CHAPTER SIX

 

 

 

The bar had quite a crowd for a Sunday evening.

Andrew had been a little quiet since our conversation in his closet. The irony of that certainly wasn’t lost on me. Thankfully he didn’t push it, but he smiled kindly and tried a little too hard to make me feel better, almost like how someone treats a dog that’s been kicked too much.

The irony of that wasn’t lost on me either.

“Drink?” he asked. I nodded, and he went to the bar while I found us a table. He came back with two beers and handed me one. “Out of all the things I’ve asked, what drink you prefer was not one of them.”

“It’s perfect,” I said. “You chose well.”

The bar filled, getting busier and louder. We talked about random stuff. What places we’ve been, what we wanted to be when we were growing up, our most embarrassing moment ever, subjects at school we loved, those we hated, first crushes, first kisses. After three beers I almost forgot what we were there for. Until Andrew looked over my shoulder, his eyes widened and he paled.

I moved closer and put my hand on his waist. “Is Eli here?” I asked quietly into his ear. I felt him nod rather than saw it. “Has he seen us?”

I could feel Andrew’s chest rise and fall against mine, then he nodded. “Yeah. Just now.”

“Good,” I said, pulling back and giving him a smile. “This is what we wanted.”

He looked at me with eyes I couldn’t read. Scared? Unsure? Sorry?

Still with my hand on him, I leaned in again and whispered in his ear. “I want to know how far that blush creeps down your body.”

He barked out a laugh, and as I’d presumed, he blushed. Which was the very reason I said it. “Jesus,” he mumbled, sipping his beer.

I was grinning at him. It was the perfect reaction. If not for the dickhead ex-boyfriend, then it was for me. I didn’t realise I had a thing for men who blushed.

I didn’t realise I was starting to have a thing for Andrew.

Sure, I treated him differently to any other client I’d had, but that was just because we got on so well. Or so I told myself. It wasn’t until there was a guy behind me who I’d still never laid eyes on that it really hit me…

I had feelings for Andrew.

I didn’t know what I wanted. But I was pretty sure I didn’t want Andrew to reconcile with Eli. Actually, I didn’t even want him to speak to him.

I was failing at my job. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I was swaying my job for personal gain, and that was worse.

“What do I do?” he asked.

I was going to tell him to make his way to the bar. Give Eli the opportunity to make contact. But then Andrew put his hand on my chest, and that touch, that warmth changed everything.

“We bide our time,” I whispered in his ear. I could smell his cologne, I could feel his body heat against me. It was heady, and I could barely speak. “We make him jealous. We make him realise what he walked away from.”

Andrew’s voice was breathy and hot in my ear. “He’s watching.”

God, my head was spinning, my heart was pounding. “Good,” I murmured. And it was good. I wanted Eli to watch. I wanted to put my hand around Andrew’s neck and kiss him. Fuck, I wanted to kiss him until he forgot his own name. I wanted to do more than that. I wasn’t exactly lying about wanting to see how far that blush went down his body.

“Do we go or do we stay?” he whispered against the shell of my ear.

I didn’t know. It was the first time since I’d started this gig that I had no clue what I was doing. I knew we should stay, I knew I should instigate a point of contact for my client, but I wasn’t ready for this to be over.

Jesus, my head was all over the place. And not exactly ruled by reason. I wasn’t thinking straight—if that wasn’t the crux of all gay men’s jokes—it wasn’t just my dick that was making this decision. My stupid heart had a fair bit to say about it. Unfortunately, my even stupider brain wasn’t anywhere to be found. “Let’s get out of here.”

I took his hand and led him through the bar, and that was when I spotted Eli. He was just like the photos I’d seen, and there was no doubt that he noticed I was wearing the vest he’d given Andrew because his eyes narrowed when he saw me in it, and there was no doubt he was watching Andrew.

I was trying not to smile when we got outside, but it was Andrew who laughed. “Did you see his face?”

“I did.” I opened the door of the closest cab and held it for him. He slid into the back seat, and I joined him.

“What do we do now?” he asked. I wasn’t sure if his excitement was because contact had been made or because we pulled off the illusion of being on a date or if it was the three beers he’d had, but his smile was beautiful.

