CHAPTER THREE

 

 

 

“I’m telling you, it was incredible,” I said. Lola, Gabriel, Daniela, and Emilio all stared at me. We were having coffee in the tattoo shop, sitting where the clients waited their turn, or went through ink magazines, which had become a Sunday morning brunch tradition with us. Well, I was having my usual green tea, they were having coffee, and I was getting the typical interrogation after I started a new job. What’s he like? Is he a creeper? Does he have a rubber doll fetish? You know, the usual.

“He has artwork on his living room wall that he did himself,” I told them. “It was done with pencil but then the background was watercolour ink. It was freakin’ art.” I nodded toward the tattoo books on the coffee table between us. “Better than anything I’ve seen in those.”

“Yeah?” Emilio asked. I knew as a tattoo artist he’d appreciate what I was saying. “But he draws cartoons?”

“He does those visual boards that go to the animators,” I explained. “It’s really very cool. And he has a grand piano in his living room.”

“So, no life-like, synthetic sex dolls hiding in his closet?” Daniela asked. She sounded disappointed.

Emilio scowled playfully at her. “Not everyone’s a pervert like you.”

She grinned at her husband. “Thanks, babe.” It made me laugh. Emilio and Daniela had become very close friends of mine. Landlords yes, but Emilio had become like a big brother to me, and his beautiful wife a sister by association.

“So, he’s cute and completely normal?” Lola asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know him that well, like I haven’t seen his sex-toy drawer yet, but yeah. If there’s any such thing as normal. And I’m tellin’ ya, it’s a nice change from the last guy.”

Gabriel snorted out a laugh. “Oh come on,” he said. “What’s wrong with a twenty-something-year-old guy having spoon collections and plastic covered sofas?”

I shook my head, remembering when I first walked into that guy’s place. It made me shudder. “That was the least of that guy’s problems. He was creepy as hell.”

Lola laughed. “Or the asshole super-rich guy before him. Who thought his boyfriend was a commodity to be acquired and couldn’t understand why the poor guy ran for the hills.”

“I told that guy to run for the hills,” I said. “I preferred the guy who covered everything in plastic and Clorox over that arsehole.”  I could cope with the creepiness of Raymond, but Gerard the self-entitled, self-made millionaire thought his money could buy him whatever he wanted, including people. And that shit didn’t fly with me.

“So when’s Piano Man getting here?” Emilio asked.

We always had nicknames for my clients. Clorox Man, Arsehole Super Rich Guy, Dog Hair Guy, Butt Man. There were made up names for all of them. But for some reason, I didn’t like the idea of labelling Andrew with a name that made him less than he was.

“His name is Andrew,” I told them. I ignored the looks they gave me and the way Daniela’s mouth fell open. “And he’ll be here any minute.”

Right on cue, Andrew, looking all nerdy-proper-handsome in his argyle sweater and dress pants, stopped out front of the store. He looked up at the name of the shop, completely oblivious to the five people watching him from inside. He shook his head a little, mumbled something to himself, and put his hand up to knock, second guessed himself, then put it down. He took a deep breath and quickly rapped on the door, probably before he lost his nerve and walked away.

“Go save him,” Lola said, nudging me with her high-heeled foot.

I realised then I was sitting there like an idiot just watching him. “Right,” I said, quickly heading for the door. I unbolted it and swung it inwards. “Hey,” I said in greeting.

Andrew gave me a half-smile. “Hi.”

I stood aside. “Come in, meet my crew.” Andrew stepped inside, smelling all sorts of good, and I locked the door behind him because technically the shop didn’t open for another hour or so. He stood there, looking lost and out of place, staring at everyone staring back at him. He looked like he either wanted to pass out or leave. Probably both. “Andrew,” I started, putting my hand on his shoulder and urging him forward a little. “This is Daniela and her husband Emilio, they own the shop. And you’ve met Lola already, but this is her boyfriend Gabriel, or Gabe, as we call him. Guys, this is Andrew.”

