Playing With Spencer by Izaia Winter

Chapter Thirteen

Spencer

“Heading home?”

Closing the cabinet that contained my client’s files, I locked the drawer and waved Marshall into my office. “Nah, it’s too quiet there,” I said, thinking of my empty house, so quiet without Turner’s bubbly presence. “Turner promised to make me his famous stir-fry, and tonight he’s finally paying up.”

“Sounds good. I was just coming by to thank you for the cake,” he explained. “Ollie said it was the best he’d ever had.”

I grinned even as Marshall rolled his eyes.

“Don’t take it personally,” he said. “He says that about every cake he eats.”

“Wow, way to lift me up and then shoot me back down.” I grinned to let him know I hadn’t taken his words seriously. “What a friend.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m just playing with you,” Marshall replied, laughing as he leaned against the bookcase by the door.

“Anyway,” I said as I gathered up the rest of my belongings. “What about you? Heading home? Going out?”

“Home,” Marshall answered as he followed me out of my office. “We’ve been going out a lot recently, and I think Ollie just wants to stick close to home for a while. To tell you the truth, I do too.”

“I know what you mean,” I said, waving goodbye to our receptionist while holding the door open for Marshall. “I love the club, but Turner and I went every day this past weekend. I feel like I don’t want to go back for another month, but I know that’s not possible, at least not while all this shit is still going on.”

“How is that going? Has Carson or Foster said anything about it on their end?”

Stopping when we reached my car, I sighed. “Nowhere, absolutely nowhere. They showed me a list of all the people who’d joined in the last month or so, but you know how bad I am with names. It could have been right there staring me in the face, and I wouldn’t have known it.”

“And I’m guessing that means Turner didn’t uncover anything either.”

“Nope,” I replied, then stopped. “Well, he did mention one little who’d approached him. The guy is new, but I met him, and he doesn’t seem the type. He’s kind of quiet and nerdy. I just don’t see it being him.”

“Are you sure?” Marshall asked, resting his hand on my arm gently. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but emotions are high right now. I don’t want you to get hurt because you don’t want to face it.”

“I know.” Secretly, I just wanted the whole thing to blow over. It was exhausting pretending everything was okay. I couldn’t tell Turner or anyone else, but I was getting so fucking tired.

“I just… even if we do find the guy, how am I ever going to prove a negative?” I asked, my frustration mounting. “Nothing happened. I was there for such a short amount of time. I didn’t even have a chance to have a scene with anyone. All I can do is profess my innocence, and if someone doesn’t want to believe me, they don’t have to.”

“I believe you, and so does everyone else who knows you.”

I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but I internally cringed at the sympathy on Marshall’s face. “I know I should be happy that the people who matter trust me, but that doesn’t stop it from getting to me.”

“I know, man, we’ll figure something out. What else are friends for?” Marshall punched me on the arm and grinned. “Why don’t you get out of here? Go to Turner’s and let him cheer you up.”

“Now that is a good plan.” I moved to get into my car then stopped. “Hey,” I yelled at Marshall’s back. “Are you coming to the club Saturday? I’m teaching a class.”

Marshall nodded. “Yeah, Ollie said he wanted to go, and who am I if not gracious and accommodating?”

“Well I’ll be gracious and accommodating by saving you guys seats.”

“Thanks, see you later!”

“Bye.”

Leaving the office, I forced myself to put the whole situation at the club behind me. I didn’t want to bring my bad mood to Turner’s place. I wanted light and fun, something to dispel the dark thoughts swirling around in my head. My little was just what I needed.

By the time I reached Turner’s house, I was in a way better mood. All I wanted was some good food, a bit of Daddy-little time, and a kiss or two. Although, cuddling sure sounded nice as well. With all that in mind, I grabbed the present I’d purchased for Turner, knocked on his front door, and let myself in.

“Honey, I’m home,” I said, grinning at the Kiss the Cook apron Turner wore.

“You’re right on time.” Turner beamed as he continuously stirred the food cooking on the stove. “I’m almost done.”

I took a deep breath and sighed at the garlic and spice wafting through the air. “It smells amazing. I bet it’ll taste even better.”

Dropping his present on the couch, I entered the kitchen, wrapped an arm loosely around him, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Just following orders,” I said, tugging lightly at his apron.

He giggled as he hip-checked me. “Can you set the table?”

Nodding, I gave him another kiss just for good measure. We circled each other like we were dancing as I set the table and he finished cooking. And by the time we both sat down to eat, it felt like we’d been doing it for years. There was an ease between us. All the time we’d spent in the kitchen baking together might have helped, but it felt like something different. We felt right.