I gave the cabbie Andrew’s address. “We go back to your house and post some pics on Facebook.”

He laughed again. His whole face was lit up, like he was some teenaged kid who just door-knocked and ran. It was kind of adorable. “You weren’t joking when you said we’d get a reaction from him.”

I agreed. “He looked shocked”

“I don’t think he liked my vest on you.”

“That was why I wore it.”

He breathed out a quiet laugh, and I was waiting for realisation to kick in. The high of success was usually followed by a what-have-I-done? low, but with Andrew it never really came.

“Should I be concerned about what type of photos you want to put on my Facebook?” he asked as we walked into his living room.

“No. I said Facebook, not Grindr.”

He laughed at that and walked through to the kitchen. I saw the still-not-connected record player and decided it needed to be working and was bent over the lowboy cabinet plugging the power cord in when Andrew came back in.

He was holding two beers and was totally checking my arse out. “Like what you see?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

He held a bottle of beer out to me. “Shut up and drink it.”

I took the beer with a laugh. “You were supposed to be the meek and polite guy. Not telling me to shut up and drink.”

He took a swig of beer and smiled as he swallowed it. “Only in front of people I’m not comfortable with.”

“Glad to hear that.” I tapped my bottle to his. “Cheers.”

There was a long few seconds where neither of us looked away, and it made my heart pound all out of rhythm and a warmth buzzed through my groin. If he weren’t a client, I would have taken the bottle out of his hand, pushed him back on the sofa, and found every point of skin on his body that made him moan.

Completely oblivious to the pornographic images in my head, he fell back onto the sofa and put one foot up on the coffee table. “The LP won’t play itself,” he said.

I scoffed at him, picked up a cushion from the recliner, and threw it at him. “Bossy shit.”

He caught the cushion easily and let it fall onto his lap. I wondered if it was to hide his arousal or if it was just me who was on edge. I knew without a doubt I’d be taking matters in to my own hands as soon as I got home.

I put the vinyl record onto the turntable and couldn’t help but smile as that familiar crackle filled the room before Jeff Buckley started to play. Then, still facing the record player, I pointed to my arse. “You get a good look?”

I turned around, but he was looking at his phone. “Sorry, what was that?” he asked, still distracted.

“Nothing,” I said. I sat down right beside him. “Did he message you?”

“Nope.”

“He will.”

“You sound pretty sure.”

“Well, I’m good at what I do.”

He blinked a few times and took a long pull of his beer, so I took his phone. I pressed the camera button and leaned back into the crook of his arm. I pulled his arm around my shoulder and totally manoeuvred us to look as close and casual as possible. I held the phone out to take a selfie of us, but the first picture looked wrong. He wasn’t smiling.

“You’re allowed to smile,” I told him.

He did, but it was still too forced. So I dug my fingers into his ribs, and he jumped and laughed, almost spilling his beer. “Hey!” he cried, giving me a playful shove.

I kept my finger on the button as I turned my head, trying to bite his chest. He snorted out a laugh so I tickled him some more and we kind of reclined, with my back against his chest. His arm came back over my shoulder, his hand on my chest, holding me there. It was very relaxed, very natural. I held the phone up and snapped some more, and the photos showed a better smile on his face now. A more content smile.

“Perfect,” I said. I pressed the Facebook app button, and seeing he had some notifications and messages—which were none of my business—I handed him back his phone. “Did you want to check those?”

He reached over to put his beer on the side table and took the phone. He could have easily used the hand that was resting on my chest, but he obviously liked where it was. I didn’t exactly object.

“Mmm,” he said. “Usual crap.” He handed his phone back to me without a hint of hesitation.

I hit the upload picture button and selected the best one. It only showed half his face and the top of my head to my eyes, and it was kind of blurry, but it was clear we were both laughing. It was also pretty clear I had my head on his chest and his arm was around my shoulder. “This one?” I asked.

He looked at it for a second and answered with a nod.

“What do we say?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “This is your domain.”

I snorted and typed in Best night ever, and before I could question if it was too much, I hit Post. “Done.”

