that so?” I noticed then how we were not going in the right direction. “Um, are we not going to my place?”

“Nope. We’re going to mine. I may not be the reason you wore that tux tonight, but I can damn well be the reason you take it off.”

I grinned at him. “Mmm, Bossy Andrew. My favourite.”

“I thought you liked Hulk Andrew.”

“I like all the Andrews.”

He laughed at that, though somewhere between then and arriving at his place, Bossy Andrew disappeared and Steamy Andrew was firmly in his place. We were no sooner inside his front door when he took my jacket and threw it carefully over the back of the sofa. He pulled me close to him, our lips almost touching, his eyes were intent, his expression serious. Without a word, he slowly unbuttoned my shirt, one torturous button at a time, and slid the white fabric off my shoulders. I let it fall to the floor, and that was when he noticed the fresh ink on my arm.

“Your new tattoo,” he whispered. “Is it sore?”

“Not at all,” I said gruffly. To be honest, I’d forgotten about it.
God, was that really just this morning?

He lifted my arm and slowly pressed his lips to the tender spot and then lifted my arm even higher and proceeded to kiss down my triceps. Fuck. He made a soft whimper sound that went straight to my dick. I was already on my way to hard, and now my balls throbbed with need.

Andrew put one hand to my jaw and roughly drew me in for a kiss. Hard lips, soft tongue, and the taste of him…

Then he pulled away, leaving me wanting and desperate. He was teasing me, proving he could own my body any time he wanted. “Andrew,” I murmured.

His eyes never left mine as he slowly went to his knees. And right there in his living room, he undid my suit pants, freed my aching cock, and took me into his mouth. My fingers found purchase in his hair, and he moaned around me. The sound resonated through my cock. He snaked his hands around my thighs to my arse as he took me in deep. He worked me over thoroughly, then taking me into his throat, he swallowed around me, and I came.

I had to admit, I really liked waking up with Andrew. Not only was his bed divinely comfortable, but there was a strange comfort, a peacefulness, a safeness in knowing he was beside me.

His hand lay across my stomach as he slept soundly. I entwined my fingers with his and breathed through the warmth that seeped through my chest. Such a simple, sweet thing to do, yet holding hands in bed was incredibly intimate. It was also another first for me.

I sighed at the ceiling, content, and if I were being honest with myself, I had to admit I was a little scared. Allowing myself to be exposed and vulnerable after all these years by freely giving my heart to another person was a frightening thing. I didn’t regret it, and I didn’t want to walk away.

God, that was the last thing I wanted to do. But I needed to take a moment to be sure I would still be okay if Andrew decided to say goodbye.

Was I strong enough to survive him leaving me?

What would it do to me?

Would I revert to the emotional detachment I’d once lived by? Would I be so unrecognisable to myself that I wouldn’t know where to start? Does being one half of a couple mean I lose part of who I am? Or do I gain, do I learn, do I grow? Would it make me a better person, or would it devastate me completely?

Maybe the real question I should be asking is why was I thinking Andrew would want to leave me?

I wasn’t sure of any of these things. What I was certain of was that I, Spencer Cohen, the guy who once swore to himself he’d never let anyone close enough to hurt him again, had done exactly that.

I was in love with Andrew.

My stupid heart went and ignored my stupid brain. And at least my stupid mouth hadn’t blurted it out to him before he was ready to hear it and before I was ready to admit it. Even though I’d overheard him tell his mother he was in love with me… What did that even mean for a guy like me?

“Wanna tell me why you’re trying to break my fingers?” Andrew asked, his voice croaking, thick with sleep.

I hadn’t realised I was squeezing his hand. “Oh. Sorry.”

I let go of his hand but he was quick to grab it back again. He put our joined hands on my chest. “What’s up? You look worried.”

Shit, shit, shit. “Well, I was just wondering if I knew of any tea houses that home delivered green tea this time of day. Or anytime of the day, for that matter. I’m pretty sure Zineb would laugh and call me names in Arabic if I phoned her asking for home delivery.”

Andrew chuckled. He scrubbed his free hand over his face. “You can’t lie for shit. That was
so
not what you were thinking. But for what it’s worth, I will buy you green tea to have here. And one of those things you have on your kitchen counter. What’s it called?”

“An electric kettle? Or a teapot? Because I have both.”

“The kettle. But I shall buy you both.” He sighed, a happy contented sound. “In lieu of the record player you bought me.”

