Spencer Cohen Series, Book Two (The Spencer Cohen Series 2) (11 page)

“Absolutely. I’ve made it my mission in life to teach you how to cook.”

He scowled at me, but he hardly meant it. It was more smile than scowl. “I’m only cooking if you’re there to help me.”

“Deal.” I paid for the books, and when the cashier handed me the bag with the books in it, I turned to face Andrew. I took a deep breath and slowly held them out for him, like I would if they were flowers. “For you.”

I expected some snarky comment or at least an eye roll, but he blushed a little and smiled all shy-like. He took the books graciously. “Thank you.”

I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to slide my hand along his jaw to his neck so much my palm tingled. But I didn’t. The bookstore was crowded, and we’d not really discussed PDAs outside of a darkened bar. Hand-holding was one thing, kissing another.

“We should go,” I said; my voice was gruff. I cleared my throat. “The bar’s not far from here apparently.”

Andrew licked his lips as though he wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted him to, but instead he stared at me for a long second before nodding. “Yeah. We should.”

I led the way to the doors, kicking myself that I’d promised him we’d go to a jazz bar. Going back to his place and taking him to bed seemed like such a better idea. But, like a good boy, instead of hailing a cab and going home, I pointed up the street. “This way.”

The air outside was like a magic antidote to the sexual tension between us. My need to take him into a dark alley and push him against a wall, slipping in between his thighs and kissing him until he surrendered seemed to dissipate into the LA night above us. But it was never far away, just under the surface, itching to pick up where we left off, waiting for the perfect moment to take him home.

We grabbed a quick bite to eat on the way, too keen to check out the jazz scene. As we neared the bar, we had to run across the street, and Andrew took my hand, only letting it go when we got to the door. Inside the bar was dark and not overly crowded, but enough to afford perfect anonymity and getting cosy in the corner. It reminded me of a bohemian poet’s hangout, shabby chic but elegant enough to explain the ridiculously priced drinks.

I told Andrew to grab a table while I went to the bar, and while I waited, I noticed the stage. It was centred along the far wall, and on the stage was an old piano, a double bass stood in its stand, and a clarinet and trombone stood upright in their stands. It looked kind of sad and lonely, seeing these instruments without their musicians, but when I glanced over at Andrew, he was sitting at a table looking at the stage as well. And he was just beaming.

How on earth his ex had never taken him to a jazz bar, I’ll never know. I’d bring him to one every day of the week if I could, just to see him smile like that.

The barman interrupted my musings, so I ordered two beers and finally fell into a seat next to Andrew. I handed him the beer and pressed my knee and thigh against his. “Looks good,” I said, nodding toward the stage.

He agreed, still grinning. “Yeah.” He took a swig from his bottle. “So, Lance turned up like you thought he would. What did he have to say?”

I swallowed my mouthful of beer. “He said he just wants to see him. Everything he says, how he reacts, it’s either all genuine or he’s a very good actor.”

“What do you think?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what to make of it. Of
him
. I want to believe him, but there’s something about him I can’t put my finger on.”

Andrew sipped his beer and nodded. “Well, you know what they say about your sixth sense?”

“I see dead people?”

He laughed. “No. That you get that feeling for a reason. There’s a reason the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. That creepy feeling to warn you of danger, it’s a real thing.”

“You believe that?”

He looked me right in the eye. “Yes I do.”

“Do you believe in fate?”

His eyes flashed with something—amusement, daring, honesty?—and he took a second to answer. “I never used to. I’m more of a logical, scientific reasoning kind of guy.”

I sipped my beer to hide my smile. “You used past tense, so never used to, but you do now?”

“The jury’s still out. I’m undecided.”

“It’s not difficult. You either do or you don’t?”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“You think it’s fate that things happen for a reason?”

“I think we choose our own paths, make our own decisions, but I think the people who come into your life do so for good reason.”

“So, your decision to come to America?”

“Completely my decision, but I was destined to be here.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” he argued. “You can’t have both.”

“Says who?”