The four of them waved, said quiet hellos, and made awkward small talk. Andrew wiped his palms on his thighs, so before any of them could say anything to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he already was, and still with my hand on his back, I looked at Andrew and said, “You ready?”

He nodded quickly. “Sure.”

Turning to my friends, who were watching us and smiling, I said, “We’ll be off. Catch ya’s later. Wanna lock the door behind us?” I went to the front door, unlocked it, and held it open for Andrew.

Just before the door closed behind me, I swear I heard Lola do that whisper-squeal thing she does when she’s excited. “Oh my God! Did you see Spencer’s face?” There was mumbling from the others and someone laughed, but thankfully the door clicked shut before I could hear any more. By some grace of God or good manners, Andrew didn’t seem to notice, either. I made a mental note to kill my so-called friends later.

I pointed up the street toward the beach. “This way.”

After half a block of silence and small talk about his drive to my place, he said, “Your friends seem nice.”

I laughed. “They don’t normally behave like that. They’re really good people. Most people think tattoo artists are thugs, but that’s not the case. Emilio and Daniela are very loyal friends to me, and Lola… well, she’s crazy. But she’s my best friend. Sweet, fierce, and crazy.”

“Not many people could pull off having pink hair, a black and white striped dress, and teal pumps,” he said.

I was grinning now. “No, they couldn’t. She pretty much nails that 50s pin-up girl meets punk rocker look.”

He smiled. “She does.”

“There’s a little Moroccan tea house around the corner,” I told him, nodding up the street. “They do a great breakfast. Have you eaten?”

“A few hours ago.”

God, it was ten o’clock on a Sunday. “You’ve been up for hours already?”

“Been to the gym too.”

I shook my head at him. “Then you’ve worked up an appetite.”

“I’ve never had Moroccan before. Certainly not for breakfast.”

I held the door to the café open and found myself smiling at him. “Then today will be your first.”

Inside the café was a mix of oranges, purples, and reds. It smelled of spice and lemon. The dark wooden tables were low and the bench seats covered with cushions, and I was thankful my favourite table was still empty. It was in the corner by the window where the sunlight filtered in.

I took a seat and waited for Andrew to do the same. He sat across from me, looking around, smiling. “I love this place,” I told him. “And this table? If I could bring a book and have them serve me tea all day, I’d never leave. Especially in winter when the sun comes through the window.”

He smiled, the eye-crinkling kind of smile, and I was, again, struck by how good looking he was. His sandy-blond hair was cut short and brushed to the side but still a bit spikey. He was clean-shaven and smelled really freakin’ good: like soap, deodorant, and man. He had that clean-cut all-American-guy thing down pat. I tried to imagine him wearing something more my style or anything different than the argyle sweater and dress pants, for that matter, but couldn’t. It suited him so perfectly. If there was a magazine called Sexy Nerds, he’d be on the cover.

The owner, an older, motherly woman by the name of Zineb, came over and gave me a smile. “Spencer, not seen you in a while.”

“I know! I’ve been busy this week,” I told her. “But my friend here has never had Moroccan. What do you think he should try?”

“Khobz b'chehma with lamb and peppers,” she said. “Made fresh this morning, and msemen because it’s your favourite.”

I grinned at her. “As always. With your fig and honey jam, please.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Tea?”

“For me, yes please.” I waved my hand at Andrew, who was watching on amused. “And a latte, with two percent, no sugar or syrups. Thank you.” I requested his order exactly how he told me he liked it.

Zineb left us and started hollering Arabic at her husband. God, I loved this place.

“You remembered?” Andrew said. “How I take my coffee.”

“Sure,” I replied. Jeez, it was like no one had ever done such a simple thing for him. “It’s my job to remember everything about you.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, suddenly finding the menu interesting.

“And that reminds me,” I added. “I need that favourite song.”

“Well, you see, it’s not quite that simple.”

“Yes it is.”

“Then what’s your one favourite song, above all others?”

“Jeff Buckley’s cover of ‘Hallelujah.’”

