Spencer Cohen Series, Book One (The Spencer Cohen Series 1) (10 page)

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.