"I wasn't going to take your food and kick you out. I'm not that much of an asshole." He handed Spencer a large dinner plate, along with cutlery. He motioned toward the table. "Stay. I'll get you a drink. What do you want? I have beer, orange juice, and soda."
He'd noticed the beer next to Quinn's plate. "I'll have a beer. Thanks."
He set his plate and cutlery down on the table next to Quinn's before returning for his beer and the insulated bag. While Quinn made his way over to the table with some paper towels, Spencer unpacked all the containers and carefully laid the lids to one side. The mouthwatering scents wafted up to meet his nose. When he looked up, Quinn's eyes were bright, like he'd never seen anything so beautiful.
"Serve yourself whatever you want. It's better when you eat it the day it's cooked."
Spencer went about serving himself his usual portion, which was about a third of what Quinn ate. Not really surprising considering his size. He wasn't overly muscular like a bodybuilder, but he was broad shouldered and wide, every inch of him looking like he was carved from stone. Spencer itched to poke one of his biceps and see how hard it was. Instead he took a seat. Quinn finished serving himself and sat down to eat.
"Damn."
"What?" Spencer asked worriedly. Had he used too much salt? Too much ginger?
"This is amazing."
Quinn let out a moan that went straight to Spencer's groin. His jeans got a little tighter.
"Did you study cooking or something?"
"Nah, just like it. Guess it's sort of a hobby for me. Question: not that I want to go there again, but when you fell, you said Mercolese. That means 'Wednesday,' right?"
Quinn chuckled, and Spencer all but melted in his chair. Man, the guy had the sexiest voice, and when he actually smiled, it was stunning. Spencer loved everything about that smile, especially the fact it was just a little bit crooked and imperfect.
"It's miercoles. And yeah."
"I've never heard of a weekday used as a curse word before," Spencer said, dunking his pot sticker into his soy sauce.
"It's an old habit. When we were kids my mom never let us curse, but we were allowed to use softer words in their place. Like how some people say fudge instead of fuck." Quinn was already halfway through his dinner.
"Ah, makes sense." Spencer took a sip of his beer. He was still trying to wrap his head around all the different Latino phrases and expressions. Maybe he'd take some Spanish lessons. By now he'd learned to recognize most of the curse words, and there were a lot of those. Then there were words, like "Wednesday," that were used as curse words but weren't. Maybe Quinn could teach him a few things.
"I'm eating your food, and I don't know anything about you. You haven't been here long, have you?"
Spencer shook his head. "I moved down here from Jersey about a year ago."
"You don't have an accent. I have a couple of cousins in Jersey. They have really thick accents."
"We lived in a few other places before then. My mom kind of moved around a lot. That's why when she set her heart on Miami, I couldn't refuse. I knew she wouldn't move without me. She used to vacation here with some of her friends, and they really liked it. They decided this is where they wanted to retire."
Quinn nodded. "That's really good of you to look after your mom like that."
"Thanks. We've always been close. So, can I ask how it happened?"
Quinn's expression darkened, and Spencer quickly held a hand up.
"It's okay. You don't have to."
"No, it's fine." Quinn finished his last bite and wiped his mouth. After a swig of his beer, he sat back with a sigh. "We had heavily armed subjects barricaded in a house, shots were fired, and we went in. The house was clear. I found a little boy hiding under a bed. I managed to get him out. Poor little guy was alone and scared. His uncle was supposed to have been taking care of him. The asshole was hiding in a hole in the floor. We don't usually get that. These guys drilled through concrete to make some kind of stash. Anyway, he'd been hiding down there with an AK47 when everything went down. I guess he panicked, because he came out shooting. Hit me in the vest." He motioned to his back. "Knocked me down. I was holding his nephew, and the son of a bitch tried to kill me. Got me three times in the leg."
"Fuck." Spencer hated guns. When he was seven--before he'd come out and been disowned by everyone except his mom--one of his older cousins had tried to teach him how to shoot. They went behind their apartment building, and his cousin set up some cans. Spencer didn't have a clue then how stupid they were being, how a bullet could have easily strayed and killed someone. Someone in the building called the police, and his piece of crap cousin bolted, leaving Spencer with the gun. His mom flipped her shit. The police gave her pitying looks when she went to pick him up at the station. He cried the whole time.
