Spencer Cohen Series, Book One (The Spencer Cohen Series 1) (3 page)

He shook his head. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Not telling. Today is all for questions about you, not me.”

“When is it your turn to answer questions?”

“Tomorrow.”

“We’re meeting tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“Where at?”

“My place,” I offered without any clue as to why. The words were out before I could stop them. “If you want. Or we can go someplace else, I don’t mind.”

“And you’ll tell me what your favourite song is then?”

“Yep, as long as you narrow yours down to one. One favourite song.”

He smiled and shook his head. “I could call veto.”

I grinned back at him. “You could, but you won’t. Okay, so tell me about your friends.”

He paused. “Will you want to meet them?” he asked, his smile was gone and there was caution in his eyes.

“That depends,” I answered with a shrug, trying to be casual. It was like I’d hit a nerve. “If I need to, I guess I will. But right now I just need to know what makes you tick.” Then I asked, “Would you have a problem with me meeting them?”

He was quick to answer. “Oh, no, no. It’d be fine, I guess.” He shook his head. “I just didn’t know how far this went, that’s all. I don’t want them to get the wrong idea about us, and I’d prefer not to tell anyone that this”—he motioned between us—“is a contract deal.”

“It goes as far as we need it to go, and you can tell people whatever you’re comfortable in telling them,” I told him with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “It goes as far as getting Eli to see us together and hopefully make him see what he walked away from. And that’s all.”

Andrew nodded and looked back down at his hands.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, so tell me about him.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Full name.”

“Eli Masterson.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty five.”

“Where did you meet?”

He smiled. “In the grocery store.”

“Who asked who out?”

Andrew blinked, and he answered softly. “He asked me.”

“Do you have any pictures of him?”

Andrew fished his phone out of his pocket. He thumbed through some pages, then handed it to me. “There’s a few,” he said. “You can scroll through if you like.”

Eli had dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, and a toothy smile. The first picture was of them taking a selfie. Eli was holding something in his hands. Andrew was holding the phone so I assumed the photo was his idea. I scrolled back to another one and it was a candid of Eli, then another of him poking his tongue out. Then one of them sitting together, the photo taken by someone else. They looked happy enough though, and it really wasn’t like I knew Andrew very well—and I’d never even laid eyes on Eli. They looked decidedly normal.

“How long were you together?”

“Eight months,” Andrew said.

“And you lived together?”

He nodded. “We’d only been dating for a month or two when he moved in.” He laughed, an incredulous sound. “That sounds so stupid, I know. But he was here almost every day anyway, and he was paying rent for an apartment he was never at, so it made sense.” Andrew sighed long and loud. “Our whole relationship was a bit of a whirlwind. Everything happened so quickly.”

“You were engaged?”

“Yes.” Then he shrugged one shoulder. “Well, not technically. We didn’t have rings or anything. He asked me to marry him, but then he never brought it up again.”

Hmm. Strange.

There was something I had to know. “Andrew, can I ask you something personal?”

He laughed. “And you haven’t already?”

I smiled at that. True as it was, this was different. “Did he hurt you?”

Andrew froze, then blinked. “When he left me?”

“No, I mean, did he ever hurt you? Was he rough, intimidating, or aggressive in any way?”

“What? No,” he shot back. “No, nothing like that at all. He was never like that. Why would you ask that? Do you think I’d want him back if he did?”

I put my hand up in a peace-offering kind of way. “I just needed to know what I was dealing with and whether some jealous psycho would want me dead for being with you. I ask everyone that.” Well, technically I didn’t; I only asked that question if it was warranted.

He took his phone back like I’d offended Eli’s photograph. “He’s not like that at all. I know some people didn’t like him much, but they didn’t know him like I did.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “I meant no harm.” He said Eli never hurt him physically, and I believed him. There was just something about Eli that didn’t sit well with me. Maybe once I got to know him better, I’d change my mind. Andrew clearly loved him, and my objective was to get them back together, not to see if Eli was worth his salt. “When did you speak to him last?”

“Last week,” Andrew said, talking to the photo of Eli.

“Who initiated contact?”

Andrew cleared his throat. “I called him.”

“And how was it?” I asked. “Was he amicable about it? Friendly?”

He nodded. “Yes. Chatted and laughed like nothing had changed.”

Mixed signals were the worst to deal with. They kept ’em tagging along like a second-hand toy. Discarded in case something better came along, but keeping them close in case it didn’t.

He was still staring at his hands in his lap. “Do you think I’m being stupid?”

“Not at all,” I replied without hesitation. “You’re in love with him. You do whatever it takes. I’m certainly not one to judge.”

His eyes shot to mine, his voice whisper quiet. “Have you ever? You know, been in love?”

And just like that, with a surprise question, I got that tight-chested feeling, like his words squeezed my heart. I was going to lie, but then thought fuck it. There was something about Andrew that made me feel, well, I wasn’t sure. Safe? Like he wouldn’t judge me. So, with that in mind, I told him the truth. “I don’t think so. Lust, sure. But love?” I shook my head. “I think love’s for other people.”

Andrew studied me for a minute, like I confused him. “Do you have someone… a boyfriend?”

I shook my head. “Nope. No time really. I’m too busy going on pretend dates with hot guys like you.”

Andrew scoffed and a slight blush crept up his neck. He was apparently at a loss for words. “You say the most random things.”

It was true. I did. I needed to know him and Eli, and of course, how and why their relationship ended. So I asked him one more. It was always the hardest question. “Why did he leave you?”

He looked at me like I’d slapped him. He didn’t answer for a while. His lips pulled into a twisted pout before his teeth worried over his bottom lip again. Finally he said, “To be honest, I don’t know. Like I said, everything was a whirlwind with him. We met, he moved in, he asked me to marry him, everything was going well. Well, I thought it was, then…” He shrugged. “Then I came home from work as he was walking out with his suitcase.”

“What did he say?” I asked gently.

“Just that he—” Andrew exhaled loudly. “—just that he needed space.”

“So he didn’t say it was over? He didn’t say the engagement was off?”

Andrew looked at me sadly and shook his head. “No. He said he needed space and just left, like he was heading out to get some milk or something.”

“Hmm.” Something was off for sure. I frowned, a look Andrew didn’t miss.

“What?”

Then for the second hardest question. “Do you think there could be someone else?”

“No.” Andrew shook his head, then his brow furrowed. “Well, I don’t think so.” Then he looked at me with panic in his eyes. “Oh, God. What if there is?” He looked ill before he put his head in his hands.

I put my arm around his shoulder, and went for a well-rehearsed line, only this time it felt different. “Andrew, listen to me. If this guy is seeing someone else, then you’re better off without him. But if he just needed space and some time to see things clearly, then we’ll put things into focus for him, okay?”

Andrew took a deep breath and composed himself. Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay then,” I said with a reassuring smile. “So if we’re gonna get this man of yours all jealous and grovelling at your feet, begging for you to take him back, then we’ve got work to do.”

“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!”