Playing With Spencer by Izaia Winter

Chapter Three

Spencer

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit fuck.” Stopping at the tenth red light, I glanced at my phone and winced as the arrival time on my mapping app ticked up by a couple of minutes. I’d barely left my house on time as it was. If I continued to hit every light on the way to the restaurant, there was no way I wouldn’t be late meeting Turner for our date.

I knew I was terrible at managing my time. I couldn’t follow a schedule if I tried. I was actively working on it because no one liked to have their time wasted, but I couldn’t seem to do it. I was convinced I had some genetic flaw that made it impossible for me to recognize time as an essential thing people tended to organize their life around. On top of my ability to lose my things even if I was staring right at them, I was a bit of a slob, which only made it harder to find things when I needed them.

My keys? Hiding under the confetti cookies I’d baked for Turner.

My wallet? Somehow I’d lost it in the cushions of my couch and had found it only after tearing up my entire living room.

My phone? Surprisingly, it had been right where I’d left it on my bedside table to charge.

The light finally turned green, and for once, luck was on my side. Of course, I didn’t realize the area around the restaurant was such a popular destination. The pit in my stomach widened when I couldn’t find a place to park. I drove around the area for a good ten minutes while periodically checking my phone as I waited for Turner to call our date quits because I was a no-show.

I had to resort to subtly stalking a woman down the sidewalk to her car. At least I had the grace to look sheepish when she glared at me while pulling out. With an apologetic wave as she drove off, I quickly maneuvered my car into the parking spot right as my phone chimed.

Turner: Sorry, but I’m running a little late. Parking around here is a nightmare.

With a sigh of relief, I answered.

Me: Same. I knew this was a popular area but not this popular. I just found a spot.

Getting out of the car, I headed toward the restaurant where we’d agreed to meet for lunch.

Me: Lesson learned. Arrive early.

As if I’d ever take my own advice. The only reason I was on time was because I’d set five alarms on my phone.

Turner: Right!

Turner: Okay, I just found a spot. I should be there in a couple of minutes.

Me: It’s no problem. I’ll wait for you outside.

Stopping in front of the restaurant, I leaned against the brick wall next to the door. Basking in the warmth of the day, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back to soak up the rays. It was a lovely day out. Winter was over, the temperature was slowly rising, and we were in that nice in-between of not too hot and not too cold.

I thought about scrapping what I had planned for the rest of our date in favor of walking to a nearby park or something that would keep us outdoors, but all day I’d been picturing the look on Turner’s face when he realized our destination and I wasn’t going to miss it.

“Enjoying yourself there?”

Smiling as I instantly recognized Turner’s voice, I answered, “I am. Care to join me? The wall is free.”

“I don’t know. I was promised lunch.”

Opening my eyes, I found Turner patting his stomach with a sassy grin.

“A promise I aim to keep.” Looking him up and down, I lingered on the bare skin his shorts exposed. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.” Rocking back on his heels, Turner squirmed and blushed at the compliment. “You look good, too, although….” He studied my hands intently. “I don’t see any cookies for me.”

“I did bring your cookies but left them in my car. I figured you didn’t want to carry them around with you.”

“Hmm…” Turner narrowed his eyes on me. “I’ve been dreaming about those cookies for days.”

“And you’ll get them eventually.” Changing the subject, I gestured toward the restaurant. “Are you ready to eat?”

“I’m starving. When you said that this was the place you wanted to try, I may have skipped breakfast in preparation.”

I laughed at the teasing smile he gave me, but my dominant side didn’t like the thought that he wasn’t taking care of himself. Deciding to test the field a bit, I let what I was thinking out. “You shouldn’t skip breakfast. They say it’s the most important meal of the day.”

He blinked, his expression turning a bit bashful —and it might have been my imagination— but I thought I saw a hint of arousal staring back at me. “Is it? The most important meal of the day?”

He looked so earnest I couldn’t help but shrug and answer honestly, “I don’t know. I think I remember someone once telling me it was a slogan developed by cereal companies to sell more cereal.”

