15. Spencer
Chapter fifteen
Spencer
“Are you sexually attracted to me?”
Sebastian blinks at me, the glass of scotch he ordered at the bar halfway to his lips. “Uh…” He puts the drink down and glances around at the busy pub we’d randomly picked. “No.” He leans back, still looking confused. I don’t think that what I said is that confusing. A simple question. “Why, do you think I am?”
“No.”
He studies me for a heartbeat before saying, “Why’d you ask, then?”
“Because I wanted to know.” There doesn’t have to be an ulterior motive for a question. Knowing an answer and getting the answer are two different things.
Sebastian lifts a finger from his glass, pointing at me. “Yes, but you already knew.”
“People hide it.”
“Honey, if I was sexually attracted to you, you’d know it.”
A relief that he’s so straightforward about it. Constantly having to read people for what they’re saying without saying it can get fucking exhausting. I deal with it enough already at work; I don’t want to do it in my off time.
“I don’t want him to have sex with someone else.” The words are out before I can even think about them. It doesn’t make them less true. Thinking of Kendrick with anyone else makes me want to commit murder. And I’d do it.
“I assume you’re talking about Kendrick.”
“Who else would I be talking about?” I don’t give a fuck who anyone else sleeps with. They don’t belong to me. Kendrick does.
“Just clarifying.” Sebastian’s looking at me like I grew two heads between one drink and the next. I don’t even need to check to know that I didn’t. “He’s not going to. The toxic-codependency thing you two have going on guarantees it.”
“There are no guarantees in life.”
He just looks at me, doing that arched-eyebrow thing I’ve noticed he does a lot. If I flick his piercing, will it hurt? I’m tempted to lean across the table and try it out. Can’t test a theory without the practical.
“The point is—”
“Why do you think he’s going to sleep with someone else?” Sebastian asks. “Has he met someone?”
“ No. ” He better not have. He’d tell me, wouldn’t he? I pull out my phone and quickly send Kendrick a text.
Me: Are you seeing someone?
A message comes back almost immediately and is just a series of question marks, followed by: How much have you had to drink?
Kind of a rude question. I’ve only had a few, and the fries we ordered are helping to soak up a lot of it.
“Riddle me this,” Sebastian says, leaning back and spreading his legs wide, fingers curled around his glass. “Why’s it such a problem if he does? It’d just be a physical thing. You two aren’t like that, so why can’t he have it somewhere else? He’ll always come back to you.”
Hot rage flashes through me, and my lips twist into a snarl. That’s not how we work, and I’ll never allow it. “Because he’s mine. They don’t get to have any of him.” Not one single piece, temporary or not.
He looks more amused than threatened by my tone. “But you don’t want him either. You see the hypocrisy here?”
“I do want him. Why do you think that I don’t?” He’s mine . There’s nothing more “want” than that.
“You aren’t having sex with him, are you?”
What the hell does that have to do with anything? “Is that some sort of prerequisite? I can’t need him so much that I can’t fucking breathe unless I want to have sex with him? Is that what I need to do?” I stand unsteadily, alcohol splashing onto my hand from the drink I’m still holding. Shit, oops. After sliding the glass back onto the table, I suck the side of my hand into my mouth to lick some of it up. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“Let’s go?”
“To have sex.” Isn’t he listening to this conversation?
Sebastian chokes on his own drink, taking a few minutes to cough it up. “I’m not—what? No. We’re not—I wasn’t suggesting—I already told you—”
What? Oh. “Not you and me!” Christ, is he even listening to me? “If there are rules here that I need to follow, then fine. I’ll get it over with.”
“Yes, because I’m sure he’ll appreciate you ‘getting it over with,’” Sebastian replies dryly. “Be still my beating heart.”
“Fuck off.”
“Sit back down and cool off, Romeo.”
I only do because my legs aren’t feeling particularly stable right now. My heart hurts. So does my stomach, though I’m not sure whether it’s the alcohol or everything else doing that. When did I eat last? Not since I had that snack with Kendrick earlier. We’re supposed to be moving him into my place tomorrow, and being hungover probably isn’t the greatest idea in the world, but here I am. I’ve made worse decisions, it’s fine.
“Will he stop wanting me if I don’t give him that?”
Sebastian narrows his eyes, tilting his head a little to the left. “Not in this lifetime. Why would you think that?”
I shrug. “People like sex.”
“Some people don’t. That doesn’t make them less. Does it make you feel less because you don’t want to?”
“I—” I don’t know. “Not all the time? I like everything that Ken and I do together. I jerked him off the other day, and it was… good. Really fucking good.”
“I’m not really seeing the problem here.”
“He gets upset when we do things, and I don’t”—I gesture at my lap, desperately trying to ignore the way my cheeks are on fire—“get it up.”