He was silent, though I could feel his heart beating against the side of my head. But he never moved his arm from around me, and I still didn’t object. It was literally only seconds later before the first Likes came through, followed by a few LOLs and two Andrew????s and one Hey Andrew, I think someone stole your phone.

Andrew huffed out a laugh. “That’s Michelle. I work with her.” Then his private messages dinged. “Aaaaand that’s Sarah,” he said with a sigh. He didn’t read the messages though, and after about twenty seconds, his phone rang. His sister’s name flashed on screen, and with a groan, he answered. “Hey.”

I could really only hear the buzz of her voice, not the exact words, but it sounded like she said, “He’s there with you now?”

“Well, yeah. Can we have this conversation tomorrow?”

I took a mouthful of beer and threaded the fingers of my free hand through his hand that was still around my shoulder. It was ridiculous how natural this was, how intimate and totally amazing it was. I hadn’t had this kind of closeness in a long time. Sure, I’d had one-nighters, the occasional two-nighter, but nothing like this. Nothing like lazing on the sofa all snuggled in for a Sunday night.

“It was just to get a reaction from him, that’s all,” Andrew said. “No big deal.”

No big deal.

Only it was. To me, at least. And there I was thinking I could get used to being like this with Andrew, before I remembered he was actually still in love with someone else. And that drove home a reality check like a Mack fucking truck.

The reality was, as nice as playing pretend boyfriends was, I still had a job to do. As much as I didn’t want to do it. He was paying me to get his ex back.

Fucking Goddammit. I let go of his hand and sat up straight and faced him. “Can I speak to her?” I asked quietly.

He frowned. “Spencer wants to talk to you,” he told her. After his sister said something I couldn’t hear, he handed me the phone.

“Hi Sarah, it’s Spencer,” I said.

“Hi,” she said, obviously unsure. “Nice photo.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“He talks about you,” she said.

Oh.

Remember your job, Spencer. Remember what he’s spending time with you for.

I cleared my throat. “Can I ask a favour?”

She was quiet, waiting for me to continue.

“Can you please comment on that photo about meeting us out next Saturday night?” I asked. “Say, ‘Nine o’clock at Jazz and Blues Bar.’”

“Um, sure,” she hedged. “Why?”

“So Eli will see it. You don’t actually have to meet us at the bar, if you don’t want. But we’ll be there.” I looked right at Andrew when I said, “And I can guarantee Eli will be too.”

He held my gaze for a while before he picked up his beer and took a long drink.

“Spencer?” Sarah’s voice in my ear startled me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How’s Andrew been?”

“Fine,” I replied. “Though it’s not like I’d really know, is it?”

There was a long pause, then she said, “Hmm, I guess.”

“Anyway,” I said changing the subject completely, “he’s looking at me funny. Though he did want me to tell you that he would love to cook dinner for you tomorrow night.”

“No I didn’t,” he yelled with a shove to my arm.

I laughed and handed him the phone, with which he promptly told his sister he wasn’t cooking her anything. Then he groaned and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” After a few more grunts at her, he disconnected the call and shoved my arm again. “Now I have to freakin’ cook dinner for her.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re welcome.”

“She said you have to help me.”

“She did not.”

“She did so,” he said, then drained his beer. “Be here at six.”

I gaped. Seriously. Like a fish. “Really?”

He nodded. “Sharp. I don’t care much for tardiness.”

“I don’t care much about the word tardiness, I have to say. I care even less about cooking.”

He snorted. “My mother has probably just contacted the NSA to see where she can buy facial recognition software to try and figure out who the hell is in that photo with me, so you can put up with things like cooking and the word tardiness.”

“You really are bossy.”

One of his eyebrows flicked in a daring kind of way. Even a little suggestive, in a “wanna find out how bossy I can be?” kind of way. My dick nodded eagerly. And on that note, I knew I had to leave or I’d be doing something I’d regret. Well, okay, I wouldn’t regret it. I’d enjoy every second of having my way with him, but it wouldn’t be a very wise professional move. I stood up. “Right then,” I said. “I better be going.” I tried really hard to ignore the aching need to palm my half-hard dick, and it didn’t help that he stared at my crotch.

