Spencer Cohen Series, Book Two (The Spencer Cohen Series 2) (8 page)

God, he made me laugh. “Have you seriously never cooked spaghetti? It needs to soften.”

He shrugged at the pot before pulling me in and kissing my cheek, smelling all minty too. He must have used my mouthwash. “I have never cooked spaghetti.”

“Jesus. How did you survive college?”

“I lived at home.”

“Did your parents never teach you?”

“They tried. When I burned some expensive pot, my mom made me promise I wouldn’t try again.”

“You weren’t allowed to cook after you burned a pot?”

“Well, that and some of the kitchen.”

I think my mouth fell open. I was speechless.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal. Mom wanted to remodel anyway.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, in that case, when you cook for me, it might be best if you wait for me to get there.”

He rolled his eyes. “Want me to set the table? I think I can manage that.”

I kissed him. “Thank you.”

While we ate dinner, he asked about my new client, and I told him everything. I didn’t want him to think I was doing anything behind his back, and if this whole actual-boyfriend-thing was going to work when my job was to have fake-boyfriends, I needed Andrew to know every detail.

“But you couldn’t find this guy?”

I shook my head. “Not really. He’s moved address and changed jobs. He has no Facebook, not that I could find. Even Lance the Tosser said his profile is gone. Sounds like his parents made him cut all ties.”

Andrew frowned, probably knowing this case sounded a little too close to home for me. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I have no clue. Lola has a job in town tomorrow so she’s going to drop me off at the college. I’ll look around, see what I can find out. If it comes up empty, I’ll contact Lance and tell him it’s a no-deal.”

“Then what will you do?”

“Move onto the next job.”

“Just like that?”

“Sure. I had a message on my phone today from a prospective client. I’m never out of work for long. I called him back and got his voice mail.”

He made a face that was hard to read. “I had lunch with my mother today.”

Oh.
Random subject change, but okay.
“How’d that go?”

“Oh good,” he said, a fond look upon his face. “She wanted to know all about you. She’d seen the photos of course, and Sarah told her I had a new boyfriend.”

Well, this could go any direction. “And what did you tell her?”

“That you’re Australian, and that you’re incredibly good-looking,” he said. “That if there was a magazine called
Aussies Living Sexy in LA
, you’d be on the cover.”

I snorted. “Really?”

“Yep. She argued that Hugh Jackman or Chris Hemsworth would be on the cover, and I just laughed at her. I said, ‘Wait till you see him,’ and then of course she asked when she would… see you, that is.”

“Oh.”

He chuckled quietly. “Don’t worry. I told her ‘When we’re ready for that.’ No pressure.”

I was relieved, I couldn’t deny it. Meeting parents—meeting anyone’s parents—and hoping for their approval was not something I did well. I wiped my hands on my thighs and swallowed hard. “I just struggle with parents and acceptance, that’s all. It’s nothing against your folks, and it’s not indicative of what I think of
us
in any way.”

Andrew reached over and put his hand on my arm. “I know that. It’s fine. She was completely understanding. I told her I was trying to take things slower with you and that meeting the parents wasn’t conducive to taking things slow.”

“And was she okay with that?”

“Yes, more than okay. She said it was a good thing I was trying to put the brakes on a little.”

“Oh.”

Andrew laughed. “It wasn’t about you,” he said. “It was more about me not diving in head first like I normally do.” He collected our empty plates and took them into the kitchen. He put them in the sink and turned to face me. “She asked what you did for a living.”

Oh.

“I told her exactly what you do. I said you’re like a relationship fixer,” he said. “I told her exactly how we met, that it was originally a ploy to get Eli back.”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “And what did she say to that?”

Andrew shrugged. “Not much. She never really liked Eli.”

I snorted. “Did anyone?”