He blinked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“It’s a good song.”

“It’s the perfect song,” I amended. “I like Leonard Cohen’s version, don’t get me wrong. But Jeff Buckley’s version is, well, it’s perfect.”

“Perfect? That’s a pretty big call.” He frowned. “The perfect song? How do you define the perfect song?”

I found myself smiling at him. “Don’t overthink it, that’s how. Discard all the technical crap, the parameters, the chords, whatever. Go by feel. How it feels in here.” I pressed my hand against my breastbone. “That song will stop me wherever I am.”

He was staring at me with a hint of a smile on his lips, but there was an understanding, an unspoken agreement in his eyes. “Well, if that’s how you determine the perfect song, then I’d have to say Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.” He swallowed hard then shrugged, like he was sorry. “It’s not cool or anything like that, but it’s a beautiful song. Well, technically it’s not even a song. It’s a musical composition.”

“Technicalities aside, don’t apologise,” I said. “Ever. If you love it, then own it. Repeat after me…” He stared, waiting. So I said, “My favourite song is the musical composition Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, because it’s fucking awesome.”

He laughed and looked around to see who might have heard me swear.

“Say it,” I urged him.

He cleared his throat, and spoke softly. “My favourite song is Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, because it’s… fucking awesome.”

I grinned at him. “See? Isn’t that much better?”

He chuckled, just as Zineb bought us our drinks. She looked at me, expectantly. “So?” she said. “Who is your friend?”

Andrew stared up at her and froze, and I made introductions. “This is Andrew. Andrew this is Zineb, maker of the finest green tea in LA.”

She beamed. “He like Moroccan green tea,” she said to Andrew. “Not many people do. Buy him this, you’ll win his heart.” I snorted, and Andrew almost swallowed his tongue. “Food won’t be long,” she added before walking off, seemingly oblivious to the look of horror on Andrew’s face.

“She thinks we’re…?”

I nodded. “Better get used to it,” I said, turning my cup of tea. “We need the public to think we are dating. Especially Eli.”

Andrew’s brow knitted together, but he nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

“I’m not that scary, am I?” I asked, half joking, half not.

“What? No!” he said vehemently. “You’re just, you know.”

“Uh, no. I don’t know.” This could end badly. I almost didn’t want to ask. “Is that a good you know or a bad you know?”

“Good,” he said quickly. A faint blush crept up his neck. “It’s just that you’re all… trendy.” He cringed at the word. “And I’m not.”

“Well, excuse me Mr A Clockwork Orange and Moonlight Sonata lover,” I said with a smile. “That’s pretty damn cool.”

He shook his head, dismissing me entirely. “But look at how you dress.”

I looked at what I was wearing. My three-quarter tan dress pants, white button-down shirt, and blue-suede Oxfords. “Is there something wrong with the way I dress?” I asked. I’d never had anyone not like the way I dressed. “I was going to wear my suspenders but didn’t.”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with it. And I happen to like suspenders on you. You look like you’re straight out of the pages of Trendy LA.”

I snorted. “You do the magazine thing too?” I asked. “I had you from Sexy Nerd,” I admitted. He let out a disbelieving laugh. “But I had you on the cover. Not just some page four random like you had me. Oh no, I had you on the cover, my friend.”

He laughed quietly and sipped his coffee. “Okay, I’ll concede you a cover shot.”

I grinned at him. “Thanks!”

“Sexy Nerd,” he repeated softly, shaking his head. “You’re delusional.”

“I do believe you fit both categories,” I said, turning my cup of tea. “And fit them well, I might add. I like how you dress.”

He blushed again, even the tips of his ears turned pink.

I stuck my foot out. “Anyway, I love these shoes. I paid a fortune for them.”

“I can tell,” he said, admiring my loafers.

I held out my arms, where ink covered every part of my skin from my rolled-up shirtsleeve to my wrists. “Do you not like my tattoos?”

He froze again, but before he could answer, Zineb brought our food over. “You boys share?” she asked.