“You know, it was very strange to realise, when I first arrived in the States, that hardly anyone uses electric kettles here,” I told him. “Every house in Australia has one. A kettle and a toaster. It’s like a necessity. Like plates and cutlery.”

“Well, that’s because Australians are weird,” he said with a laugh. “What time is it?”

“Half six.”

“See? Weird. What kind of time telling is that?”

“Six thirty.”

“Why not just say that?”

“Because it’s half six,” I told him.

He laughed. “Do you really say that in Australia? Because really, does that mean it’s thirty minutes past six o’clock, or that it’s three o’clock because technically half six is three?”

“It’s not that complicated. But it means six thirty.”

Andrew laughed again and shook his head. “Maybe once I’ve had that elective lobotomy, I’ll understand it.”

I gasped and grabbed him to tickle him. He yelped out a laugh and easily overthrew me, clearly so much stronger than me. He rolled me onto my back and straddled my waist while pinning my hands to my pillow. He was naked, as was I, so I scored a glorious view of his dick. Full and heavy on my stomach, his cock was pointing straight at me.

“You should work out more,” Andrew joked. “Maybe then you could put up more of a fight.”

I laughed, and eyeing his dick again, I licked my lips. “Who said I wanted to win?”

Smiling, his eyes flashed with heat and mischief. “Really?”

Was he asking me if I really wanted to suck his cock? “Fuck yes.”

Andrew sat up straight, his cock now protruding proudly, his balls resting on my stomach. He leaned forward a little, and I licked my lips again. He inched closer, but not close enough, and even straining my neck, I couldn’t reach. I let my head fall back onto my pillow. “Do you want me to beg?”

He grinned salaciously down at me and leaned his hips forward enough so the tip of his cock reached my lips. I opened my mouth and looked up at him, waiting.

“Jesus,” he murmured. He rocked his hips forward and proceeded to fuck my mouth. His cock was engorged and musky and so fucking big. I tongued him, and sucked hard, cupping his balls with one hand, pumping his base with my other.

Andrew gripped the headboard and thrust a little deeper, harder, as his self-control fell apart. He grunted and groaned, and with a final shudder, he came. I swallowed around him, drinking what he gave me, and he convulsed and cried out before finally pulling away. He slumped to the side and off me, lying motionless and speechless for a moment, until he started to laugh. “God, Jesus. Spencer.”

“Did you have that lobotomy already?”

He snorted. “Feels like it.”

I gave my dick a squeeze and bit back a groan. Before I could do or say, anything he rolled off the bed. “Shower, breakfast, gym.”

I shook my head. “No. Blowjob, shower, breakfast, and back to bed.”

He stood at the foot of the bed, his cock hanging heavy and still glistening from my mouth. His body was pale and toned; his hours a week in the gym truly did him wonders.

“How about a compromise?”

“Does it involve blowjobs, showers, breakfast, and bed?”

He laughed. “We shower, we eat breakfast. I’ll drop you off at home, and I’ll go to the gym. I’ll meet you back at the tattoo shop for Sunday morning coffee. It’ll give you some time to do whatever you need to do this morning. Sound fair?”

“What happened to my blowjob?”

He grinned. “I promise you, shower and breakfast now, and then this afternoon will be the best sex you’ve ever had.”

Well, that had my interest well and truly piqued. And my still-hard dick. “Oh, really?”

He gave me a smug, all-knowing smile as he turned and walked into his bathroom. He left the door wide open, and I heard the water turn on. Then he called out, “And I never said anything about no handjobs in the shower.”

I was in that shower cubicle with him so fast, the water hadn’t even had time to get wet.

* * * *

I spent a few hours tidying up, grabbing a few groceries at the store, and doing the coffee run for our weekly ritual of Sunday morning brunch in Emilio’s shop. When Andrew arrived, he was very relaxed and happy, planted himself right next to me, and spent the next hour laughing and talking bullshit with the rest of us.

He simply slotted into my life like he’d always been there, and I couldn’t remember what I did with my time when I didn’t know him.

After lunch, Andrew was going through my album collection for something new to listen to, and it occurred to me that I didn’t know what I’d be doing in that second if he weren’t there. Probably downstairs helping Emilio or at Lola and Gabe’s place annoying them. Maybe I’d be in the city people watching or at Venice Beach… But all of those paled in comparison to spending time with him.

“You’re staring into space again,” he said, breaking me out of my reverie. He put the album down. “Everything okay?”

“Sure. Actually, everything’s great,” I told him.