He pulled a face at me. “Anyway,” he continued, “my point about telling my mother what it is you do, is that I don’t have a problem with what you do for a job. I’m not hiding any part of you to anyone. I told Michelle, my friend at work, what you did for a job, and she thought it was cute. But I’ve always been a firm believer that what we do for work doesn’t define us. I draw cartoons for a living, but it’s not who I am. You’re no different.”

I swallowed thickly. He understood me so damn well, and my honesty was the least I could offer him. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t
need
to be a relationship-fixer.”

He tilted his head, his brows knitted together. “I don’t want you to be something you’re not. I just said that.”

I almost smiled. “No, what I mean is, I don’t actually need to do anything for a job. I have—” I swallowed hard, not overly comfortable telling anyone this. “—money.”

He blinked.

“When I said my Aunt Marvie left me a chunk of money, I wasn’t kidding. I just don’t tell many people. It’s invested and in term deposits so I don’t have a huge cash flow, but I live off the interest, basically. And I live here because I love it. Sure it’s small and whatever, but it’s close to Emilio and Lola, and I don’t need material things to make me happy. But I don’t do what I do for the money. I do it because I like helping people.”

Andrew stared at me, then he laughed. “You are an interesting man, Spencer.”

“You don’t care?”

“Why would I care? I said it doesn’t bother me what you do for a job.”

I was talking about the money, but he didn’t even seem to care about that either. I stood up from the table and walked over to him. I put my hand to his face and kissed him softly. “You’re kind of great, you know that?”

He smiled all shyly. “Did you say you got gelato?”

I let out a laugh and put my hand on his flat stomach. “Where do you put it all?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. At this rate I’ll be at the gym at 4:00 a.m.”

So, with the tub of gelato and two spoons, we planted our arses in front of the TV and watched re-runs of
Family Feud
until almost midnight, laughing and arguing about who was winning and taking the piss out of each other’s answers.

He texted me when he got home.
Had the best night, thank you.

Me too,
I replied.

My place, Thursday night?

Will you cook?

If I have to. Oh, sorry, damn autocorrect. That was supposed to be If you help me.

LOL. Deal.

Talk tomorrow?

Of course.

Night, Spencer. Sweet dreams.

I was still smiling when Lola picked me up the next morning.

I climbed into Cindy Crawford, Lola’s 80s model car, and Lola swerved back into traffic before I could even put our drinks into the cup-holder and put my seat belt on. We’d gone a block when I handed her her coffee. She eyed me instead of the road. “Look at you all smug smiles. I take it things with Andrew are going great?”

“Can you watch the traffic? I don’t feel like dying today.”

She smiled, sipped her coffee, changed gears, and changed lanes one handed, and all while looking at me. I didn’t really need the green tea when I had a morning heart-starter like a trip in the car with Lola at the wheel.

“So?” she pressed. “I take it you and Andrew…?”

“We still haven’t had sex,” I told her.

She swerved, a car honked its horn, and she straightened up. “What do you mean? You’re definitely getting something. I can tell.”

I laughed. “Well, true. We’re… fooling around, doing some stuff, but no penetrative sex. Yet.”

“Can I ask why? I mean, statistically gay men have the most sex out of everyone, so you’re singlehandedly ruining the bell curve, honey. It’s going to look more like a Smurf hat than a bell, Spence. Do you want that on your conscience?”

I almost spat my tea. “Just because it’s not actual fucking, doesn’t mean it’s not sex. We’re doing our part to prop up the bell curve, believe me. We’re taking things slower so we don’t fizzle and burn out, that’s all.” Then I noticed the cars in front of us were stopped, but Lola was still looking at me. I put my free hand on the dash. “Ah, Lola?”

She hit the brakes, and without missing a beat, she said, “Aww, that’s so sweet.”

I took a calming breath. “Remind me next time to have my tea with a Xanax to go.”

“I thought you were going to tell me he was saving himself.”

“Ah, no. He’s finding it harder to abstain than me, I think.”

“I ain’t surprised. Look at you. Looking all dapper today.”