Taking my first bite, I moaned as the tender beef melted in my mouth against the crunch of the fresh green beans and the sweet tang of the red bell peppers. “I was right. This is amazing.”

“Thanks.” Turner’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he took another bite. “It’s not too spicy, is it? I thought I might’ve added too much crushed red pepper flakes.”

“No,” I said as my mouth burned with a pleasant heat. “It’s perfect.”

His smile was a little self-conscious as he steered the conversation away from his cooking. “So, how was your day? Anything exciting happen?”

We chatted about nothing in particular. I told Turner about one of my colleagues stinking up the kitchen with his microwaved fish and what Marshall had said about my cake, savoring every laugh I got from him. There was a large portion of my day I couldn’t tell him about: doctor-patient confidentiality and all.

Turner’s day had been much more interesting than mine. His morning had started with booting out a creepy older gentleman who’d insisted Turner show him where the porn and viewing booths were despite Turner not offering either of those services. Then he’d had to spend almost an hour explaining the various types of vibrators and their functions to a woman who reminded him of his grandmother.

“I swear that woman winked at me when she left,” Turner said as I held my stomach and laughed. “She winked! I think she did the whole help-me-I’m-a-helpless-old-lady bit just to make me squirm.”

“The funny thing is that it worked.”

“It did,” Turner groaned, his face turning bright red. “You’d think I would be used to it by now. There’s just something about little old ladies holding massager wands and cooing over the various modes that still gets to me.”

Before I could tease him further, a knock sounded at the door. “Hello! Turner! Knock, knock!”

Turner’s eyes widened in horror as he spun around and faced the open door and the casually dressed woman making her way inside. I clocked her as Turner’s mom the second she stepped through the door. Her dark brown hair was liberally laced with gray and was curlier than Turner’s easy waves, but he had his mother’s eyes, and they shared a similar bone structure in the face—a face that was currently watching me very intently.

“Mom, what are you doing here? I told you I had a date,” Turner whined as she confidently approached the us.

She switched her focus to Turner for a second. “And I told you I was coming over. I made chicken and dumplings yesterday and made too much—”

“Because you never follow a recipe,” Turner added.

“Hush. I brought you some.” Approaching the table, she set a large plastic container down and held out a hand to me. “Hi, I’m Nadia Keene, Turner’s mom.”

“Spencer Howell,” I replied, taking her hand.

“So,” she said slowly, glancing between the two of us. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re having dinner.” Turner made little gestures toward the door using his face, but his mother ignored every single one no matter how glaringly obvious he was.

“And isn’t that lovely?” Her smile was knowing as she looked between the two of us. “And when did this start?”

“Mom, please don’t do this to me.” He sounded so much like a teenager desperate to look cool in front of his friends.

Nadia, on the other hand, had an expression on her face that said she knew exactly what she was doing to her only child. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

At that point, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. It started with a slight chuckle. I pressed my balled-up fist to my mouth as if I had to cough, but the look of absolute betrayal on Turner’s face when he looked to me was what finally did me in.

“I’m sorry, I just….” I had to look away from the two of them to regain my composure, more laughter escaping despite my will. “Now I see where you get it from.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Turner demanded. “Get what?”

That look in your eyes when you’re about to say or do something naughty, I wanted to say. That sassy attitude. That don’t-mind-me-I’m-too-cute-and-innocent face you use every time you toe the line.

“Well,” she said smugly as she turned to leave. “I see my work here is done. It was nice meeting you, Spencer.”

“That’s it?” Turner glared at his mom’s back as she swept away like a queen. “You come over here to embarrass me and then just leave? Just like that?”

“And I brought leftovers,” she said over her shoulder. “You welcome, and bring your boyfriend over for dinner sometime!”

“Mom!”

“I’ll bring dessert!” I called back.

“Spencer!”

“What?” Reaching over our plates, I grabbed his hand and tugged him toward me for a kiss. “She was just checking up on you, making sure I was taking care of her baby.”

He pouted but kissed me back all the same. “I’m your baby.”

“Alright, you’re my baby even though I think your mom would fight me on that.”

“Am I going to have to deal with something like that when your parents visit?”

The question was innocent, but I couldn’t help the way it cut. My relationship with my parents had stopped hurting years ago, but I still felt regret. Regret for the way it had ended and how I’d left, but I couldn’t regret the life I’d carved out for myself without them.

I shook my head. “I don’t see my parents. I went no contact with them when I left for college,” I explained.

