Spencer Morgan was kind of awkward, but he was a nice guy. He was also kind of cute, with an easy smile and a nice laugh. Not that Quinn was attracted to him.
You’re so full of it.
Okay, maybe he was attracted to him a little. Usually Quinn’s type ran toward the willing and able kind with a bit more muscle. Spencer was clearly interested in him. He could see it when Spencer watched him, especially when he thought Quinn wasn’t looking. Spencer had been watching Quinn move around the kitchen when he’d first arrived.
Quinn had felt the heat in Spencer’s gaze, and the thought made him want to smile. He was used to getting that sort of attention, but usually from guys who were only looking to get off or make him their sugar daddy. The first one was fun. The second he had no interest in. He doubted Spencer wanted either, though he wondered if Spencer would turn down sex.
Where he came from, single was just a temporary state of being until a family member or friend hooked you up with someone you could marry. Since high school, every family function had been filled with relatives who had a “nice girl” they wanted to introduce him to. After he came out, suddenly it turned into “any gay will do.” Some of them had actually stood there thinking about who they knew who might be gay. Like he needed to be set up or would settle for any guy that happened to pop into their head. He also got tired of walking into a room and having everyone pretend they weren’t talking about him, referring to him not just as Mimi’s son but “the gay one.” He knew they didn’t mean anything by it, but Jesus, after a while he’d had enough. Unless it was family, Quinn declined most invitations.
Spencer returned with a glass of milk and put it on one of the coasters. Quinn muttered a “Thanks” as he turned on the TV. He gave the remote to Spencer and told him to put on whatever he wanted. Spencer chose some comedy series about a group of geeky scientist friends. Quinn had never watched it before. He wasn’t really into watching TV, mostly because he’d never had the time.
After he’d finished his brownies—which were the most amazing brownies he’d ever had—Quinn sat back and watched TV with Spencer, smiling at the way the guy laughed. He was really immersed in what he was watching. Spencer’s laugh made his green eyes sparkle. He had a wide smile and although Quinn guessed Spencer was in his thirties, his boyish face made him look younger. Quinn lost track of how long they watched TV together, or rather how long Quinn watched Spencer, making note of all his little quirks, of the tiny mole on his left cheek and the way he pulled his socked feet up on the couch to sit cross-legged. Spencer seemed to know about every show and what was going on with which characters. A couple of them were based on a comic book, and Quinn found himself engrossed in the action. He had no idea they had stuff like that on TV.
It was amazing how at ease he felt around Spencer, like they’d known each other a lot longer than they had. Spencer was easy to talk to. He was also good at listening and never tried to talk over Quinn or hurry him so he could get to what he wanted to say. Quinn wasn’t exactly chatty, but growing up the middle child in a Cuban household with two brothers and two sisters hadn’t been easy, especially when everyone was vying for their parents’ attention and talking at once. It was also nice having someone here with him who wasn’t demanding anything from him. Spencer was content to keep him company. He didn’t want favors from Quinn, didn’t want money. In fact, he noticed Spencer gave a lot more than he asked for. Quinn yawned, and Spencer’s expression grew concerned.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t keep you up. You must be tired.”
“A little. The meds make me kind of sleepy. But this was fun.” Quinn smiled and carefully sat up. “You could drop by tomorrow if you’re not busy. I can’t cook you anything nice, but we can order in. My treat.”
Spencer’s smile did something to Quinn, and he reached for his crutch so he didn’t stare at the guy like an idiot.
“I’d like that. I could drop by with some lunch. I was thinking of making some meatball marinara subs.”
Quinn walked Spencer to the door. “Sounds great.” Why did he feel like this was the end of a first date? His palms were sweaty, and he was feeling kind of flushed.
“Sleep tight.” Spencer waved and headed toward his apartment. Quinn watched him go, telling himself he just wanted to make sure Spencer got in safely. He rolled his eyes at himself. Like the guy was going to get mugged in the hallway between their apartments. Spencer gave him another wave before he went in and closed the door behind him. Satisfied no harm had befallen Spencer in the brightly lit, coral-painted hallway covered in seashell portraits, Quinn went back inside and locked up for the night. He turned off the TV and got ready for bed, which was frustrating and took him far longer than it should have thanks to his stupid leg brace.