I was wearing my navy blue three-quarter pants, a white T-shirt, and Andrew’s Argyle vest that he left at my place. “Andrew told his mother I would be on the cover of
Aussies Living Sexy in LA
.”

She grinned, her eyes wide. “He does the fake magazine cover thing too?”

“Yep.”

“Awww, see? You’re a match made in heaven!”

I laughed. “You like his vest on me? He left it at my place last night.”

“It suits you,” she said, again looking at me and not the road.

“Um, car. Car!”

Lola slowed down so we didn’t rear end the car in front of us, thankfully. “So, you’re going to an acting school in search of a guy you can’t find?”

“Yeah. I have no clue what this one’s about. If I can’t find a trace of him after today, I’ll just tell Lance it was a no-go.”

“Oh, did a Peter Hannikov call you?”

“Yes, he left a message. You know him?”

“He’s a friend of a lady Gabe works with. He split with his boyfriend. It’s all rather sad apparently, but Mindy, who works with Gabe, suggested calling you. Could be worth a shot.”

I smiled. “Thanks. I called him back and left a message. I’ll try again today.”

We came up to the acting school and Lola pulled Cindy Crawford up to the kerb. “I’ll bus it home; thank you for the lift.”

“No worries,” she replied.

“Oh, and it’s still my shout for dinner. Does Friday night sound good? I’ll order something in for everyone at the shop, say around nine? Emilio should be shut by then.”

“Sounds great!”

I jumped out of the car and barely had the door shut before Lola took off into traffic. I watched until she’d disappeared, amazed at how she even got a licence, then turned to face the college.

The school of visual and performing arts was huge. It was a grey building on a campus, of sorts, with trees and wide welcoming steps at the front. There were people milling about. Students, obviously. Young, wearing jeans and backpacks, most of who were laughing and talking animatedly with their hands, clearly happy to be at a school they wanted to be in. I somehow couldn’t imagine students who studied maths or law being so vivacious.

Not that I knew for certain, because I’d never gone to college—I’d never wanted to. But I was unremarkable here. I walked into the school grounds like I belonged. No one would look at me twice and wonder what I was lurking around for. Not that I had any intention of lurking at the school; I knew I wouldn’t get far with random questions to strangers about a fellow student. There was a group of five, three guys, two girls, standing near the steps, all smiling as they talked, and I approached them.

“I was wondering if you could help me?” I interrupted. “I was told the best coffee shop was Grand something?” Given my Australian accent and my request for directions, I let them assume I was a new student here.

One of the guys pointed left. “Grand Café. About half a block that way.”

“Cheers,” I said, giving them all a smile as I went in the direction he offered.

I couldn’t stand at the steps with a photo of Yanni asking if anyone had seen him without raising suspicions and possibly scoring myself a meeting with campus security, so I figured the coffee shop he worked at would be the best place to start. My phone call to the café hadn’t gotten me anywhere, but maybe a meeting face to face would.

The café was busy, students grabbing a last minute caffeine hit before class mostly but a few suits as well. I hung back and waited until the line died down a bit, to give myself more time to speak to the girl behind the counter. I had no idea if it was the same girl I spoke to on the phone, and in all honesty, I wasn’t expecting to get any information.

I ordered my green tea, and seeing they had boxes of some varieties for sale, I used that as my conversation opener. “What are the different ones you have there?” I asked.

“Green tea with honey, green tea with lemon, green tea with orange,” she said, bringing a box of each over. “They’re new.”

I smelled each box, just to see if I could get a hint of any scent. I put the orange one aside. “I’ll take this one, thanks.”

“No worries,” she replied.

Her name tag declared her to be Jing. A small Asian girl who seemed cheerful and pleasant enough, and seeing she was alone behind the counter for a moment, I handed her some cash and said, “I phoned yesterday, I’m not sure if it was you I spoke to. I’m looking for Yanni. He’s a friend of mine, and I’m worried about him.”