“But?”

“But nothing.”

“Spencer, you can’t lie for shit.”

“I’m not lying.”

He walked over to me and gently traced his thumb over my eyebrow. He smiled. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

I could tell him this, yes? That’s what boyfriends did, right? They talked through shit. “I can’t remember what I did with my time before I met you.”

Andrew blinked and his smile never faltered. “And that bothers you?”

“Well, yes. I can’t be me if I’m not who I am without you.”

His smile slowly slid away. “What are you saying?”

He looked like I’d slapped him, and as I replayed what I’d just said in my mind, I realised how it must have sounded to him; almost like a goodbye.

“No, no, no, That’s not what I meant.” I took his hand. “I meant it in a good way. I’m not good at talking about these things, so bear with me. Spending time with you is my most favourite thing. Ever. And it’s all I want to do. But I can’t lose me either. Does that make sense? I spent years shutting people out to protect myself. I have never doubted who I was. But then you came along, and I don’t want to be just me anymore. I want to hang out with you all the time, but we shouldn’t do that should we? Because if you decide to not be with me anymore, I’m not sure I’d know what to do, and that scares me. It’s been just me for so long, and I knew how to deal with that. But if I had to be just me now, I’m not sure I could.”

Andrew put the pad of his thumb on my lips, stopping me from rambling on any further. “Spencer,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving you.”

There was such sincerity in his eyes, such honesty, it took my breath away.

“But you’re right,” he said gently. “We should spend time apart. That’s why I suggested I go to the gym this morning and you do your thing. It was just for a few hours, but still, we need to keep our old lives intact.”

I nodded. “You’re not mad?”

He smiled. “Not at all. The opposite, in fact. Thank you for telling me what you feel. And”—he brushed his lips to mine—“spending time with you is my favourite thing ever as well.”

I wanted to tell him how I felt. I wanted to tell him so bad. The words were on the tip of my tongue, like
right there
, yet my stupid voice was nowhere to be found. My stupid heart got too big for my chest, and it got all hard to breathe as my nerves fed the butterflies in my throat. “Andrew,” I choked out.

But then his lips were on mine, in a searing, mind-clearing kiss. He pushed me into my bedroom and onto my bed where he covered my body with his. Fully dressed, he settled between my legs and continued to kiss me like his very life depended on it.

He’d kissed me before, but this was different. The way he held me, the way he rocked into me and kissed me so deeply was new. It wasn’t passion and need. It was emotion and longing.

No, I couldn’t find the courage to tell him how I felt, but I could show him. With every touch, with every look, every kiss, I hoped like hell he could feel every word I couldn’t say. And when we were naked and he was buried inside me, we made love. Soft moans and gentle strokes, deep kisses and holding hands, there was no doubt in my mind. No, he hadn’t exactly told me how he felt either, but it was in his eyes. When he moved inside me, he looked right into my eyes. He never looked away, and when he climaxed inside me, I saw it.
This man, this perfect-for-me man, loves me
.

And from the look on his face, maybe he saw the same in mine. Because that afternoon in my bed, in his arms, without a word between us, I told him I loved him.

* * * *

After Andrew had gone home for the afternoon, I made my way back down to see Emilio. Truth be told, I missed hanging out with him, and although Andrew and I had to make ourselves spend time apart, I was happy to spend time with my mates, as well.

Emilio looked behind me. “Where’s Andrew?”

“We’re spending some time apart.”

Emilio shot me a look. “What for?”

“So we don’t overdo it,” I explained. “You know, get sick of each other.”

He looked amused. “How’s that working out for you?”

“I’m trying to remember what I did before I met him.”

Emilio laughed and waved his tattooed hand at the messy reception desk. “You did inventory and tidied up and disinfected everything.”

It really was a shambles. “Point taken. I haven’t helped out in a while.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“No, but I love doing it.” I immediately started sorting piles of papers. “And this is my point. I can’t just abandon my old life because of Andrew. I want him
in
my life, not to
be
my life.”

Emilio looked up from his work. “Love is a funny thing, my friend.”

“Yes, it is.” I just realised I’d admitted, for the first time ever, that I knew what love was. I ignored Emilio’s smile and continued to tidy the desk. “Yes, it is.”

As the night wore on, I called Lola and got roped into helping her during the week, and I bought dinner for Emilio and myself, laughed and chatted just like old times. I only checked my phone about three dozen times, my disappointment growing each time there was no text from Andrew.