Turner’s hand tightened around mine. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It was a long time ago. It was bound to come up eventually. I probably should have mentioned it sooner.”

“Was it…” He paused and bit his lip, “because of this?” he asked, motioning to me and him.

“They didn’t kick me out because I was gay,” I answered honestly. “I’m not sure they ever knew, but I know they wouldn’t have taken it well. They were very traditional. Women stay at home, raise the children, and keep up the house. Men go to work, come home to a warm meal, and no backtalk from anyone. Their idea of what a man should be was very… rigid.”

Turner’s smile was soft and understanding. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“No, it doesn’t. We clashed a lot: my dad and me. And my mom would just agree with him. I wanted to learn how to cook. Not in my house. I wanted to try theater. Not my son. My son plays sports. Baseball,” I said with a wink, answering his silent question. “The final straw was college. I wanted to major in psychology. No, my son is going to be an engineer. They had my whole life planned out for me. We fought about it constantly until I finally caved. I applied to the school he wanted and then secretly applied to the one I wanted. I’m sure you can guess which one I went to. I met Marshall and Nolan and never looked back. Their family is my family now, and I have it on good authority that they already like you very much.”

I could tell Turner was pleased by the way he scrunched his shoulders and grinned. “I like them, too,” he replied. “And don’t forget the people at The Church.”

“Yeah.” My smile was sad, and Turner could tell. “I think that’s why this whole mess is bothering me the way it is. It’s like my family is being attacked, and there is nothing I can do.”

“You’re dealing with it way better than I ever could. I think I would have locked myself in my room and vowed never to come out.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I’m a little, not a superhero.” Turner jabbed his fork in my direction. “You’re gonna have to trust me on this one. Bury my head in the sand. That’s what I would’ve done.”

“I think you’re braver than that.”

Turner shrugged at my words but his smile was pleased. “Have you thought about getting back in touch with them? Your parents, I mean.”

“No. I have a cousin I still talk to on occasion. We swap Christmas cards with each other and send emails once or twice a month, that kind of thing. From what she has said over the years, it’s clear they haven’t changed at all.” And that was enough of the heavy topics for me. “Anyway, enough of that.”

“Agreed.” Turner took one more bite of his food then pushed his plate away. “What do you want to do tonight?”

“Mmmm!” Still chewing, I retrieved Turner’s present from the couch and handed it over.

“For me?” Turner wiggled in excitement as his little side started to make an appearance.

“No, it’s for the other little that lives here—of course it’s for you. I saw it online and knew I had to get it for you.”

“Let me guess.” Wrapping his hands around the box inside, Turner held it up to his ear and shook it. “It’s a puzzle,” he said without an ounce of hesitation.

“New rule: no shaking presents.”

His pout was instantaneous. “Why?”

“It ruins the surprise,” I explained. “Now open it.”

Turner happily obliged.

“Daddy.” He looked up and pinned me with his misty gaze. Twisting the puzzle around to show me, Turner held it to his chest. “You got me a murder mystery puzzle?”

“Yeah, it’s two of your favorite things in one.”

“I love it.” Turner jumped from his chair and raced around the counter to throw his free arm around me, the other still hugging his puzzle. “You. Are. The. Very. Mostest. Bestest. Daddy,” he said, kissing me between each word as he said them. “Do you want to help me?”

“Of course.” I stood and grabbed our plates. “Let’s clean up first.”

“Okay,” he said, not daring to argue.

Placing his puzzle out of the way, he grabbed a washcloth and wiped the counter while I rinsed our dishes and put them in the washer. Once the kitchen was clean and the leftovers were packed away in the fridge, Turner reached for the puzzle but stopped and frowned at his clothes. “Daddy, I need to change. These are work clothes, not fun clothes.”

“Right, how remiss of me.” I followed him into his bedroom and pointed toward his bed. Obeying my silent command, Turner hopped up on the bed and started fumbling with his zipper.

Ignoring him for the moment, I opened his little drawers and picked out his standard around-the-house attire: a giant t-shirt, cute undies, and soft cotton shorts that were unnoticeable under his top.

I turned and laughed as Turner kicked his foot wildly to dislodge his pants. Reaching out, I snagged the fabric and pulled them off. “Thank you, Daddy. Look,” he said, wiggling his cute little butt. “I helped.”

“You sure did,” Grabbing the waistband of his rather skimpy adult underwear, I slid them off and replaced them with the dinosaur pair I’d picked out. Getting his shirt off was trickier with Turner not being as cooperative, but I managed by tickling his side to get him to roll over. I dropped a kiss to his exposed belly before pulling his shirt down. “There. All done.”