She looked at me before she scanned the room for her co-workers, somewhat nervously. She handed me my change, and said, “If you take a seat, I’ll bring your tea over.”

“Great, thanks.” I found a seat toward the back and waited. Only by the time my tea was ready, her two colleagues were close by. Not intentionally, just cleaning tables and chatting with nearby customers. But when Jing delivered my tea, I knew it wasn’t the right time.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile. She looked around nervously again, so before she could clam up, I told her, “I’ll hang around the campus for about an hour. Out the front, under the trees. If you have something you can share.”

She blinked a few times, wiping the table down before nodding, ever so slightly, and going back to the counter.

I finished my tea, collected my box of tealeaves, and went back to the college to wait.

And wait. And wait.

I gave her an hour, then I gave her another. I liked to people-watch so I didn’t mind. It was pleasant enough in the shade, and most people gave me a smile as they walked past. I was just about to give up when Jing came scurrying around the corner. She saw me and slowed to a walk, nervously sitting on the same seat. “I had to stay late, sorry. I thought you might be gone.”

“Thanks for coming,” I said.

“Yanni was my friend,” she said. “We weren’t close, but he was nice to me. I worry about him too.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

She shook her head. “Last time I saw him was two weeks ago. He came into work to tell Sasha—he’s our boss—that he couldn’t work anymore.”

“Did he say why?”

She looked at me then. “No, but he was all banged up. He had a black eye and a cut on his cheek.”

Oh, Jesus.
I literally sagged. “Oh, no.”

“He wouldn’t say who did it,” Jing said quietly. “Just that he had moved and changed schools also.”

“Had he ever mentioned his family to you?” I asked. “If his parents were strict or religious or anything like that?”

She shook her head. “No. He never spoke of them.”

I’d already sounded too much like an interviewer and not like a concerned friend. “He just told me once they weren’t cool with a lot of things. They were pretty hard on him.”

“Because he’s gay?” she asked.

I nodded. “Mostly. Did he tell you about Lance? They’d been dating each other for a while.”

Jing shook her head. “No. I gathered he was seeing someone, but we didn’t talk about that stuff. Have you spoken to him, the boyfriend?”

“Yeah. He hasn’t heard from him either.”

She frowned. “Oh. Well, that’s not good.”

I leaned back and sighed, certain this was another dead end. “Thank you for talking to me, Jing. I appreciate your help.”

“Do you think you’ll find him?”

I looked at her and answered honestly. “I don’t think he wants to be found right now. He’s changed his phone, jobs, schools, and didn’t tell anyone where he was going.”

“Do you think he’s okay?”

I looked her right in the eye. “I hope so.”

Jing stood up. She looked as though she was warring with a decision in her head. “I um, I don’t know if I should tell you this… but I can see in your eyes you are concerned.”

That wasn’t pretend. The more I heard about Yanni, the more I was concerned. “Tell me what?”

“I heard he went to Pol’s, but I don’t know if that’s true.”

“Pol’s?”

Her eyes narrowed a little. “You know, Pol’s Academy.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry, of course.” I had no clue what she was talking about, but under my pretence of being a friend who had classes with Yanni, I realised a little too late that I should have known such things. I scrubbed my hand over my face. “I’ll try there. Thank you so much.”

She walked a few steps from me, then stopped. “If you find him. Tell him I said hi.”

I smiled at her. “I will. Thank you.” I sat there for a little while longer, turning my phone over in my hands, wondering what on earth I was going to tell Lance. He was strictly my boss for this job, and I owed it to him to tell him what I’d found. I never promised him good news.

I went through my contacts, found his number and dialled. I wasn’t surprised it went through to voicemail but didn’t want to leave news of Yanni having a black eye over the phone. “Lance, It’s Spencer Cohen. I might have found something on Yanni, though it could be another dead end. I’ll need to follow it up. It’s the last hope I’ve got. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know.”

I took the next bus home and spent the afternoon helping Emilio in the shop, grateful for the distraction.