As he lay in bed in the dark, he thought about Spencer Morgan. The guy seemed determined to kill him with kindness. All he’d wanted was to be left alone to recover, but after spending the evening with Spencer—eating, watching TV, and just hanging out—being alone didn’t sound very appealing. He could invite Manny over, but Manny had a girlfriend he was crazy about, and he watched a lot of reality TV, which Quinn despised. There was no way he’d hang out with Javier. They might be friends, but the guy exhausted him. He was all about status, driving the most expensive cars, dating the hottest women with the biggest boobs. Spencer was like a breath of fresh air, so different from everything else in his world. His phone buzzed, and he carefully reached over to grab it from his nightstand, smiling when he saw a text from Spencer.
Found a new apron the other day. What do you think?
Quinn tapped the picture, and it expanded. He chuckled at the cooking apron made to look like a tactical vest. The word “chef” was embroidered across the front where the word “SWAT” would be. It had numerous pouches, clips, and loops for cooking utensils, condiments, and spices.
Quinn texted back.
I approve.
A little happy face popped up on Quinn’s phone along with Spencer’s text.
I’ll make sure to wear it with more than just my underwear.
Quinn bit his bottom lip. He texted before he could think any more about it.
Your kitchen. You wear what you want.
A couple of heartbeats went by before Spencer replied.
Careful, or I might get the impression you approve of my Roy Rogers underwear.
Funny.
Quinn typed.
And I never said I disapproved.
He sent the text off, wondering what the hell he was doing. Texting Spencer in the dark, in the middle of the night while he was alone, injured, and on meds was not a good idea. He should know better. The last thing he wanted was to lead Spencer on and hurt him. But was he leading him on, or was it something else?
You’re just after my brownies again.
Quinn thought about how he felt around Spencer. It scared him how much his job had occupied his life. How quick he’d been to push everything else aside. Having a large family hadn’t stopped him from feeling alone. There was a huge part of him they would never understand. They loved him, and he was aware how lucky he was, but he’d always stood apart. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. Maybe he needed to sleep on it. Think about this when he had a clearer head.
They are pretty amazing brownies,
he typed.
Good night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.
He ended his text with a smiley face and sent it off. Spencer texted him back, wishing him a good night and sweet dreams. Quinn couldn’t remember the last time he had sweet dreams. As he placed his phone on his nightstand, he also couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to bed smiling.
SPENCER LET
out a yawn and stretched. A stupid smile crept onto his face. Next to him on the couch, Quinn was fast asleep. He’d taken his meds a few hours ago and fallen asleep during their
Lord of the Rings
marathon. Spencer had held his hand out to Quinn and demanded his handcuffs, telling him he should be arrested for the crime of never having seen any of the movies. And then Quinn informed him they mainly used zip ties to apprehend subjects. Spencer discovered there were a lot of great movies Quinn hadn’t seen because his schedule hadn’t left much room for them. It became Spencer’s mission to rectify that, starting with
Lord of the Rings
and
The Hobbit
.
For days now they’d fallen into a pleasant routine. They’d have breakfast in their own apartments and go about their days. Spencer would work until lunch. Then he’d make something for the both of them and pop over to Quinn’s. They’d eat together and talk. Spencer would help Quinn around the apartment with cleaning and laundry, insisting several times that he didn’t mind, that he had to take his own laundry downstairs, so he could easily take Quinn’s. After lunch, Spencer would go back to his own apartment to get some more work done while Quinn rested. Then he’d be back with dinner, and they’d stay up together talking and watching TV until Quinn couldn’t stay awake anymore. A couple of days a week, Spencer would take the afternoon off and have lunch with Quinn, especially if Spencer planned on having one of his movie marathons, like today. It was almost time for dinner.
The credits to
Return of the King
were scrolling up the TV screen when there was a light knock on the door and a woman’s voice calling Quinn’s name. Quinn bolted upright so quick, he scared the hell out of Spencer.