“Yes please,” I said, making room on the table. “We’ll have a bit of both.” Zineb put the food down, sorted out plates and cutlery, and left us to it. “Try the savoury first,” I told him. “It’s so good. It’s spiced lamb and Mediterranean vegetables done in a flatbread. And the msemen are like pancakes. Zineb’s husband makes this fig and honey jam. It’s divine.”

He took a forkful of the khobz b'chehma and moaned. It was a throaty sound that made my skin tingle. He swallowed it down. “Okay, wow.”

I laughed, trying to ignore my reaction to him. “It’s good, yes?”

He nodded and continued to eat. In between mouthfuls, he asked, “So, my turn to ask questions?”

Shit. I nodded. “Yep.”

“What part of Australia are you from?”

“Sydney.”

“And you’ve been here two years?”

I nodded, washing food down with a sip of tea. “Yep.”

“Why did you leave?”

I considered how to best answer. I didn’t need to go dredging up family history for a guy who, in all likelihood I’d know for a month then never see again, so I decided on answering diplomatically. “I hated my job and wanted to travel. Airfares to LA were on sale, so I packed a bag and here I am.”

He seemed to process that for a while. Whether he believed me or not, I had no clue. But it seemed he did. “Family?”

Jesus. Okay, so maybe he didn’t. I needed to work on my ability to lie. “Parents, still married. Two brothers. Both younger than me.”

“They didn’t mind you moving to the other side of the world?”

“Nope.”

“Have they visited you here?” he pressed. “Or have you been back since?”

I had a mouthful of food, so it wasn’t like I could have spoken, even if I wanted to. I couldn’t tell the truth on this one. I shook my head.

“Do you miss them?”

“Yes.” It came out a little quicker than I’d meant.

He nodded, more to himself than to me, and I knew right then he saw straight through me. Thankfully, he didn’t push, and he changed the subject. “Favourite food?”

“You’re eating it.”

“Least favourite?”

“Shellfish. I’m allergic.”

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Seriously?”

I pulled an EpiPen from my pocket and held it up for him to see. “Very. I usually carry one of these with me if I’m eating out somewhere new, and as a general rule I don’t eat anything that comes out of the water.” Then as a joke, I added, “Unless he showers first.”

Andrew laughed at that. “So no seafood.”

I shook my head and pocketed the EpiPen. “Nope. To be safe, I don’t eat anything that comes out of the water, like fish, even though it’s technically not shellfish. I also don’t eat many Asian foods because they use fish sauce as a base for a lot of meals. I have to ask a lot of restaurants before I can eat there, but some don’t get it. Like Thai beef salad? You’d think it was okay because it’s beef and salad, but it has fish sauce in the dressing. But even the guys I work with, like faux-dating”—I motioned between us—“I have to ask them not to eat anything that might be contaminated as well. Because if we need to make out and he’s just eaten lobster, me going into anaphylactic shock in front of his ex doesn’t look good.”

He looked shocked. “Has that ever happened?”

I gave him a smile. “No.”

He made a thoughtful face, and he put his fork on his empty plate. “Do you have to make out with all your clients?”

“Are you asking if we have to kiss?”

He nodded.

“If it will get Eli’s attention, then yes. If it will make him want to throw you over his shoulder and take you back to his cave to make you his again, then yes.” I let him think about that for a moment, no doubt that visual was playing over in his mind. “I promise, I have excellent dental hygiene, extra soft lips, and only give tongue if it’s warranted.”

He did that barked-out laugh again and blushed. God, he was too easy. “Oh, um, right.”

I swapped the plates over and served up the pancakes and put the jam on the side for him to taste. It also gave him some time to compose himself. “So I was thinking, this afternoon we could go over Eli’s schedules, if that’s okay with you?”

“Oh.” He swallowed hard. “Sure. I guess.”

“We can do some sleuthing,” I explained. “Stalk his Facebook, see where he’s been, that kind of thing.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay.”

“Do you know where he’s been living?”

He frowned, then shook his head. “No.”