“Puzzle time!” Scrambling off the bed, Turner skipped back to the kitchen.

By the time I joined him, he was staring down at the box, a deep frown on his face. “What’s wrong, sugar bear?”

He smiled at the nickname that had stuck before returning to his frowny face. “I need a knife to open the box,” he said, pointing to the paper tape holding the box closed. “But you said I’m not supposed to have knives or pointy things.”

“That’s right,” I said, approval clear in my voice. Grabbing a knife from the block, I gestured for the box. After a few swift cuts, I passed it back over.

“Thank you,” he sang as he opened the box and unpacked its contents. He picked up the included booklet first, opened it, squinted at the tiny text, and then passed it to me. “Too many words and not enough pictures. This is Daddy reading.”

Opening the booklet, I read the instructions first. “Do not open the sealed envelope until you have solved the mystery and are ready to confront the killer.”

Turner sheepishly pushed the envelope he’d been about to open to the side.

“Read the story. Solve the puzzle. Study the clues. Find the killer.”

Turner clapped. “Yay, murder story.”

Clearing my throat, I flipped the page and began the short story that set the scene. The time: the 1950s. The scene: a diner. The victim: the owner. The suspects: the jilted waitress who’d discovered her fiancé—the dead owner—in the arms of another woman, the gruff line cook who’d discovered the owner skimming cash from the register, the greaser by the jukebox the owner had kicked out on numerous occasions, and the cheerleader sipping her milkshake while her boyfriend—the high school quarterback—glared at the owner who had tried to put the moves on his girl. Each suspect had given their statement to the police, and now it was our turn to investigate the scene and solve the murder.

“Mr. Garvey does not sound like a nice man,” Turner said as he began organizing the puzzle pieces.

“No, he does not,” I said, agreeing with him. “First impression: who did it?”

Turner tilted his head and hummed. “The waitress. It seems like she’s the one who lost the most.”

I grinned. “I’m sticking with the ladies as well. I say it’s the cheerleader. You got to watch out for them, they’re sneaky.”

A few hours later, Turner and I were stumped as we leaned over the puzzle and studied the empty diner with crime tape stretched across the door. We were no closer to unraveling the mystery as we had when we’d started.

“The lights went out first, right?” Turner asked.

“Right.” I’d read the booklet twice more and had practically memorized the thing. “They were off for ten seconds. There was a scream. And when the lights turned back on, Mr. Garvey was on the ground with a knife in his back.”

“Where’s the light switch?”

We turned back to the puzzle and started searching.

“Found it,” I said, pointing to the switch behind the counter.

“There’s no way the greaser, cheerleader, or the jock could have reached it without someone else noticing.”

I studied the layout of the diner and nodded. “I agree. So, we’re down to the waitress and the cook. Good job, sugar bear.”

Bending back over the puzzle, I bit back a smile when I noticed it but didn’t hide my expression fast enough.

“What? You figured it out. What is it?” Turner bent over the section of the puzzle I’d been studying. “What did you see?”

“I didn’t see anything,” I lied.

“It was Daddy in the diner with the knife,” he murmured, giving me a bit of side-eye.

I reached out and tweaked his nose. “Look closer.”

Huffing, he went back to studying the area where the body was found. It took him an additional ten minutes, but I knew as soon as he’d figured it out. He jerked up and pointed to the bloody knife still laying on the floor where it had fallen after having been removed by the jock—a dumb move on his part.

“It has a lipstick kiss on it!” he said, pointing at the faint red lipstick print on the blade hidden partially beneath the blood as he danced in victory. “The waitress kissed the knife before killing him! My guess was right!”

Grabbing the envelope, I waved it in the air. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

Cracking opened the sealed envelope, I pulled out the rest of the story and read. It had indeed been the jilted waitress. After having broken it off with cheating Mr. Garvey, the waitress had uncovered documents showing he had added her to his will, leaving the diner to her in the event of his death. Wanting the diner before Mr. Garvey had time to talk to his lawyer and change his will, the waitress had killed him.

“Daddy, I’m a real detective!” Turner cried as he danced around the kitchen. “What now?”

I checked the time. It was a lot later than I’d realized. “Bedtime,” I replied.

“What?” Turner spun around and pouted at the time displayed on his microwave. “The time isn’t right,” he said, trying to weasel out a few more minutes of playtime.

“Oh well,” I said as I unbuttoned my shirt on the way to the bathroom. “I guess I’ll just take a bath all by myself.”