When they got home, his mom cried herself to sleep. She'd been working two jobs just to pay the rent on their tiny apartment. Spencer hated seeing her so upset and promised he'd be good and help her. He'd never done anything remotely stupid like that again.
"How are you not scared shitless every time you guys get a call?"
"Training. And you have your teammates to watch your back. But I won't lie. We get scared sometimes. You just have to push through it. If you let it get to you, you'll get someone killed. I know we can come across as arrogant, but there's no other way. We have to be the best we can be. There's no room for doubt. The public just sees what the news chooses to show them, and a lot of the time, it's biased and one-sided. There's nothing straightforward about the situations we face. Controversy, death, sex, violence, that sells. That gets people watching. We're made to look like the bad guys, and yes, there are assholes among us, killers, but should we all be painted in the same light because of them? I'm not saying we should be thanked for doing our jobs, but we shouldn't be punished for it either."
"Wow. I didn't realize you were having such a tough time on the job."
Quinn waved a hand in dismissal. "Sorry, I'm just tired. This whole thing has been exhausting. I don't sleep very well. Anyway, forget it. I'm sure you didn't come here to hear me bitch. I really appreciate the dinner."
He patted his stomach, his smile stealing Spencer's breath away.
"Thanks, Spencer."
"Anytime." Spencer gave him a warm smile. "I tend to cook extra, and Danny works mostly evenings, so there are always leftovers."
"My cooking is pretty abysmal, but I can make a mean cortadito. Want one?"
"Sure. I'll be up until next week, but why not."
Quinn laughed as he took hold of his crutch and got to his feet. "Still not used to the Cuban coffee, huh? It got me through finals in college. Stayed up three days straight without sleep. True story."
"I would have thought you'd be immune to it by now."
Spencer stood and started clearing up. He followed Quinn to the kitchen, carrying their dishes to the sink. He washed the dishes as Quinn moved around.
"Hell no. It's Cuban coffee. My parents have been drinking it every day for almost forty years, still wakes them up like nothing else." He put a hand briefly on Spencer's back. "Thanks for washing up."
Spencer's face grew warm, and he hoped Quinn hadn't noticed. Luckily Quinn continued to chat about his family and coffee. He stopped in front of the stove, which was next to the sink where Spencer was washing the cutlery, and their arms brushed against each other. Spencer was aware of Quinn's proximity, his firm body, his subtle cologne, the way the muscles in his arms shifted when he reached up to get something from a cabinet.
Keep it together, Spence. "How about dessert? I brought brownies."
"Sure. We can eat them in the living room. Pop some coasters on the table."
Spencer finished the dishes before quickly busying himself moving a few brownies onto some plates. As Quinn requested, he put down some coasters, along with some paper towels. He took the two cups of coffee and brought those over, then placed them on the coasters. Knowing his propensity for spills and chaos, Spe
ncer decided to sit on the floor next to the brownies so as not to drop anything on Quinn's couch. Quinn didn't ask why. He sat down and took one of the plates with three brownies on it.
"So tell me what you do again?"
Spencer told him about his services, and how he did everything from website and blog design to graphics. He didn't go into the coding, because that was when most people's eyes tended to glaze over. Quinn didn't strike him as the kind of guy to care about the latest web development trends or script bug fixes. Spencer pulled out his smartphone and showed Quinn his snazzy website with the online portfolio and list of services. Quinn mentioned needing a new laptop but not knowing where to start.
"I can e-mail you a few recommendations," Spencer offered.
Quinn shook his head. "I don't do e-mail."
"Who doesn't e-mail?"
Spencer had four e-mail addresses for business and personal use. He couldn't imagine not being able to e-mail. How else would he communicate with his clients across the country? It wasn't like he could send samples of web banners through the phone. What the hell had people done before the Internet? Man, he was spoiled.
"I don't like computers. I need it for work."
"I can set you up with an e-mail address real easy."
"No." Quinn narrowed his eyes at him before taking a big bite of his brownie.