Then his gaze raked up my body, like hot and teasing fingers. I swear I could feel it. When his eyes met mine, they were dark, and he looked like he wanted to devour me. I wasn’t imagining it. I knew lust when I saw it. And I was pretty damn sure if I didn’t turn and walk away right that second, I would have let him. I had to mentally tell my stupid feet to move. Not one part of me wanted to, but I did it. I somehow got to his front door.

“Let me call you a cab.” I didn’t realise he was right behind me.

Startled, I pulled the door open. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll bus it. It’s straight down the boulevard from here.”

“Are you sure?”

No. But if I had to wait even five minutes for a cab to arrive, we wouldn’t be needing the cab at all. I’d have him right there on the foyer floor. I swallowed hard. “Yep. I’m sure.”

Ignoring how close he was, how good he smelled, how my body yearned to just touch him, I left.

Not even the funky smell of the bus or the weirdos on it were metaphorical cold water on how turned on I was. The lights in the tattoo shop were still on, but ignoring them as well, I went straight around the back and upstairs.

I threw my wallet and keys on the table and let out an embarrassingly loud groan when I palmed my dick. I was completely hard now, my dick straining against my hip, confined tight in my jeans. I toed out of my shoes and undid my fly as I walked into my bathroom, slid my jeans and briefs down, and freed my cock. I wrapped my hand around the shaft and gave myself a few long pulls.

Jesus, it felt so good.

I pulled my shirt—his shirt, whatever—off by the hem, taking the vest with it. I couldn’t get out of my jeans quick enough and pulled my socks off with them. I turned the water on in the shower, thanking the hot water gods I didn’t have to wait long. It really was so much less-messy to jerk off in the shower.

I rested my left forearm against the tiles and leaned my forehead against my arm. I’d been so turned on most of the day, this wasn’t going to take long at all. All I could think about was Andrew. That look in his eyes when he saw the bulge in my jeans… God, I could imagine those eyes looking up at me while my dick was down his throat.

Fuck.

I’d bet any amount of money I hadn’t been gone a minute before he had his hand around his own dick. I wondered how he pleasured himself, how he liked it. I pictured him with his head thrown back as he came. I imagined the sounds he’d make, I imagined what it would feel like for him to shoot down my throat, or in my arse.

And I came.

I couldn’t even care about how quick it took. I didn’t care the second time either, when I was in bed and jerked off to fantasies of me fucking him.

What I did care about was the flutter of hope in my chest. I tried to douse it with reality, but it was still fluttering when I fell asleep.

 

* * * *

 

“And you saw the ex?” Lola asked. It was lunchtime on Monday, and like always, we were hanging out in Emilio’s tattoo shop.

“Yep.”

“Did he initiate contact?”

“Nope. Not yet. We definitely had his attention though.”

“When’s the next point of contact?”

“I’m having dinner at his house tonight.”

“With Andrew?”

“Well, not with Eli, that’s for sure.”

“You’re not going out?” she asked. “Somewhere fancy? He seems like a fancy kind of guy.”

“Well, no. I mean, he is, but it’s just dinner. I have to help him cook,” I admitted. “His sister lined it up, so unless she’s bringing Eli with her, there’s no chance of him seeing us.” Lola was looking at me funny. Actually, so was Daniela. Even Emilio was smiling to himself. “What?”

“That doesn’t sound like a job, Spence,” Lola said. “That sounds like a date.”

I scoffed. “He’s a client!”

“Ever had dinner at any other client’s place, on a Monday night?”

“Well, no,” I answered. “But it’s different. I dunno. It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ve set the rendezvous point with the ex for the weekend. This time next week, it’ll be all over.”

Lola wasn’t looking at me exactly. She was watching me. For what, I couldn’t even guess. “And how do you think it will go?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about the boyfriend is off. I can’t put my finger on it—I have no clue, to be honest. He seems like a decent guy, but I think Andrew’s better off without him.”

“Mm mm,” Lola said with a patronizing nod.

I knew what she was implying. I made a mental note to work on my game face, and instead of trying to deny it, I flipped her the bird. “Shut up.”