He frowned, flustered. “Well, the rules of destiny.”

“The rules of destiny?”

He barked out a laugh. “Shut up.”

“Is that even a thing?”

“Well, yes! I just made it a thing.”

“So our lives, our entire existence, is like some cosmic board game, where our makers roll a dice and move our little markers all over the board?”

He laughed again. “Yep, exactly,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Like The Game of Life, but only for real.”

“Well, I’d personally like to sincerely thank my maker for rolling whatever number led you to me,” I told him. I never took my eyes off him as I had another drink of beer. “I certainly landed on Mayfair when I met you.”

“May, what?”

“Mayfair. You know, the dark blue, most expensive street on Monopoly?”

He laughed. “You mean Boardwalk. Anyway, which is totally not The Game of Life, but okay.”

Just then, some guys took to the stage and sat on stools at their chosen instruments. Any chance of conversation between us was lost because Andrew turned his full attention to them. Well, almost full. He turned his chair a little so he was facing them better and slid his hand onto my thigh under the table and looked as happy and intrigued as I’d seen him.

The band was good, and they played a bunch of songs Andrew was familiar with. He seemed genuinely impressed. Not that I was any expert, but I leaned in and whispered, my lips at his ear, “You can play the piano better than him.”

Andrew chuckled. “Uh, probably not.”

I leaned back in. “Uh, probably yes.”

He shook his head, dismissing me altogether. “I think you’re biased.”

“I think you’re sexy.”

He laughed, his warm breath rushed over my neck, and I was just about to pull back and kiss him when the music stopped. They announced a short break, and the room filled with chatter and recorded background music, which paled in comparison to what we’d just heard. “You should go play the piano while they’re having a break,” I told him.

“What?” he said, alarmed. “No way!”

“Yes way. Give these good people a lesson in music.”

He shook his head. “You don’t just play someone else’s instrument, Spencer.”

“Is that like some cardinal sin?”

“Absolutely.”

“What if you asked first?” I looked around to see if I could see the guy who’d been playing the piano, but he wasn’t anywhere I could see.

Andrew grabbed my arm. “No, no. Don’t even think about it.” He looked at his watch. “Come on, it’s getting late, and I have to work in the morning.”

“They still have to play another set,” I tried to reason, looking toward the stage, but Andrew stood up.

He picked up the books I’d bought him. “Is it okay if we go early? I’ve had the best night, but it’s almost eleven.”

“Sure,” I said, standing with him. “I didn’t mean to scare you off. I wouldn’t have asked without your permission.”

He gave me a tight smile. “No, it’s not that…”

I could tell it totally was. “Well, we better get you home before the stroke of midnight.”

“I won’t turn into a pumpkin,” he mumbled.

“Shame. I love eating pumpkin.”

He laughed again; the smile that lingered was genuine.

We hailed a cab and climbed into the back. Andrew gave directions to his place, sat right up close to me, and held my hand. “I did have the best night,” he said, not caring if the cabbie heard or saw us. “But I figured it’ll take us a while to get home, then to fall asleep…” He blushed.

Mmm, the mere hint of suggestiveness made my whole body warm. “Oh, any particular plans I should know about?”

“I thought we could improvise,” he said.

“I like improvising.”

He sighed and leaned against me. Traffic was fairly steady, and we had a decent fifteen minute cab ride ahead of us. I couldn’t blame him for getting comfortable. I put my arm around his shoulder, and he sighed contentedly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I answered, hoping it was a question laced with innuendo. Mental foreplay was a lot of fun. “But before you ask, no I’ve never played naked Twister before.”

He snorted. “That totally wasn’t my question.”

“Shame.”

“It’s about your family.”

I blinked, shocked. I wasn’t expecting that at all. “Oh.”

He sat up. “No, sorry, it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I wasn’t sure what he could possibly want to know. I hadn’t mentioned them since that first day we really got together, after my complete meltdown when I thought Andrew had gone back to his ex. I also hadn’t thought of them since then. I’d been too busy—too happy—with Andrew. “It’s okay,” I said, swallowing thickly. “Ask away.”