Spencer put a hand to his chest, his heart pounding furiously. “Jesus, Quinn. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Oh no.” Quinn stared at the door.
“What is it?”
“Oh God.”
“What?”
Quinn let his head fall back with a groan. “It’s my parents.”
He took hold of his crutch and pushed himself to his feet, mumbling something in Spanish. With a chuckle Spencer stood up and smoothed down his shirt as Quinn answered the door. He stepped to one side as a tiny woman in full makeup with a short gray bob, flowered blouse, white jeans, and heeled sandals swept into the room like a queen making a grand entrance. Behind her, a silver-haired man entered with far less pageantry. He was dressed casually in cargo pants and a gray polo shirt. In his hands were several large aluminum food trays with smaller trays stacked on top. Spencer held back a laugh at the way Quinn had to bend over so his mother could kiss his cheek.
“
Mijito
, I made you dinner because I know if not, you don’t eat.”
Spencer stared at the numerous trays.
That
was dinner? Damn, there had to be at least a week’s worth of food there.
“Ma, I told you, you don’t have to. I’m fine.”
She shook her head at him, a pink nail poking him gently in the chest. “
Pan tostado
is not dinner,
mi cielo
.”
“I haven’t been having toast,” Quinn grumbled before offering his dad a hug and kiss on the cheek in greeting.
“Well, then someone has been cooking for you, because we both know toast is the only thing you can make.”
“Thanks.”
“Es la verdad.”
Quinn smiled sweetly. “Just ’cause it’s true don’t mean you gotta say it.”
“
Sí
, so you have been telling me since you were little.”
“And yet….”
Seeming to realize there was someone else in the room, Quinn’s mother turned her big brown eyes on Spencer. “Ay, perdóname,” she said with a smile. “Sorry. Who is this?”
“Ma, this is Spencer. He’s a friend. He’s the one who’s been cooking, and helping me with everything. He also lives next door. Spencer, this is my mother, Milagro Quintero, and my father, Gabriel Quintero.”
Spencer smiled widely, wondering if he should shake her hand or hug her. There seemed to always be a lot of kissing between Hispanics, which Spencer had yet to grow accustomed to. Some people kissed one cheek, some two. At times it was a pat on the back, sometimes a hug. It was all very confusing to someone as socially awkward as him. Thankfully Milagro decided for him, and she pulled him down to give his cheek a kiss. Spencer waved at Quinn’s father since his hands were full. He turned to Quinn with a questioning look.
“Wait, your name’s Quinn Quintero?”
“Oh no,” Milagro waved a hand at him. “Quinn is a nickname.”
“Ma, don’t.”
Quinn motioned to his dad, and Spencer quickly went over, offering to help carry the trays to the kitchen counter. Gabriel thanked him and followed along, shaking his head in amusement at his wife and son. Milagro soon joined them, explaining to Spencer.
“He goes by his nickname and such, to hide his heritage.”
Quinn threw a hand up. “I’m not hiding my heritage. How many times do I have to explain it to you? There were three other kids in class with the same name as me, so they gave me a nickname and it stuck.”
“
Sí
,
s
í
,
s
í
. His name is Julian Alfonso Quintero.”
“Julian.” Spencer couldn’t help his wicked grin. “How very fascinating. Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Quintero.”
“Please, call me Mimi.” She took hold of his face and smiled brightly. “Ay, pero qué chulo!”
“Chulo? That means cute, right?” Spencer beamed.
Quinn grunted.
“
Sí
, very handsome, pretty.”
“Why thank you.” No one had ever called him handsome before.
“
Pero
, you’re so very skinny. Come, have some dinner.” She put her arm around him and led him over to the counter, where Quinn’s father was removing the lids of the trays.
“Oh, no, please, I—”
“Don’t bother,” Quinn muttered as he hobbled over. “In her eyes, everyone’s malnourished. She won’t give up until you’ve eaten your weight in
frijoles
.”
“Pay no attention to him. He is… what’s the word?
Malo
sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” Spencer teased.
Mimi threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, I like this one.”