She laughed and sipped her coffee. “Anyway, what I was going to call you about but decided you could buy me coffee instead was I need some help tomorrow and Wednesday. I have a two-day photoshoot.”

Lola quite often did make-up for photoshoots and needed me to help her carry all her stuff. “Sure. As long as you quit trying to imply anything about me and Andrew.”

She smiled. “I can’t promise that.”

I rolled my eyes. “What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

 

* * * *

 

I stood on Andrew’s front step right on six o’clock. I knocked and waited but there was no answer. My phone buzzed, and it was a message from him.

Running late. Will be five minutes. Sorry.

I replied. Tardiness is so unbecoming of you. Thought you didn’t much care for it.

Not ten seconds later my phone rang. It was Andrew. “I’m driving and shouldn’t have texted you. I should have called first. Are you pissed off? I said I was sorry.”

He sounded genuinely worried. “What? No. I was just taking the piss.”

“Oh.”

“You’re not driving while talking on the phone are you?” I asked. “That’s just as dangerous as texting.”

“I have you on Bluetooth.”

“Oh. Is someone else in the car with you?”

“No, why?”

“Shame really. I was just going to say something sexually inappropriate to embarrass you, that’s all.”

He surprised me by laughing. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’ll survive.” I took a breath and realised I was smiling. “I think your neighbour thinks I’m a creeper.”

“Why?”

“She gave me daggers as she walked inside. She pulled the door shut behind her really quickly like I was going to try and get in. I smiled at her and said I was waiting for you, but she very cheerfully told me she had mace in her handbag.”

“Jesus.”

I laughed. “I was afraid I’d have to break out some kung fu.”

“Do you know kung fu?”

“No. That’s why I was afraid.”

He laughed at that. “Sounds like Constance. She lives directly above me. I can speak to her.”

“No it’s fine. She’s a single girl living in LA. She should be suspicious of strange men hanging around the communal entrance to her apartment, ready to inflict excruciating pain at the first sign of creepiness.”

He huffed out a laugh. “You didn’t charm her?”

“I tried. My dashing smile and Aussie accent must only work on guys.”

“Maybe it’s the beard.”

I gasped, feigning complete offense. “The horror! I love my beard,” I said, as I automatically rubbed my whiskers.

“It suits you.”

“Do you know how long it takes to get it just right?” I asked. “There is a small window of opportunity for perfection. Three days, max. The line between too short and too long is thin, my friend. I’m telling you. You don’t know how easy you have it to be clean-shaven. Though I don’t think a beard would suit you. Maybe some scruff on weekends.”

“Just weekends?”

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t want facial hair at work,” I told him. “But I’m totally down with scruff on weekends.”

“Is that right?” he asked. I was pretty sure he was smiling. It sounded like he’d stopped driving? Was that a car door?

“Hey, did you stop somewhere?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? You either did or you didn’t. Let me guess, you’re at the store buying some fancy stuff I’m not gonna be able to cook, and your sister’s gonna go all Gordon Ramsey on me.”

He was quiet on the other end of the phone, and as I turned around I saw he was standing on the sidewalk, watching me. He had his phone to his ear, a stupid smile on his face, and he was holding a bag of takeout.

Still speaking into the phone, even though he could hear me just fine, I said, “You totally cheated.”

He clicked off the call. “I did,” he said, walking up to me. He handed me the bag of takeout, which was still hot, and put his key into the door. “I don’t cook.”

“Not at all?”

“If I can avoid it.”

“Fair enough,” I said, following him inside. He looked good, great actually. He had on grey pants, a light blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a plain black knitted vest. I completely got caught staring at his arse.

He never called me on it, but he smiled when he took the bag. “Italian okay?”

“Perfect.”

He loaded the takeout into the oven and set it to warm, then went about getting plates and stuff from cabinets. “I was going to order Vietnamese,” he said. “There’s a great little restaurant not far from here that does an amazing chicken and mango dish, amongst other things. Anyway, I called ahead and told them I’d need an ingredient list so I could order and explained the shellfish allergy. She kept trying to tell me I meant menu, and I had to keep saying ‘no, full ingredient list, including the ingredients of any sauces.’ Anyway, after twenty minutes of this, she refused. Starting yelling at me in Vietnamese. So I told her I didn’t care how good her Goi Ga is, she could shove it.”