Turner nodded, his face too serious for the topic at hand. “I can believe that. You’d think cereal should be healthy, but then you get the ones that are little cookies because they’re really good, and then you feel bad because you ate cookies for breakfast. Or the ones with the little marshmallows. I mean, marshmallows are just pure sugar. There’s no way those can be good for you.”

I couldn’t tell if Turner’s rambling was a nervous tic or if it was just him being himself, but I thought the whole thing was adorable. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, put him in my lap, and protect him from the rest of the world. Knowing that wasn’t a socially acceptable thing to do in public, I resisted the urge.

It took a few seconds of us staring at each other for me to realize he was waiting for some kind of response from me. “Well, I did eat breakfast this morning, and I’m still starving.” Reaching for the door, I held it open and waved him inside. “After you.”

With a cute giggle and a little hop, Turner skipped inside. Following him, we came to a stop in front of the hostess. The young woman greeted us with a smile.

“Hi, welcome to Stir-Fridays. Have either of you been here before?” she asked, then continued when we both shook our heads no. “Great. Stir-Fridays is a build your own stir-fry grill. Our menu is our list of ingredients,” she said as she handed over a strip of paper, “and there are pencils at every table. All you have to do is fill out what you want and give it to your waiter. The chefs in the back will do the rest. Take a seat anywhere.”

“Thanks.” Placing a hand on Turner’s back, I steered him toward an open booth while he studied the unusual menu. It felt strange but natural to help him into his seat with him being so distracted.

“Oh, they have edamame. I love edamame.” Grabbing a pencil from the cup on the table, Turner rocked back and forth while pondering his options. “And listen to this. Friday’s sauce: a rich blend of garlic and a touch of heat. That sounds amazing. I’m getting it,” he said as he marked his menu.

“You can get whatever you want,” I replied indulgently.

Smiling, Turner finally looked up at me. “Does that mean dessert too?”

“What kind of dessert do you want?”

“Hmm?” Tapping his pencil against his lips, Turner smirked. “Cake pops?”

“Deal.”

“Score.” Still dancing in his seat, he set his pencil down and slid his menu toward me. “You know, going out with an enabler sure has its benefits,” he said with a saucy wink.

“Only about some things,” I replied as I stacked his order on top of mine.

It was true that I tended to overindulge my lovers. I was a gift-giver by nature. Marshall liked to call it my love language when he was teasing me. I saw it as an equal exchange. In my relationships, I was in control of so many things. My submissives gave so much to me that it was only fair I give as much back. If other people thought I spoiled my partners, well then, it wasn’t any of their business, now was it?

“Ah, so there are limits to your generosity?” Turner’s laugh said he was joking, but his talk of limits hit a little too close to home.

“You could say that.” Spying our waiter moving in our direction, I turned back to Turner. “Do you know what you want to drink?”

“Can I get a soda?”

Nodding, I couldn’t help but study him as he absently looked around the restaurant. I couldn’t tell if Turner was just naturally submissive or if he was doing it on purpose to see how I’d react. This was the second time he was letting me order for him. By phrasing what drink he wanted as a question, Turner had passed on the responsibility of deciding to me. I couldn’t help but wonder how Turner would react if I denied him.

Would he accept it? Would he protest? Get mad and storm out? Submit?

Deciding not to push it just yet, I nodded to Turner then smiled at the waiter as she approached. The exchange between us was quick and easy.

“So,” Turner said, tapping his fingers against the table. “What now?”

“We chat.”

“Yikes.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked, wondering if the date was bombing already.

“Sometimes—and I mean only sometimes—I have a habit of talking and talking and talking and talking.” Turner grimaced. “Usually when I’m nervous.”

“Are you nervous now?”

“A bit.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I haven’t been out on a date in a while,” he added.

“Because of any reason in particular?” I asked, taking a moment to thank our waiter when she returned with our drinks.

“Not really,” Turner answered as he slipped the paper from his straw and stuck it in his soda. “I don’t go to enough places to meet new people. I’m a hit of a homebody. Plus, I’m a little clueless when it comes to men hitting on me. I argue with myself about whether they’re interested or just being friendly. I somehow always manage to convince myself that men are just trying to be nice, and it never goes anywhere.”

“Then I’m glad I came out of the bag swinging.”

“Hmm? Not necessarily,” he replied.