“Where does he work?”

“Downtown.”

“What does he do?”

“He works at a printing press on Wilshire.”

That wasn’t too far. “Hobbies? Gym? Favourite bars?”

“He has a membership at the same gym as me, but I haven’t seen him there since,” Andrew said. “We went to a few of the bars in Echo Park, though they weren’t really my scene.”

“What’s your scene?”

He cleared his throat. “There’s a jazz bar not far from his work. The food’s great, the music is incredible.”

“You like jazz?”

He nodded. “Love it.” Then he innocently took a mouthful of the Moroccan pancakes with fig and honey jam, and he moaned. A deep, throaty, delicious sound that sent shivers over my skin and a pleasant ache straight to my dick. “Oh, my God,” he murmured.

I was staring at him. That sound, Jesus. If he moaned like that over food, I’d love to hear him in bed.

“What?” he said, snapping me out of my lust-daze.

Shit. I got caught gawking. I shifted in my seat, trying to quell the desire that was filling my cock, and cleared my throat. “The pancakes are good, yes?”

He nodded. “So good.” He took another mouthful, and this time he sighed instead of moaned. I was almost disappointed.

Zineb appeared at the table with a knowing smile. “He like the conserve, yes?” she asked and nudged me with her elbow. “Unless he make that sound for you. You like it, Spencer, I can tell.”

Andrew almost dropped his fork, but it was me who was embarrassed. I felt a heat rush over my cheeks and I laughed to hide it, but I was blushing. Jesus Christ. I wanted to die.

Andrew’s shock turned to embarrassment, though he didn’t go as red as me, I’m sure of it. “Was I loud?”

I scoffed. “Uh, yeah.”

“Oh,” he said softly. He wasn’t laughing. He looked up at Zineb. “I apologise.”

She just picked up the empty plate from the table and laughed it off. “No being sorry. Spencer here liked it.” She patted my shoulder and walked back to the counter, and a whole new level of embarrassment washed over me.

“I’m really embarrassed,” he whispered.

Shit. I reached over and grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. I didn’t let it go. “Don’t be. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…” I shook my head. “Wanna get out of here?”

He nodded. So still holding his hand, I stood up and walked over to the counter. I only dropped his hand so I could pay the bill. I gave Zineb my card, praying like hell she wouldn’t embarrass me further.

No such luck. She smiled sweetly at me. “It makes me so happy to see Spencer finally with a man who make him smile.”

I considered praying to the earthquake gods to give the San Andreas a nudge so the ground would split open and swallow me whole. Instead I stood there like an idiot, turned a darker shade of pink, and mumbled, “Thank you, Zineb, for not embarrassing me at all today.”

She handed me back my bankcard, looking confused. “What? You not love this boy?”

I shook my head and swallowed the lump in my throat, which could have possibly been my heart. “Thanks, Zineb. We’ll see you next time, ’kay?”

She looked even more confused. “But Spencer you don’t look at the other boys like you look at this one.”

Needing to not be in the firing line of Zineb’s embarrassing untruths for one second longer, I grabbed Andrew’s hand and all but dragged him out of the café, waving Zineb off as I went. As soon as I was a good twenty meters up the street, I dropped his hand so I could put both hands on my knees and catch my breath.

Andrew surprised me by laughing. I would have expected a list of reactions from anger to embarrassment, even outrage. But laughing? I looked up at him. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” he answered. “The look on your face.”

“She embarrassed the hell outta me!”

“She embarrassed you? She made a point of telling the whole café I make noises that you like!”

“Well, your sex sounds are fucking hot, I have to say.”

His eyes popped and his mouth fell open. “My what?”

Now it was my turn to laugh. I stood up straight. “Never mind. Let’s just agree to forget everything she said.”

He stared at me. “My sex sounds?”

“The way you moaned,” I explained, needing to clear my throat. “It was um, sexy as hell.”

He folded his arms, then unfolded them, then shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked rather pissed off, but the burning blush that crept up his neck gave him away. “Well. Do you make a habit of saying inappropriate things?”