I couldn’t believe it. “You didn’t?”

“I did,” he answered. Then stopped what he was doing and stared at me. “Why? Shouldn’t I have done that?”

I let out a laugh. “No, that’s fine by me. It’s just that, well, no one has done that for me before.”

“How could they not have?” he asked. Apparently it was a rhetorical question because he didn’t give me time to answer. “I’d rather you didn’t drop dead of anaphylaxis on my living room floor, thanks.”

I chuckled at that. “Yeah, I’d rather I didn’t either.”

He handed me a pile of placemats and waved his hand at the plates and serving utensils, like I’d won them on a game show. “Tonight’s lucky contestant gets to set the table while I go upstairs and get changed.”

I was still chuckling to myself when he walked back into the room. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. It was the most casual I’d ever seen him, and he still managed to look hot. I liked his geeky sweaters on him, but they hid his body. And seriously, he had a fucking great body.

“Is this okay?” he looked down at himself. “I just thought…”

And there he was again with the self-doubt. “You look great. I was just admiring the view, that’s all.”

He shook his head at me, like the notion was ridiculous. Ignoring me altogether, he went into the kitchen and came back out with a bottle of wine and three glasses. “Do you drink merlot?”

“Sure,” I answered, taking the glasses from him and putting them on the table. “What time will Sarah be here?”

Right then, there was a knock at the door.

Andrew shrugged. “Oh, any minute now.”

I laughed and was still smiling as Andrew opened the door. As they both came back in, I was struck by how much they actually looked alike. There was definitely a silent, eyeballing conversation going on between them. It was like she was hinting at something and he was telling her to shut up.

“Spencer,” she greeted me warmly. “Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” I replied. And for some unknown reason, I was nervous. I normally had the knack to work any room, regardless of my comfort level. But this was different, and Lola’s words of “sounds more like a date to me” skidded into my head. I wiped my hands down my thighs and struggled to find what to say next.

Thankfully Andrew spoke first. “So Spencer was just trying to convince me to tell you he cooked dinner and that I didn’t get takeout.”

My mouth fell open. “I did not!” Andrew laughed as he walked past me and into the kitchen. I pushed his shoulder. “Liar.”

Sarah laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Spencer, I know anything that comes out of this kitchen isn’t homemade.”

“So, he’s a notorious non-cooker?”

“Oh yes,” she said, nodding her head. “It’s not that he won’t cook. It’s that he can’t cook. I’m pretty sure he could burn water.”

“I can hear you, you know?” he called out. “Now, come in here and help me.”

“Is he always so bossy?” I asked Sarah.

She rolled her eyes. “Always.”

“Yep. Still hearing you,” he said, and I grinned as I walked into the kitchen. He had taken the dishes from the oven and put them on the counter. He threw a dishtowel at me. “They’re hot, so be careful.”

I snorted out a laugh. “Is that how you ask someone to take food to the table?”

“Well, it’s the least you could do, considering how many hours I slaved away in here,” he said without missing a beat.

I chuckled as I carried the takeout containers to the table. Sarah was looking at us with the same twisted-lip pout that Lola got when she was trying not to smile, and then they were having that silent eyeball conversation again, which I pretended not to notice.

And that’s pretty much how dinner went. Comfortable, funny, never-ending conversation. I liked Sarah. She was smart and cultured, like her brother. They talked of everything from world issues to reality television. And something I found really peculiar was not once did Eli’s name come up.

I don’t know why, but I’d expected him to be a large part of our conversation topic. He was, after all, the reason the three of us were together. But nope. Not once. Not that I minded. I’d rather not talk about him at all. I had a hard enough time wondering when Andrew missed him the most… Did he lay in bed and wish he was there? Did he miss the sound of him coming down the stairs in the morning? Did he miss putting his arms around him? Did he miss him at all? Because the more I got to know Andrew, I had to wonder where Eli fit in.