“Seriously?” I thought back and tried to see our interaction from his perspective. “I thought I was pretty obvious.”

“And that’s why I don’t date a lot,” Turner said simply. “I can’t tell. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you date a lot or no?” he asked.

I thought about the complicated tangle of relationships and play partners I’d had in the past and tried to collect it all into a neat answer. “Not for a while. I’ve had a few people in my life over the last few years, but nothing that stuck. We either wanted different things or weren’t compatible in certain ways. And now that all my friends are finding their partners and settling down, I want the same.”

“Good to know,” Turner said, a happy smile on his face now that he knew I was looking for something more long-term. “And now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, what do you want to talk about?”

I leaned back against the booth and tried to think of something that would get him talking without the back and forth we seemed to be stuck in. “Did you get a chance to finish that puzzle I got you?”

“Yes!” Using his hands as he talked, Turner told me about the extra side pieces that had confused him at first until he’d realized the puzzle was actually in several different sections. Then he was going on about weird-shaped pieces and the unique die-cut. I learned more about puzzles in the ten minutes Turner spoke than I’d ever thought possible.

He blushed and cut himself off when the waiter arrived with our food. “See,” he said, throwing his hands up. “I talk a lot.”

“But that wasn’t because you were nervous,” I pointed out. “You were just excited.”

“About puzzles,” he replied as if the very word was somehow offensive.

“What’s wrong with puzzles?” I asked, unrolling my cutlery from my napkin.

“Well, nothing,” he answered. “It’s just that my dates usually don’t want to hear me talk about puzzles for ten minutes straight.”

“Then you haven’t been dating the right kind of men.”

He laughed. “And I take it you are the right kind of man?”

“I did just listen to you talk about puzzles for ten minutes and,” I said, lifting a finger before he could interrupt, “I enjoyed it.”

Giving me a skeptical glare, Turner took a bite of his stir-fry. “Mmm,” he moaned, looking down into his bowl with wide, delighted eyes. “Oh! This is fantastic!”

Taking a bite of my lunch, I nodded in agreement. “It really is.”

“You know, I make a really good stir-fry,” he said, spearing a green bean.

“Really?”

“Yep. I found this random recipe in some magazine at my mom’s house. I didn’t expect it to taste good because it was in this southern magazine, but the picture looked so amazing. I had to try it. It. Was. Delicious. Probably not the most authentic stir-fry ever, but it’s really freakin’ good. I make, like, triple the sauce because it’s the best part. I like it swimming,” he said, taking another bite.

“I’ll have to try it sometime.”

Moaning, Turner nodded. “I’ll take any excuse to make my stir-fry.”

We talked about food for a while—exchanging what we loved and what we didn’t. How anyone could hate seafood but eat tuna out of a can was beyond me. Then again, I didn’t like most cooked vegetables. Give me a salad, and I was a happy man.

“Like no cooked vegetables? At all?”

“No,” I said, stabbing the broccoli in my bowl with my fork to make my point. “Just plainly cooked vegetables. If it’s in a dish, perfect, but I’m not going to sit there and eat a bowl of steamed broccoli. Or most vegetables straight from a can. Green beans? Gross. Fresh green beans lightly sauteed in oil and garlic? Delicious.”

I was such a food snob.

From there we talked about our friends. I told him about meeting Marshall and Nolan in college and then talked a bit about their current partners. In turn, Turner told me about his best friend Simon. By some mutual accord, neither of us brought up our parents. It didn’t seem like a conscious omission on Turner’s side as it was on mine. My relationship with my parents wasn’t first-date material. That was baggage for another day.

By the time we’d finished our lunch, we’d somehow gone from talking about food, our friends, and our favorite childhood movies to swapping embarrassing vacation stories.

“I’m serious,” Turner said as he followed me out of the restaurant. “It’s true. I thought I was such hot stuff. I let that virgin strawberry daiquiri go to my head. I pretended I was drunk for the rest of the day. I’m talking for like five hours. My parents were so done with me that they refused to let me order another one ever again. I still can’t order one! If we’re out somewhere where they have them, they make a point of telling me no even if I don’t want one. I mean, legally, I can order one with alcohol, yet the virgin one is still off-limits. They seem to think it was the sugar and not me just being weird.”

