Page 34 of For Fake's Sake and other stories

I wait behind Spencer as he fishes his keys out of the bag I put his clothes in. The door swings open, and we step inside. The hallway isn’t too bad, with either the original tiles or good replicas on the floor. Yes, there are dirty footprints, but I counted six names on the buzzer, so at least six people live here. But it’s more likely to be more than that. Heavy-duty carpet covers the staircase. Nate’s college digs are worse than this.

“I’m upstairs.” Spencer walks to the staircase.

“Lead the way, little one.” I don’t seem to be able to stop myself from calling him that. I like him and would like to see him again. But when I mentioned my children and ex-wife, he had stayed silent, shutting down any further chances. Unless I explain my situation and tell him how much I like him and how good last night has been.

Unlike the stairs, his flat is clean and tidy. The living room has a kitchen area with cupboards and a countertop acting as the divide between the two areas. A bay window with the original frames looks out onto the street. Spencer has gone in the other direction. His bedroom, I assume. “I’ll wait here,” I call, not wanting to get in his way.

“I won’t be long,” he shouts back.

I mosey over to the bookshelves and examine the photographs in dark wood frames. One shows him in his lateteens with two girls and an older man and woman, all smiling, in a beach restaurant. A family holiday. Where did they go? In another, he stands with his arms around two other men. It looks like a typical lads’ night out. I’m glad he has a happy family and good friends. What will they think of his penchant for older men he calls Daddy? Probably the same as my friends when they find out I like younger men. They’ll take the piss for a while, then leave it alone.

“I’m ready.” Spencer comes up behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Nosey, aren’t you?” He laughs and doesn’t seem put out.

“More like interested. I like to know about a person I want to see more of.” I turn around. “If you’d like that too.”

“Really? I’d like that very much.” His smile lights up his face, but then he frowns. “What about your children?”

“What about them?”

“Do they care that you like men the same age as them?” The corner of his lip disappears between his teeth.

“It’s not any of their business, and I’d be surprised if they think about me with anyone at all. Those things tend to gross kids out.” I look at my watch. “Come on. I hope we don’t have far to go. I don’t want you to be late because of us talking. We can do that in the car.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious where I work.” Grinning, he points at ‘Gaston’s’ embroidered on the left pocket of his black button-down shirt. “Come on, then, Daddy.”

I bite back my smile. He stopped calling me that when he thought this would be goodbye. We get back in the car, and I start the engine. “I’ve been to Gaston’s a lot, but I’ve never seen you there. Trust me, I would’ve remembered. You said you have two jobs. What’s the other one?”

“I work at Gaston’s on Sundays, Tuesday and Wednesday daytime, and Thursday evenings. On the other days or in the evenings, I work at the LGBTQ youth centre in Moss Street as a home assistant.”

“What do you have to do there?”

“Mainly hanging out with the kids. I help some with their studying, or they assist me in cooking the meals. We have an after-school club. Some of them come from LGBTQ families, and they can ask any questions or talk through any problems they may have but find hard to share with their parents. It has a residential facility too. We take in runaway kids the police or social workers find. The centre has qualified counsellors to help them. It’s a brilliant place. I love it there.”

“I’m impressed. Is it something you want to do more of?” I’m in awe of him. I would never have guessed he’d be into something as important as the LGBTQ youth centre. It shames me a little that I expected less from someone his age.

“Yeah, I did psychology and sociology at uni. I want to be a counsellor, but I don’t have the budget to take another full-time course.”

I turn onto the street where Gaston’s has pride of place among the other trendy bars, cafes, and artisan shops. As I scan the street for somewhere to park, Spencer points to a gap on the other side of the road.

After I parked, I look over at him. “I’d like to see you again. If you want that too, that is.”

His lip is back between his teeth. “Um, yes, I would, but I’m not free until Friday or Saturday?” He turns it into a question.

“Yes, either of those days, perhaps both?” I wink at him. “Put your number in my phone, and we can talk later.”

“You could always come for lunch. I promise you’ll get excellent service.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Now come here.” I motion for him to lean in closer, cupped my hand around his nape, and kiss him, a long, slow kiss. Our tongues stroke over each other, teasing and tasting as we deepen the kiss. When we break apart, his eyes are glassy, the pupils blown dark with desire.

“I’m not sure I can wait until Friday, little one. What time do you finish today?” I slip my thumb over his swollen lip, and as his tongue flicks out to lick it, I can’t keep in my moan.

“Four thirty,” he says, his tone low and thick with need.

“I’ll be here.” My voice is just as gruff.

“I can’t. I go to my parents after work. I’m sorry.” He does look sorry. In fact, he looks wretched.

“Can I call you this evening?” I try to hide my disappointment, but he must have seen it in my eyes. He pulls my face to his and presses our lips together again.

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