Normally when I took on a job, there was a gaping hole in my clients’ lives where their partners used to be, that void they were trying to fill. But Andrew seemed so complete. He was a confounding man that much was for certain.

“Spencer?”

Shit. Andrew must have asked me something. “Huh? Sorry, I was a million miles away.”

Andrew looked at me quizzically. “Sarah wanted to know about the record player. I told her to ask the guy who bought it for me.”

Oh. “Oh, sure. Want me to play the album as well?” I asked. Glad for the distraction, I stood up and put the record onto the turntable and lowered the tonearm, and soon Jeff Buckley was singing to the three of us. I sat back down and took a sip of my wine, with no clue of the conversation I’d missed.

Sarah tilted her head, listening to the music. “It’s lovely.”

Andrew put his glass down on the table and excused himself, I presumed, to go to the bathroom. He shot a well-aimed be nice glare at his sister, and then it was just me and Sarah. I knew she was going to ask me questions, and I didn’t have to wait long.

“So,” she started. “I have to say, I’m surprised you bought him a record player.”

She didn’t ask it as a question, but it totally was. What she was really asking was Why did you buy him a record player? Do you buy all your clients record players? I gave her a smile and sipped my wine. “I’m surprised he didn’t have one.”

“You’ve been spending a bit of time with him,” she said, totally asking in a non-question kind of way.

“I have. He’s a nice guy.”

“Just nice?”

I cleared my throat and steered the conversation. “Tell me about Eli?”

She sat back in her seat and took her wine glass off the table. “Eli’s a… nice guy.”

“But?”

“But he wasn’t right for him.” She frowned at her own words. “I don’t know. They just didn’t seem to fit. It was so odd. They had nothing in common, and when Andrew told me they were talking about getting married,” she leaned in and whispered, “I almost freakin’ died.”

“Whose idea was it to hire me?”

“Mine,” she said. “I just want him happy. And if Eli makes him happy, then that’s what I want.”

“Did Eli make him happy?”

Before she could answer, Andrew came back. He looked between us warily, knowing full well he was the subject of our conversation. “Everything okay?”

“Yep,” Sarah answered. “Spencer and I were just arguing over who was going to clean up. He lost, so he has to do it.”

A bubble of laughter escaped me. “I totally didn’t, but I will clean up.” I put the empty takeout trays on top of one another and started to stack plates. “I could just imagine you two as kids.”

Andrew took the plate from me. “You don’t have to clean up anything,” he said. “And our childhood was quite normal. Well, after Sarah realised she’d never win an argument with me, we got along just fine.”

“So, tell us about your childhood,” Sarah asked. “What was life like growing up in Australia?”

There was a dull thud, and I was pretty sure it was Andrew kicking his sister under the table. He was cautious of asking questions of my family, no doubt reading into the veto I gave him the other day. “My childhood was fine,” I said, looking at him. I’m pretty sure he heard the unsaid teenage years weren’t so great. “I had a pretty good childhood actually. I grew up in Sydney, and we rode our bikes down to the soccer fields, to the corner shop, that kind of thing.”

Sarah very astutely, and somewhat obviously, changed the subject. “So do you get asked about your accent all the time?”

I nodded. “All the time. And can I just say, asking me to say throw a shrimp on the barbie is not conducive to keeping one’s teeth.”

They both laughed. “People have asked you to say that?” Andrew asked.

“You’d be surprised. Though my friends are used to it now, but at first they’d crack up at some of the things I’d say.”

Andrew was smiling. “Like?”

So I told them funny stories, using words like servo and arvo, sunnies and chooks, and the differences between mate and maaaaaaate. And all the while Sarah sat back and watched us. Well, mostly she watched Andrew. And not long after, she looked at her watch and stood up. “I didn’t realise it was so late,” she said.

“It’s not even nine,” Andrew countered.

“Yes well,” she said, grabbing her coat and handbag. “I better be going. I’ll leave you guys to clean up.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Andrew mumbled. Throwing his napkin onto the table, he stood, as did I.

She kissed her brother’s cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Then she looked at me. “The answer to your question is no. I thought so, but no. Spencer, it was really nice to see you again.” And with a smile, she was gone.