Laughing at the exasperation on Turner’s face, I turned and led him down the street.

“Where are we going?” he asked, looking around us as we walked.

“I thought you’d recognize it by now,” I replied cryptically.

He took some time to study the area, then brightened and squealed when we turned the corner. “You’re taking me to the natural history museum?” he asked, staring at the large building that was still several blocks away.

Following him through the museum was a revelation. The excitement and curiosity he displayed was something so many people lost as they grew up. I could tell the rock and mineral exhibit was his favorite followed closely by the giant dinosaur skeletons. There was no play-it-cool boredom on his face. I knew he had to have seen the same exhibits hundreds of times but the way he explained everything to me told me he loved ever square inch. He was enchanting me without even trying.

Spying the gift shop on our way out, I grabbed Turner’s arm and stopped him from leaving. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” He followed my gaze and smiled. “You remembered.”

“Of course.” Tugging him along after me, I stopped in front of the large bin of rocks. “Which one do you fancy.”

“Hmm?” Tapping a finger against his lips, Turner studied the offerings very seriously. “This one,” he said, plucking a rather plain-looking brown rock from the pile.

“Why?”

He smiled and held it up to my face. “I don’t have a rock like it, and it reminds me of your eyes. I’ll always know which rock is yours.”

“I’m going to kiss you for that,” I said, grabbing his hand and holding his rock prisoner.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm.” Dropping my lips to his in a chaste kiss, I pulled back with a wink. “Cake pops?”

“Yes.”

Luckily there was a place nearby. Sitting on the bench outside the shop, I held my cake pop and watched as Turner took a huge bite of his and moaned at the taste.

“Well?” he asked, licking a spot of white chocolate from his thumb.

Swallowing to wet my suddenly dry mouth, I shifted in my seat as my cock took a sudden interest in Turner and studied the red velvet cake pop as I took a bite. “I could do better.”

“I bet you say that about every dessert you try.”

Nodding, I adopted a fake snobby attitude and shrugged. “I can’t help that I’m better than everyone else.”

With a snort, Turner ate the remaining part of his cake pop—and seeing his forlorn expression—I handed him the rest of mine. “Here.”

“Don’t you want it?” he said, still taking it from my hand.

“I’ve had enough.”

“Sweet.” After eating the rest of my cake pop in four dainty bites to savor his treat, Turner tossed our trash in the nearby bin.

“Well,” he said, dusting off his hands. “I guess this is it?”

I nodded. “I only had lunch and the museum planned. This was extra.”

“I had a lot of fun today,” he said with a bit of a sigh. “I parked this way.”

I looked in the direction he’d pointed in and nodded. “And I parked that way,” I replied, pointing in the opposite direction. “But my car has cookies.”

“My cookies!” A quick smile replaced the sadness I thought I’d seen creeping across his face. “I can’t believe I forgot. Lead the way,” he said as he jumped up, skipped around me, and made his way down the sidewalk.

Laughing, I stood and lengthened my stride to catch up to him. “In a hurry?” I teased as I gently steered him around a corner before he could continue straight.

“Maybe,” he said, giving me a bit of side-eye. “You really talked these cookies up. I’m not missing out on them.”

“I mentioned them once. I’m pretty sure you were the one who hyped them up.”

Turner stopped and swung toward me, a confident look on his face as he crossed his arms. “No. I’m pretty sure you were the one who said they were the best cookies in the world.”

“Mmm, I’m pretty sure I didn’t say that.” I couldn’t help my grin. There was something about Turner that was just so… him.

“Well, are they the best cookies in the world?”

Taking his silly question seriously, I tapped my finger against my chin and tried to think of all the cookies I’d ever eaten. “While I do love a warm snickerdoodle right out of the oven, confetti cookies are just too good. So yes, I would say they are the best in the world.”

“See,” he said as he started moving again. “You said it.”

“I’m not sure that counts.”

“Of course it counts.”

Grabbing his hand before he could walk past my car, I pulled Turner to a halt. “This is me.”

“Oh. That wasn’t too far.” But he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at my hand that still held his.