"Oh, come on. It'll be fun. We can come up with a really cool handle for you. Quinn the Conqueror at Duck and Cover dot com."
Quinn thrust half a brownie in his direction. "If you do it, so help me I will break my crutch over your head."
"What about Facebook?"
"Fuck Facebook. Do I look like I want to connect with people?"
Maybe Quinn didn't want to connect with people, but the brownie crumbs flying out of his mouth were certainly making the effort. Spencer turned his phone away before any chocolate crumbs could land on it. "How do you function in society?"
"About as well as you do, Roy Rogers."
Spencer gave a sniff. "If that was a reference to my amazing Captain America tighty-whities, then it's Steve Rogers. Roy Rogers was a cowboy."
"That's what I meant. Fuck's sake, don't you ever give up?"
The guy really had to stop saying F words while he was eating. "You have no people skills, you know that? Seriously, you don't have e-mail?" His mom's eighty-year-old neighbor had e-mail.
"Me cago en tu madre. Of course I have e-mail. Who the fuck doesn't have e-mail?"
Spencer sat up. "Wait. What did you just say?"
"Which part?" Quinn grunted.
"The part about my mom. Madre is mom. What did you say about my mom?"
Spencer peered at him, only to have Quinn ignore him and go back to eating.
"Fine, don't tell me. That's what Google is for." He typed the phrase into Google Translate and gasped. "Oh my God, that's disgusting and incredibly unhygienic. You Cubans have some fucked-up sayings. Why would you say that? You don't even know her."
Quinn rolled his eyes at him. "It's just a saying. I'm not really going to shit on your mother."
"I hope not." Spencer shoved his phone into his pocket, reached over, and snatched the plate of brownies away from Quinn.
"Hey, what the hell, man?"
"These brownies are for people who don't go around shitting on other peoples' mothers."
He got to his feet and headed for the door. I make a guy dinner and what thanks do I get? The man insults my mother.
"Seriously?" Quinn whined. "Come on, Spence."
Spencer had his hand on the doorknob when Quinn pleaded.
"Wait, I'm sorry."
With an uninspired expression, Spencer turned around, his mild annoyance melting away at the pout on Quinn's face. The guy shifted uncomfortably, his frown deepening.
"I'm sorry if I offended you. It wasn't my intention. I swear. It's just a figure of speech, but I understand if it doesn't feel that way for you. I'll behave."
Spencer gave him a wicked smile. "You don't have to behave."
Quinn arched an eyebrow at him and squared his shoulders. Looked like Spencer had the guy's attention. With a friendly smile, he returned to the living room and placed the brownies on the coffee table.
"Maybe I'm being a little oversensitive."
"No, I made you uncomfortable. I apologize." Quinn nodded to the couch beside him. "Come on."
Spencer pretended to think about it before walking around the coffee table and taking a seat next to Quinn, who waited all of two seconds before scooping up his plate of brownies. He took a big bite, a crooked smile on his face while he chewed.
"You just want me for my brownies," Spencer huffed.
Quinn almost choked on his mouthful. He covered his mouth with his fist, coughing up a storm. Spencer gently patted his back.
"Let me get you some milk." He got up and headed for the kitchen, smiling to himself.
This was going to be fun.
Chapter Five
WEIRD.
Quinn observed Spencer as he headed to the fridge. He'd been out of the game some time, but he could tell Spencer was flirting with him. They didn't know much about each other, though Quinn wondered how he hadn't noticed Spencer around the complex before. He was sure he'd never seen Spencer around the pool. Then again, Spencer looked like too much time in the sun might burn him to a crisp.
Watching Spencer, Quinn noticed how despite his lanky frame, Spencer wasn't quite as scrawny as he'd first thought, or maybe he was seeing Spencer in a different light. He was lean, with shoulders that tapered down to a trim waist, strong legs, a little definition in his arms, and a really nice ass. His hands were slender, with long fingers that wrapped easily around the glass he was pouring milk into. Quinn frowned when his dick took notice of that sinewy body. Spencer returned the milk to the fridge, dropping something from inside. He bent down to pick it up, and Quinn found himself tilting his head, watching Spencer's every move and the sweet curve of that cute little ass.
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.