“Only when guys make inappropriate noises that make me think dirty thoughts, which leads me to saying such things out loud.” I shrugged. “And anyway, it wasn’t inappropriate of me to speak the truth. The noise you made was hot.”

He covered his eyes with his hand. “Oh God.” Then his hand fell away and he stared at me. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I can’t believe you don’t already know that,” I replied. “Has no one ever told you?”

He looked kind of horrified. “We’re not having this conversation. I call veto.”

I laughed and nodded back toward the tattoo shop. “Come on, we’ve got super-sleuthing to do on this fella of yours.”

The shop was open, so I held the door for Andrew. “After you.”

He stepped inside and shoved his hands in his pockets, a sure sign he was nervous, or unsure. Emilio was at his work station and a familiar face was in the chair with his chest exposed having his skin inked. “Hey Spencer!” Eric said, extending his arm.

I bumped my fist to his. “Hey man.” Eric was a regular here. I had a closer look at his ever-growing chest piece. “Lookin’ good.”

Emilio didn’t look up from his work when he said, “Hey Spence, can you grab me some alcohol swabs?”

“Sure thing,” I said, going straight to the cabinet he kept them in. I put the box on his trolley beside his arm. “Lola and Gabe still here?”

“Yep,” came Lola’s reply. “Stall two.”

I nodded to Andrew, a silent invitation for him to follow me, and led him to the back of the shop to the private cubicles. The curtain was slightly open so I stuck my head in. Gabe was lying on the table and Lola and Daniela were standing over him, inspecting his clamped nipple. “Hey,” I said with a laugh. “Do I even wanna know?”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Lola wants to pierce my nipples.”

I walked in, and Andrew stood at the door with a look on his face that was a mix of shock and morbid curiosity. I peeked over Lola’s shoulder at Gabe’s stretched and clamped nipple. It wasn’t pierced yet, but Lola was holding the piercing needle.

“You’re gonna do it?” I asked.

She nodded excitedly. “Daniela is supervising, but yeah, I get to pierce his skin and leave this pretty little barbell in its place.” Daniela was the resident body piercer and would have made sure everything was perfect.

Gabe sighed. “I’m starting to think my girlfriend has a pain kink.”

I snorted. “Only if it’s your pain, my friend.”

“Do you want yours done?” Daniela asked.

I instinctively put my hands over my nipples. “No.”

“It’s more pleasure than pain,” Daniela said, waggling her eyebrows. “Believe me.”

“What about a Prince Albert?” Lola asked.

My dick retracted into my body. “Jesus, no.”

After she stopped laughing, Lola looked at Andrew. “How was breakfast?”

Andrew smiled at her. “Good. We had Moroccan. Apparently I made sex sounds, and Zineb said Spencer’s in love with me.”

Everyone stared at him for a full three seconds of stunned silence before I burst out laughing. I couldn’t believe he just said that. “You weren’t supposed to tell them that!”

Andrew chuckled and looked at my friends. “You should have seen him blush.”

I looked straight at Lola. “He’s lying. He has compulsive lying disorder and makes shit up all the time.”

Andrew laughed, but when Lola, Daniela, and Gabe all turned to look at him, he just slowly shook his head. “It was the truth.”

“Okay,” I said, clapping my hands together. “On that note, we’ll just be going.”

I tried to usher Andrew out the door, but he looked around me to Gabe’s stretched nipple and frowned. “That looks painful.”

Lola held up the piercing cannula and batted her eyelashes. “It only hurts until the pain goes away.”

This time, I grabbed Andrew’s arm and pulled him with me toward the back door of the shop. “Is she really going to pierce his nipple?”

I put my hand on the lock, and before I could pull the door open, Gabe’s cry rang out from cubicle two. “Ow! Jesus H. Christ!”

Andrew’s mouth fell open and I nodded. “That would be a yes,” I said. Andrew paled a little, so I opened the door for him. “After you.”