Huh. Weird.

“What did she mean?” Andrew asked, staring at the door Sarah had just gone out of. “Answer to what question?”

“Um.” I sat back down and tried to recall what I’d asked her. “I can’t remember.”

We were talking about Eli… Oh. That’s right. Did Eli make him happy?

Her answer: I thought so, but no.

“Um, it was about the record player,” I lied. “I asked her if she wanted me to get her one.”

The way Andrew looked at me, I knew he knew I was lying. God, I was struggling to keep up the façade with him. Normally untruths just rolled off my tongue. I’d spent most of my teenage years lying about who I was, then now as a dial-a-boyfriend, it was what I did for a living.

“You can’t lie for shit,” he said, picking up the stack of plates.

“Shush,” I said, just as Jeff Buckley started to sing “Hallelujah.” I breathed in deep, as though I could inhale the music. “It’s my favourite song.”

He made a face at me, though stopped short at sticking his tongue out before he picked up the dirty plates. I helped him pack them all into his dishwasher and tidy up, and in no time at all, everything was back to perfect. “So what time do you start with Lola tomorrow?” he asked when we were done in the kitchen. I’d told him how I sometimes help her out when she needs me, mostly carrying her boxes and bags, or just being an extra pair of hands. It was never strictly exciting work, but I loved spending time with Lola.

“Seven, so I probably should get going soon.” I didn’t really want to leave but couldn’t think of any reason to stay. Well, any reason for him to want me to stay. I took the record off the turntable and slipped it back into its cover. Then I realised his piano was just sitting there, all neglected and unplayed, and I really wanted to hear what he could do. “Would you play me something on your piano?”

His eyes shot to mine, wide and shocked, as though I’d just asked him to have sex with me. “Um…”

“You don’t have to,” I said, giving him an out.

“Are you sure?”

I scoffed. “Of course I’m sure.” Actually, there wasn’t much else I was sure about. But hearing him play the piano was a definite yes.

“What will I play?”

“First thing you think of.”

He blinked a couple of times, still so unsure, and walked over to the piano. He sat down slowly and put his fingers to the keys. And without another word, he took a deep breath and started to play.

Such a sweet song, with patient, perfectly timed finesse. I’d never heard anything like it.

I didn’t know what the song was called, who wrote it, composed it, nothing. But it stole my breath. It wasn’t just the music. It was the man who made angels sing from his piano. He stole my breath, how his hands moved, how he closed his eyes and got lost in the music, how he coerced the sounds from the piano with his whole body. And when his hands fell to his lap and the last note hung in the air, I couldn’t find the words.

Andrew glanced at me, before he looked back at the piano and he exhaled through puffed out cheeks.

I swallowed down the emotions, the butterflies that swarmed my chest. He was waiting for me to respond, so I told him the God’s honest truth. The best I could manage was a whisper. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

He gave me a coy, embarrassed smile. “Don’t you mean heard?”

“Isn’t that what I said?” I asked, confused. My heart was still pounding, an erratic metronome. I was sure I said heard.

Andrew shook his head and smiled down at his hands. “Better than ‘Hallelujah’ by Jeff Buckley?”

I laughed off my embarrassment at my own reaction to him. “Andrew, that was incredible. What song was it?”

“Just something I wrote.”

I scoffed. “Are you kidding me? You wrote that?”

He nodded.

“Just something I wrote.” I mimicked his voice. “No, a grocery list is just something you write, that—that”—I waved my hand at his piano,—“was, my God, Andrew, that was so… incredible.” There just wasn’t another word for it.

The smile he gave me was pure relief and maybe a dash of pride. “Thank you.”

I had to stop myself from walking over and touching him. From putting my hands to his face and kissing him. From taking his hand and leading him upstairs to bed. I wanted to. Fuck, how I wanted to.

And I knew then that I was in over my head.

Somewhere, somehow, I’d let myself cross the line. And I hadn’t just merely stepped over it. Oh no. I’d crossed that line like Usain freakin’ Bolt. And instead of putting a stop to it, instead of stepping back and doing my actual job, my stupid heart went and spoke before my stupid brain.

“Play it again.”