“Wait, what? Daddy? Wait for me!”

I smirked as his rapid footsteps slapped against the floor as he joined me.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Turner tried to play it cool as he wrapped his fingers in the hem of his shirt. “Do you uhh… need someone to wash your back? I’m an excellent helper.”

I looked over my bare shoulder as I tested the water. “I could be persuaded.”

The class was larger than I’d expected. Foster had guessed around thirty people would show up, but the crowd leaning against the back wall and the number of people sitting on the floor because we’d run out of chairs was a clear indication Foster had vastly underestimated the class’s demand.

I ignored the quiet, insecure voice in my head that said everyone was only there to gawk at me. My reputation was a train wreck no one could look away from. No matter how much I denied the rumors or how fiercely my friends defended me, I knew there would always be people who thought the worst, and it burned like a fire in my gut. Despite what everyone was saying, I still noticed people staring at me like I was a monster hiding in plain sight. It felt like every move I made was being torn apart and dissected under a microscope.

It doesn’t matter, I thought as I pushed the whole situation to the back of my mind. I’m here to teach, and that is what I am going to fucking do, even if it kills me. Deal with that shit on your own time, I told myself.

Looking down at my neatly typed outline, I mentally checked off my last talking point and smiled. I’d gone over everything from setting the scene, getting into character, overcoming any feelings of awkwardness roleplaying created, and aftercare. I’d even managed to stumble my way through a section on CNC at Turner’s urging. All in all, I was feeling pretty damned proud of myself. My first official class was almost over, and I’d hit it out of the park.

“And that’s everything I have prepared for today,” I said as I folded my outline and tucked it into my back pocket. “We have a few minutes until the demonstration starts. Feel free to get some water or use the bathroom. I can also take any questions anyone might have in the meantime.”

One by one, I called on the few hands raised in the air and answered their questions. I’d felt nervous opening the floor for questions, but they were all relatively easy and none were about me personally. Most asked for clarification on something I’d already said or was looking for tips for specific scenarios.

Turner was sitting in the front row with Niko on one side and Marshall and Ollie on the other. His smile was wide and proud as he stared up at me. I winked at my boy, then studied the older, olive-skinned little sitting with him and still couldn’t see it no matter what Marshall had said.

I checked the clock and realized I’d used up my remaining time. “Thank you all for coming,” I said as I addressed the room. “I’m going to have to finish there. If you’re interested in learning more, feel free to come talk to me if you see me around. I’ll be happy to talk. And now I’m going to turn the floor over to Justin and Tabby: our lovely demonstrators. Give them a hand, everybody,” I said as I stepped off the stage.

Taking a free spot against the wall, I smiled as Turner stood and joined me. Parting my legs, I pulled him into my body and wrapped my arms around him. “How did I do?” I asked, kissing his nose. “Good? Bad? On a scale from one to ten?”

“I thought you were great. A perfect ten.” Turner patted my chest and kissed me back. “The right amount of playful, educational, and ‘I will end you if you mess this up.’”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” I teased as a warm, bubbly feeling brewed in my chest.

“I’m really not,” he replied with a sassy grin.

Bracing my head on top of his, I scanned the crowd, my eyes stopping on the uncomfortable little in the front row. “I don’t think your friend likes the demonstration.”

Turner looked back. “He really doesn’t. Is it okay if I go get him and take him to the playroom? I promised him we could work on my puzzle again.”

“Sure,” I replied. “I have to wait here for the demonstration to end, but there’s no reason y’all need to stay. I’ll join you later.”

Turner pulled back then stopped before he got very far. “Spencer,” he whispered, leaning back into me. “I know this is probably not the right time to say this, but I’m proud of you. You got up there in front of a group of people who either love you or think the worst of you and put on an amazing class. And I… I love you.”

I could tell my grin was a bit shaky when my eyesight grew hazy. “Any time is the right time, sugar bear, and I love you too.”

It hadn’t been a sudden knowing. My love for Turner had grown so slowly it was as if I’d always felt it. Every time he’d smiled at me, every time he’d called me Daddy, and every time he’d kissed me, I’d fallen a little deeper and deeper. I was so in love with him it felt like I’d never find my way out again.

His smile matched mine as he kissed me once more. “I’ll see you in the playroom later?” he asked, needing reassurance.

“As soon as the class is over, I’ll come find you,” I promised.

Turner pulled away, gave me one more dazzling smile, skipped across the room to collect his little friend, and made his escape. Lifting my hand, I rubbed at my empty chest. He hadn’t even been gone for five minutes, and I was already missing him.