The Spencer Cohen Series, Book Three(8)

By: N.R. Walker

To say I was stunned at his outburst was an understatement. Stunned, floored, amazed. And speechless. I pulled him to me then pushed him against the tiles and kissed him with as much honesty as he’d shown me. No, I couldn’t find the words in that moment, but I hoped he understood me anyway.

When I finally pulled away, both of us breathless, I kept my lips to his. “Don’t ever censor yourself,” I whispered. “Don’t change a thing.” I stared into his eyes, and amid the steam and ragged breaths, his gaze never left mine. “You are perfect.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“For me. You’re perfect for me.”

He finally smiled, and lifting his hand to my chin, he scratched my beard. “Don’t be long. I’ll put the popcorn in the microwave.”

He walked out of the shower, drying himself quickly, and putting on nothing more than the towel around his waist as he disappeared out of the bathroom. I smiled to myself as I washed my body and shampooed my hair, and then I remembered… Popcorn. Microwave.


The only popcorn I had wasn’t supposed to go in the microwave. It was some organic, gourmet stuff that had to be cooked on the stove. Shit, shit, shit! I shut the water off, and grabbing a towel, I scrambled out of the bathroom and ran into the kitchen while trying to wrap the towel around my hips with my hair full of shampoo. “Andrew!”

He was standing there, still with just a towel around him, holding the whole bag of popcorn with the microwave door open. I startled him. “What?”

“Not the microwave,” I panted. I closed the microwave door and put my hand to my heart. “Popcorn goes on the stove. In a pot. With oil. And maybe not the entire bag, unless we want to feed the masses.”

He looked at the bag like it had offended him. “I didn’t think it looked like the ones my mom used to make.”

I barked out a laugh. “Didn’t want to read the instructions on the packet?”

“Well, no, I just thought…” The corner of his mouth pulled down. “I told you I don’t cook. You give me the ‘you’re so perfect’ speech, and I try to kill us with popcorn.”

I took the popcorn from him and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “You’re still perfect.” But then shampoo ran into my eye. I squinted my eyes shut. “Ow, shit, shit. My eye!”

Now he laughed and, taking my arm, led me back to the bathroom. “Keep your eyes shut,” he said. I heard the water turn on and felt him pull my towel away before he took my hand and gently pushed me into the shower.

I stuck my head straight under and let the water stream over my face and eyes while washing the shampoo out of my hair. It only took a minute, and when I was done and dried, I threw on a pair of cargos and found Andrew dressed, sitting on the sofa with his bare feet on my coffee table. He had two bottles of water and a bowl of crisps. “I got them from your cupboard. Figured they were safer than popcorn.”

I lifted his chin and kissed him before throwing myself onto the sofa, half leaning on him like a pillow, and pulled his arm around my shoulder. “What movie are we watching?”

“Reservoir Dogs. Classic Tarantino. Is that okay?”

I sighed, completely content and happy. “Like I said. Perfect.”


I had to work, which was crap, but Andrew said he’d drive me to my client’s place. I was trying not to think about how weird it might be for him, driving his boyfriend to work, where I was spending the evening pretending to be the boyfriend of someone else. I offered to call a cab, but Andrew wanted to reassure me he was okay with it.

I finished tying my bowtie, slipped on my jacket, and walked out to where Andrew was waiting.

He stared. Wide eyed, open mouthed. “Oh.”

I looked down at my tuxedo. “Do I look okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Um, yes.” He shook his head. “Jesus.”

“It’s a formal, black-tie dinner,” I said, crinkling my nose. “And anyway, the suit hides my sleeves. Peter would prefer me to not show my tattoos.”

Andrew scowled at that. “Did he say that?”

I tried not to smile. “I asked. It’s a part of my job to look the part. Peter’s a bit older and has always been vocal in his distaste of tattoos, so his ex-boyfriend would know something was up if I were to turn up with mine showing.”

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