The Spencer Cohen Book Two

by N. R. Walker

  “Other things like what?”

  His cheeks turned pink. “Like we did earlier.”

  “Blowjobs and handjobs? Because that’s technically having sex.”

  His blush crept down his neck. “You know what I mean.”

  “Oh, you mean anal, butt-sex, fucking like rabbits.”

  He blanched at my crassness, and despite his raging blush, he nodded.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t joke.” I put my hands to his face. “This is the last time I’m going to mention his name. But just because Eli didn’t want to have sex with you and just because I’m agreeing to take things slow, doesn’t mean you’re not desirable. Because seriously, Andrew, you are incredibly sexy.” He blushed scarlet. “And, like you, I want this to be something more than just physical. But I really have no clue how to gauge what’s slow or not, so I’ll take my cues from you. If you want to wait a day, a week, a month, a year, to fuck like rabbits on your laundry floor. I’ll wait.”

  “A year?”

  I laughed at the look of horror on his face. “Okay, let’s just agree that a year is too long to wait.”

  He chuckled again. “I was thinking maybe a week or two… To be honest, I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait that long. I seem to have a permanent problem when you’re around.” He pressed his hips into mine to prove his point.

  I could feel his permanent problem. It was rubbing against my permanent problem through our trousers. I laughed. Or groaned. Possibly both. “Me too.”

  He pressed his lips to mine, but before the kiss could get too serious, the washing machine beeped. He pulled away with a frustrated moan. “Saved by the bell,” I mumbled, trying to laugh it off.

  He shook his head adamantly. “Nope. I’ll just throw your sheets in the dryer and put the next load in, then we’re going to bed for handjobs or blowjobs and then you can nap.”

  And bossy Andrew was back. I had to admit, I liked bossy Andrew. He left the kitchen with a determined look on his face, and I followed. Only, he went down the hallway to the laundry, and I headed for the stairs. I figured he wouldn’t have to wonder where I went if I left a trail of my clothes behind. My shirt fell on the bottom stair, I toed my shoes off at the top, my trousers near his bedroom door, and my undies near the bed.

  By the time he’d followed my trail of breadcrumbs and saw my underwear on the floor, he knew I was naked under the covers. “Which side do you prefer?” I asked.

  His pupils were blown, his lips were parted, and his breaths were sharp. And there was a very prominent bulge in his pants. Without a word, he pulled his shirt off, then undid his pants, and slid them down his thighs to reveal his glorious cock. I flipped the covers back in silent invitation and he hesitated for a brief second.

  “Don’t worry about your sheets,” I told him. “I promise I won’t spill a drop.”

  He moaned gruffly and knelt on the bed. “It’s not that,” he said quietly. “I just like how you look in my bed.”

  I slid over and wrapped my hands around the backs of his thighs and took him into my mouth. And for the third time that day, we brought each other to climax.

  Afterwards, when we were all wrapped up in each other’s arms on what could possibly be the world’s most comfortable bed, I napped like the dead.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I woke up alone. It took me a second to realise I was in Andrew’s room, but his side of the bed was empty. Disappointment slithered through me like a snake, but then I heard it.

  He was playing his piano.

  My clothes were in a half-folded pile at the end of the bed, and I smiled knowing he’d put them there for me. Such a simple, yet thoughtful gesture. It was ridiculous how happy that made me.

  After getting dressed I used his bathroom, washed my hands then my face, squirted some toothpaste onto my finger, and did my best to clean up before going back downstairs. I didn’t want to miss him playing.

  He was still at his piano and he smiled as I walked over to lean against it. Without missing a beat, the song he was playing changed into something more funky and upbeat. It was some jazz number he knew by heart, and I couldn’t help but smile as he played.

  When that song was over, he took his hands from the keys. “Slept well?”

  “Best nap ever,” I told him. I nodded toward the piano keys. “Don’t stop playing.”