“No, it was silly, and I shouldn’t have mentioned them.”

“Well, you have now, so just ask.”

He furrowed his brow and the corner of his lip pulled down. “It was just about fate and destiny, that’s all. You said you believed everything happened for a reason…” He shrugged. “Just forget I mentioned them. Sorry.”

“You’re wondering if I believe that all things happen for a reason, what purpose my family disowning me could possibly mean?”

He frowned and pulled back, putting a distance between us. “I’m sorry.”

“Andrew, would you stop apologising?”

He shook his head. “I do this, you know. Ruin things, that is. I say things that affront people, and I ruin things.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He rolled his eyes, and I really couldn’t tell if it was aimed at me, or at himself. He was certainly pissed with himself. His jaw clenched and he stared out the window, like he couldn’t bear to look at me. And just like that, he shut me out. I knew I was new to relationships, in the whole scheme of things, and somewhat defensive by nature. But this reaction from him threw me completely. I had no idea how we went from having the best night, to a silent void between us.

“Andrew, would you look at me?”

He did and waited for me to speak.

“You didn’t ruin anything by asking me a question.”

“It was insensitive, and I should have known better.”

“I’m not made of glass,” I told him, pissed off he thought I was
that
fragile. “I know I have… issues when it comes to my family. The meltdown I had when we first met was a combination of things, and I’m sorry you got caught up in that, but it doesn’t mean you have to walk on eggshells around me. If you want to fucking know something, then ask.”

He blinked, shocked. “You’re angry,” he whispered. “See? This is what I do.”

“I’m not angry that you asked me about my family, Andrew. I’m angry that you think you have to censor yourself around me, and when I question that, your first reaction is to put a wall up between us.”

He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Please stop apologising.”

“But I am. I ruined the perfect night.”

“You didn’t ruin it.”

“Well, you’re angry with me so I’d consider that ruined.”

I put my hands through my hair and realised the cab had turned into Andrew’s street. “I’m not angry,” I said softly.

“You just said you were,” he countered.

The cab stopped and I sighed, defeated. Did I get out with him? Did he even want me to? He put his hand on the door handle. “You should probably just go home,” he said.

Right, then.
No guessing required.

He opened the door, and I grabbed his arm. “Andrew, what just happened?”

He smiled ruefully. “I told you. I ruined it.” He passed some money to the cab driver and got out. He turned to face me, and the look on his face squeezed my heart. “I’ll call you,” he choked out and closed the door.

And I sat there, my head spinning, with no clue what the fuck just happened.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked.

I looked at the driver’s eyes in the rear vision mirror. And every book and every movie that I hated, where the characters bickered over something stupid and miscommunication and pride fucked everything up, ran through my head. I hated that they wouldn’t just grow the fuck up and talk to each other. It was cliché, it was immature, and I understood now that it was very fucking real.

I still hated it.

I pulled out my wallet and threw a tenner to the cabbie for making him wait. “Right here, mate,” I said, getting out. I slammed the door and stomped after Andrew.

He’d just got his key in the door and opened it. “What are you doing?” he asked.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. “We’re going to fucking talk.”

His place was dark, save the hall light that cast a faint light out into his living room. He was still holding the books I’d bought him like they were some defensive shield, so I took them from him and threw them onto the sofa. He looked at the floor between us, and Jesus, he looked like he was about to cry.

So I did the only thing I could think of doing. I pulled him against me. I wrapped my arms around him, and he held me just as tight. It felt so good. It was true: hugs had healing powers. He fit against me just right, not in a sexual way, but in a fixing kind of way. I could feel the tenseness leave his shoulders, and after a moment he relaxed into me.

He mumbled against my shirt, “I don’t know what happened.”

I pulled back just a little and lifted his chin so I could kiss him. It was a soft kiss, an emotional kiss. “Please don’t ever not talk to me,” I whispered. “Don’t cut me off, don’t ignore me. It’s the one thing…” I swallowed hard. “It’s what they did.”