Sebastian taps his fingers on the table and then empties the rest of his glass. Taking his time because he’s trying to work out how to give me the bad news gently, or something else? “Does he actually get upset, or do you think he’s upset?”
Uh. I sift through memories, trying to recall the exact words. I can’t… pinpoint anywhere Kendrick’s noticeably upset at me. Is Sebastian right? Am I looking at this through the wrong lens? No. I can’t be. “He can’t possibly be satisfied with the status quo.”
Sebastian takes a sip of his drink. “Did he get off?”
“Yes?” What does that have to do with anything?
“Then I’m sure he was satisfied,” Sebastian says with a cocky grin. “It’s not a conclusion generally reached if the guy isn’t having a good time.”
“I need him to want me.” I can’t live without him needing me. Without him looking for me first when he walks into a room. I need his heartbeat to match mine. When I die, I want him to die too. We have to go at the same time. There’s no me without him, no him without me.
“Him wanting you isn’t the problem, Spencer. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’ll never leave you, not even if you tell him to. Not even if you tried to run to the other side of the world.”
The words shouldn’t please me, but fucking hell, they do. So goddamn much. The fear still spreads through me, like the reassurance isn’t enough. “You have a lot of sex, right? With four boyfriends, that has to be—you have sex, yeah?”
Sebastian leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, looking like he isn’t sure whether he wants to answer or not. Then he says, “Yes, we do. Frequently, in fact. If that helps whatever data you’re trying to compile.” He waves his hand, a light flush on his face.
“How does it work?”
“How does what work?” Sebastian asks with a frown.
“The—sex, with a man.”
Sebastian licks his lips and contemplates the questions, eyebrows drawing in. “I’m not really sure what you’re asking. If you’re looking for step-by-step instructions, I can probably write something down. Anal with a male is the same as with a female, though. Well, except for the fact that we have a prostate, but the prep and act are the same.”
I stare at him blankly. He studies me like I’m some kind of bug. Or an alien. My head is nowhere near big enough to be an extratrest—estratext—estra—alien.
“Spence, have you ever had anal?”
Why does that matter? “No. So what?” I ask defensively.
“You’ve had sex, though?”
He doesn’t need to say it like that. Like being a virgin is some kind of curse that needs to be broken. “Yes.”
“How many times?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” It’s irrelevant. It doesn’t matter. He’s all that matters now. He’s all that’s ever mattered.
“Ballpark number, Spence.”
“Like… three, maybe? Two? I don’t know.” Probably two, depending on how we’re counting. The “third” one was… not good, and neither of us finished. An absolute disaster and my last-ever attempt at sex. She’d made me feel like something was broken. Like the fact she was hot should have been all I needed. Kendrick is the sexiest person on the entire fucking planet, and that doesn’t change just because my dick doesn’t stand at attention for him. The more important parts of me do.
“Not a smorgasbord of experience.”
“I’m sorry, is that not enough bed-hopping for you?” What the fuck? Is there some quota I was supposed to fill? What a load of shit. People aren’t there just to add notches to my bedpost. The only one I want in my bed is Kendrick. What the hell’s so wrong about that?
Sebastian bites his bottom lip, and he’s doing that staring thing again. Is this how he unnerves his opponents in court? Sits there and stares at them? Effective.
“When’d you meet Ken?”
“Six years ago.” I remember that vividly, like it happened days ago instead of years. I’d still been working with Maverick at the funeral home. He’d walked in with a bunch of teenagers—a high school teacher in his old life—following behind him like baby ducks. Everything about him spoke to me. Those tight curls, his intelligent eyes. The way he’d looked at me, even then. Love at first sight. He’d been mine the second I’d seen him. Nothing has ever felt as right or easy as being with him. Not before, and not since.
“And how old are you?”
Where the hell is he going with all these weird questions? Am I suddenly in a job interview? What kind of job would this be? “Thirty-one.”
“You haven’t slept with anyone since you met Ken?”
“I already told you that.”
Seb nods thoughtfully. “Spence, if you’re that hell-bent on sleeping with him, why don’t you ask him how to do it? I imagine he’s had sex at least once with a man. Considering how he looks, and that hair, I’d say more than once.”
Anger flares like gasoline to flame. “Don’t talk about him like that.”
“I think you’re missing my point.”
“You think I want to know that? That I want to think about it? I don’t want to hear about his knowledge, or how he got it.”
More of the fucking staring. I wipe at my face, just in case I have something on it. We didn’t get anything to eat, so there can’t be, but better to be safe than sorry.
“I think you need to talk to him about this,” Sebastian says. “Ask him. It doesn’t matter where he got his experience, Spencer, it really doesn’t. Would you rather learn from me—verbally, I’d like to add, we’re not doing anything physical—or from him ?”
It’s not about learning anything. I just want to make him feel good. The way he makes me feel good. The way he makes me feel so fucking much that I don’t know how it hasn’t escaped from under my skin to spread across the world.