  He gave me that eye-crinkling kind of smile and played a song that was more classical than jazz. Some grand concerto piece that I’m sure he played just to impress me. It worked. Though in all seriousness, he could play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and I’d be impressed, but this was amazing.

  This time when the song was over, the notes morphed into some random piece that was almost comical. And from the smile on his face, I wondered if it was from some cartoon I’d never seen, or if it was a musical extension of how happy he was in that moment. Because right then and there, standing in his living room, I knew there was no going back.

  Not for me anyway.

  I think he won a tiny piece of my heart that day. If he didn’t have the whole damn thing before then, he certainly had part of it now.

  I couldn’t help myself. I strode over to him, took his face in my hands, and tilted his head back so I could kiss him. It made his fingers miss the keys, and he laughed into my mouth.

  “You are something special, you know that?”

  He hummed his answer. “Mmm, minty.”

  “I borrowed some toothpaste. Hope you don’t mind.” Before he could wonder if I was gross and used his toothbrush, I held up my finger. “I just kind of used my finger. Not great, but better than nothing.”

  “I can get you a toothbrush,” he said. “I’m sure I have a pack of spares here.”

  I put my hand up in a stop. “Slow, remember? I think exchanging toothbrushes might be a little premature.”

  He frowned and nodded. “Okay, sure.”

  It was then that I noticed the light outside, or lack thereof. “What time is it?” I asked, pulling out my phone. It was after six. “Jeez, I better get going home.”

  Andrew slowly stood up from his piano stool. “I’ll drive you.”

  “I’m sure I can bus it.”

  “It’s no problem. I need to grab some things from the store anyway. I’m a good boy and pack a lunch every day—I can’t cook, but I can make a sandwich. I normally go in the morning, but my weekend was kind of thrown all out of whack.”

  I smiled at him. “In a bad way?”

  “The very opposite of bad.” He put his hand on my arm as he walked past. “I’ll just grab your laundry.” He came back out with everything washed and dried and neatly folded.

  “What? You didn’t iron them?”

  He balked. “I’m not your maid.”

  I laughed and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m just kidding. I’m very grateful that you even offered for me to do this here.”

  He sighed deeply. “You’re welcome.”

  “Oh, before I forget, where’s your phone?”

  He cautiously pulled it from his pocket. “Here, why?”

  “We need to add another photo to your Facebook.”

  “Oh.” His cheeks tinted with that delicious pink. “Right.”

  “Is that okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I took his phone and pressed the camera icon, and putting my arm around him and nuzzling my nose into his cheek, we posed for a selfie. After we’d taken a few, he selected the best—and by that, I mean the one he thought he looked best in—and he uploaded it onto his timeline. “Um, should I―” He stopped. “Oh, don’t worry.”

  I hated when people said that. Of course it made me worry. “Should you what?”

  “Oh, I was just wondering…” He shook his head. “You know how people change their relationship status… It’s silly, don’t worry.”

  “It’s not silly.”

  “I’m just excited about this,” he said, looking at his phone instead of me, though I could see a blush creep down his neck.
“But I’m supposed to take it slow, and maybe telling the world about us is being too forward. Sarah was right. I do rush into things. I’ve jumped without looking into every relationship I’ve ever had. Posting photos is one thing; announcing it is a bit different.”

  “Andrew,” I said quietly. I waited for him to look at me before continuing. “If you want to post it, then post it. Tell the world you scored the hottest boyfriend ever. Although they’ll know that from the photo.”

  He laughed and looked back down at his phone. “I won’t. Not yet. I don’t want to jinx anything. Though I’ll have to tell people at work tomorrow. Well, Michelle will know straight away. She’s kind of like what Lola is to you. She’ll see it on my face before I can say a word anyway, and she will have commented on this photo within the hour. She’s going to want to know every detail.”

  I groaned, and his eyes flashed to mine. “You just reminded me. Lola is no doubt still at the shop, waiting for me to get back. It’ll be midnight before she stops interrogating me.”

  “What will you tell her?” he asked. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that I didn’t like to see.