“Is this okay?” I asked, giving his hand a little squeeze and pulling him toward me.

When his smile slowly disappeared and the silence between us stretched to uncomfortable lengths, I felt a lead weight settle in my gut. Letting go of his hand before things could get even more awkward, I tried to think of something I could say to salvage the moment. Our date had been so perfect. I couldn’t stand for it to fall to pieces just when it was supposed to be getting to the good part.

“I had so much fun with you,” Turner said, and the lead weight reached up and wrapped its fist around my heart. “Lunch was great and then the museum and my rock and the cake pops and the cookies. This has been the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Hearing the ‘but’ coming, I opened the car door behind me, grabbed the bag of cookies from the front seat, and passed them over. Hugging them to his chest, Turner looked even more crushed.

“They look so good,” he whispered mournfully.

“But?” I asked when my mouth finally started working again.

“But there are some things in my life that make this impossible. I know it’s so cliché to say ‘it not you, it’s me,’ but it really is. I mean, I meant to cancel once I realized… I just meant to cancel, but I couldn’t. I had an amazing time with you, and I’m glad I came, but that’s just it, isn’t it? I’ve just made it harder for the both of us.” Reaching up, Turner quickly brushed his fingers across his teary eyes.

Unable to see him so torn apart, I stepped forward, cupped his face so I could brush away his tears, and sought to lighten his burden. “You’re not going to prison, are you?” I teased. “Because that’s not a deal-breaker for me. I can write letters and conjugal visits sound naughty.” I wanted to say kinky, but we weren’t there yet.

“No,” he answered on a laugh that was half-sad as his lips wavered between quivering and smiling.

“Did you get a job offer to work for a fashion house in Paris, but you only found out last night, and you’ll be gone by the end of the week? Because Paris sounds fun this time of year.”

“No.” This time his smile was more of a permanent fixture.

“You’re a secret agent working for a foreign government, and you don’t want to have to hide your double life from me. That’s okay. I can help you hide when the men in black come to take you away.”

“No! Stop it.” And there it was. The light was back in his eyes.

“Are you sure?” I asked, finally being serious for once. “Because if there is even a slight chance it’s something we can talk about and work through, I would like to take it. It’s not often I find someone who I click with so well. I know you felt it too.” The idea he hadn’t wasn’t something I was willing to entertain.

Turner reached up, clasped his hands around my wrists, and leaned into my hands. “Maybe? I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Then tell me what it is, and I’ll tell you if it’s a deal-breaker or not.”

I could feel the heat of his blush against my hands as he closed his eyes and groaned. “I can’t just—it’s personal. And kind of embarrassing.” Shutting up, Turner shook his head and grimaced. “And a little weird. Okay, pretty weird. Very weird. It’s just plain weird.”

Well, that wasn’t a no, and I could handle weird. Not wanting to let him go, I reassessed the situation.

“How about this,” I said, trying to salvage what I could. “Sometimes it’s easier to tell someone something embarrassing when you can’t see their reaction. Rejection can be hard. Give yourself a couple of days, and when you feel you’re ready, text me. You can either say it’s too much and you never want to see me again, which I’ll respect, or you can tell me what’s bothering you. If it’s something we can work out, great. If not… at least you gave me a chance. How does that sound?”

“Okay?”

Hearing how unsure he sounded, I tried to give him a little hope. “And listen, off the top of my head, I can only think of a few things that would be serious deal-breakers for me like drugs, cheating, being an asshole, and….” I reached out into the ether for inspiration. “And I guess I’m not that into pirates. I can never keep a straight face when they talk about their booty.”

I felt the fist around my chest release just a bit when he giggled. “I just want you to know I’ve very open-minded. A little too much sometimes. I think if you stick with me, you’ll be surprised at just how much. In fact, there are a few things I need to discuss with you before we get in too deep. You’re not the only one with secrets and worries.”

Knowing it might be the last time I saw him, I tightened my grip on his face as I leaned down and brushed my lips against his.

“You kissed me again,” he whispered as he brushed his fingers across his mouth when I finally let him go.

“Something to remember me by.” And something that would hopefully tip the scales in my favor.

“Now get in,” I said, pulling away and circling the car to get in the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive you to your car.”