  “That we’re taking it slow, but the term officially dating was used.”

  Andrew smiled at that. “Sounds good to me.”

  “So, what’s our plans for this week?” I asked. “I mean, do we make plans? Is that what boyfriends do?” It sounded weird for me to even say that. “Is that what officially dating even means? I have no idea.”

  “I’m pretty sure boyfriends make plans,” he said with a slow nod, fighting a smile. “And yes, I think that’s what officially dating means.”

  “Dinner Tuesday?” I asked. “I’ll cook.”

  “You cook?”

  I feigned offence. “Can I cook? I’ll have you know, I make the best spag bol ever. It’s not glamorous but it’s good.”

  “Spag bol?”

  “Spaghetti Bolognese.”

  “Is that an Australian thing?”

  “Yep. We shorten everything. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

  He smiled at that. “I’m looking forward to that.”

  I kissed him softly and left my lips pressed to his for a few beats of my heart. “Thank you for today. And thank you for coming after me last night. Thank you for telling whatshisname to get lost, and thank you for breakfast. Thank you for smelling unbelievably good all the time, and thank you for playing your piano for me.”

  Andrew laughed but put his hand to my face, closed his eyes, and kissed me. He left his forehead pressed to mine and breathed in deep. “You’re very welcome.” He pulled away and said, “I better get you home or there’ll be no taking it slow, and I’m not sure I can come four times in one day.”

  I laughed and smiled all the way home.

  Until I walked through the shop door and Lola dragged me, literally, from the front door to the back cubicle, shooting questions at me like a machine gun. Oh who am I kidding? I was still smiling then too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “He wants to take it slow?” Lola asked. “I don’t know if that makes him sweet or crazy.”

  “He says that’s what he does,” I explained. “He gets ahead of himself and gets carried away, and it ends up a fizzled out mess. He doesn’t want to do that with me.”

  “See? That’s what makes him sweet,” Lola said.

  “And that includes holding off on sex for a while.”

  “And that’s what makes him crazy.”

  I laughed. “He’s not perfect.”

  “Much.”

  I found myself smirking. “Much.”

  “Well, I am so happy you’re taking a chance on him,” Lola said. She squeezed my hand. “You deserve to be happy.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, embarrassed. “He’s kind of amazing.”

  Lola bounced and squeed. “Oh, look at you! You’re a smitten kitten.”

  Smitten kitten? I swear a piece of my manliness just died. “Promise me you won’t ever say those words again.”

  She just smiled and hummed dreamily. “And I take it he’s perfectly fine with you meeting a new client tomorrow?”

  Oh. “Um, I don’t think he knows.”

  Lola stared at me. “He’ll be okay with it, won’t he?”

  “He should be,” I said. “He knows what I do for a job. Nothing has changed overnight there.”

  She nodded, seemingly appeased, then started on a new subject. “So, you’re cooking him dinner on Tuesday night?”

  And so our conversation went on until Gabe had had enough—or maybe he took pity on me—and dragged her home. I went upstairs, remade my bed, and found myself staring at my phone.

  Should I text him? Is that what boyfriends do? Is that crossing the taking-it-slow boundaries?

  So, ignoring my phone, I ate some dinner instead and then I got to thinking… why hadn’t he texted me?

  I put my phone on the kitchen counter and stared at it like it had knocked my world off kilter.

  Which it kind of had. Well, not my phone exactly, but since when did I worry about shit like this? What had it been? A fucking day?

  I snatched up my phone and went to Messages and found his name.

  Is me texting you right now taking it slow? Because I’m starting to overthink this shit and don’t want to get it wrong but if I want to text you, I can, right?

  I hit send, before I could overthink that, and threw my phone back on the counter. I was grabbing a drink from the fridge when my phone buzzed, and I almost busted a valve in my heart trying to see if it was him that replied.

  It was.

  Texting me is fine. More than fine, actually. And jsyk, that photo I posted on Facebook has garnered a lot of comments.

  I smiled like a school kid with a crush, then of course looked around my flat to see if anyone saw how ridiculous I was being, then shook my head at myself because I lived alone. Of course no one saw me. I took my phone and bottle of water to the couch and collapsed onto it, still smiling at the small screen in my hand.

  I quickly replied. Garnered? Did you really just use the word garnered?

  His reply was immediate. Shut up.

  I laughed out loud. So, the comments that have been garnered, are they favourable?

  I was expecting a quick response, but instead the phone rang in my hand. It was Andrew. “Are you giving me crap?”

  I laughed again. “Absolutely. In Australia, we would call that ‘taking the piss.’ Did you really tell me to shut up?”

  “Yes I did.” He breathed in deep. “I’m glad you texted me.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” I admitted. “Then I struggled with what the criteria for taking things slow was and wondered if texting you after we’d spent the last two days together was crossing some line in the handbook of boyfriend etiquette, and then I realised how idiotic I was being and thought fuck it. Hence the text.”

  “Hence. And you—How did you put it?—‘took the piss’ out of me for saying garnered.”

  “Shut up.”

  He laughed into the phone, and the sound sent a rush of warmth through my chest.

  “Lola gave me an inquisition the Spanish would be proud of,” I told him.

  He chuckled again. “Yes, Sarah called me not too long ago. And my mother. Apparently showing the world via social media that I was being cosy with a new beau—those were her words, not mine—but I hadn’t told her yet, has earned me a lunch date where said Spanish Inquisition will no doubt take place.”

  Now it was me who laughed. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Yes, fun like a Black Knight flesh wound.”

  “Did you just quote Monty Python?”

  “Did you just get my Monty Python reference?”

  I snorted. “The Holy Grail is one of my favourites.”

  I swear I could hear him smiling. “Mine too.”

  Then his doorbell sounded in the background. “Expecting someone?” I asked.

  “Yep. Dinner. I told you I don’t cook.”

  �
��So, what’s on tonight’s menu?”

  “Mexican. Bean salad with a side of burrito.”

  God, he made me laugh. “Okay, I’ll let you go. Have fun. I’ll text you tomorrow night.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  After I disconnected the call, I smiled at my phone like a simpleton until I went to bed. Though I kinda worried about not telling him about my appointment with a new client tomorrow. It’s not something I ever had to worry about before, but now that Lola mentioned it, I couldn’t help but wonder what Andrew would think. I took my phone off the bedside table and considered shooting him a quick text, reminding him I was starting a new job tomorrow.

  And then I chickened out, because what if he did have an issue with it? And then I told myself to man the fuck up and tell him. Just as I was about to do it, my phone buzzed in my hand with a message.

  It was Andrew.

  Jsyk, any doubts of my ability to come four times in one day were unfounded.

  I groaned at the mental images of him jerking himself off in bed. Or in the shower. Or onto my stomach, or in my mouth… Now my balls were aching with need.

  That is so not fair.

  His response took a little while. You’re welcome.

  Needless to say, that was a contest I just couldn’t let him win.

  * * * *

  I was early to my appointment to meet my new client. I preferred to give them the impression that I was cool, calm, and collected about it, because more often than not, they were stressed and heartbroken and needed someone who was in control.

  Lance was different. Recommended to my services from one of his friends, who was an old client of mine, Gerard, a guy I didn’t particularly like. He was the tosser who thought he could buy anything and anyone he wanted, and I knew before Lance had even said a word, he was just like his friend.

  The meeting place was a coffee house on Wiltshire, the hub of downtown LA. It wasn’t his expensive suit or his Italian leather loafers, not even his slicked back hair or smarmy smile that gave him away as being a tosser. It was in his eyes. They were dark, almost black, not that that was a bad thing—I’d seen some gorgeous smouldering dark eyes—but these were flat. Like a shark’s eyes. There was something about him that pinged my arsehole-o-meter, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, I stood up, shook his hand, and introduced myself.