Campy (Ballsy Boys Book 4)

by K. M. Neuhold

  “Yes, I’ve seen the way he fucks, and I’ve also been fucked by him. You may walk funny for a few days, but I’m confident you’ll survive,” I assure him.

  “Easy for you to say, he wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

  “I think you’re being dramatic, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll try to meet you guys after I finish up with my roommate.”

  “Cool, see you in a few hours then.”

  I wave over my shoulder as Brewer leaves, then I finish getting dressed and head out as well.

  I’m not sure why I’m nervous about meeting this guy, but my nerves flutter in my stomach as I head home. Maybe it’s because I’ve never lived with anyone before? God knows what kind of weirdo might show up. He seemed nice enough online when he responded to my listing, but this is LA. It’s always safer to assume people are going to be weirdos, because you’ll almost always be correct.

  I quickly clean up the apartment once I get home, making sure I don’t look like some kind of slob. Not that I’m even around enough to let the place get all that messy. If I’m not at the studio or the barn, I’m usually at my mom’s checking on her, making sure she has meals and things are tidy for her. If I could afford it, I’d get her caretakers to help with the daily things, but it’s not cheap. Although, soon it will probably be necessary, and fuck knows what I’ll do then. Not to mention the MRIs she needs every six months to monitor her progression. At least the prednisone is cheap, but at her last doctor’s visit, there was talk about trying some new treatment options that I’m sure will cost an arm and a leg…or in my case, my ass.

  The sound of my door buzzer yanks me from my spiraling thoughts, and I’m glad for the distraction.

  I cross the room and hold down the intercom button. “Jackson?” I check.

  “That’d be me,” a voice replies, thick with a Southern accent.

  “Come on up.” I hit the button that unlocks the outside door and unlatch my own door, leaving it slightly ajar while I head to the kitchen to grab a can of soda.

  A minute later, the front door creaks open.

  “Hello?” that Southern drawl calls out tentatively.

  “Yeah, I’m in the kitchen. You want anything to drink?”

  “Water’s fine, thanks.”

  I grab a water bottle out of the fridge as well and head into the living room. The man standing awkwardly in the doorway with a suitcase set on the floor beside him fits the exact image my mind conjured up when I heard his accent. He’s tall, a good head taller than me easily, and built like a brick house. He looks like he just hopped off a tractor, and I mean that in the best possible way. He’s a good-looking guy, there’s no denying that, even if I’m not into guys personally.

  “You must be Cameron.” He steps forward, offering me his hand with a polite, crooked smile.

  It’s odd, but I’ve gotten so used to being called Campy, unless I’m at the barn, that it takes me a second to offer him my hand in return.

  “That’s me,” I agree. “So, uh, I’ve never had a roommate before. You’ll have to bear with me.”

  Jackson lets out a little chuckle, filled with relief. “I’m glad I’m not the only one out of my depth. I swear, since getting off the bus I’m feelin’ more and more like the dumb farm boy I always knew I was.”

  “I imagine it can be kind of overwhelming here at first. I grew up in LA so to me it’s all pretty mundane at this point,” I explain. “So, um, as we talked about when you emailed me, rent is three thousand a month, utilities included. So, you’ll owe fifteen hundred on the first of every month. I got the first month’s rent that you sent, so you’re good until the first. You have a job yet?”

  “Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem. I have a part in a new TV show. I mean, we’re still filming the first season, so who knows if it’ll even get a second season, but I have a paycheck for the next eight months guaranteed. And they gave me an advance, so I’m good for the money.”

  “Okay, cool. I’m not home much and I work odd hours, so you’ll have the place to yourself most of the time. Do you have a girlfriend or anyone you’d be bringing around?” I check.

  Something curious flits over Jackson’s face, his jaw flexing before he bites down on his bottom lip and drops his gaze to his shoes. “Nothin’ like that,” he answers.

  “Okay, if that changes, it’s cool to have someone spend the night, just let me know ahead of time if possible. I don’t want to run into a stranger in the kitchen in the morning or anything,” I say, and he gives a quick nod. “Do you have any questions for me?”

  He glances around the living room for a few seconds. “Can I look at the bedroom and everything?”

  “Oh yeah, duh, of course.” I usher him down the hall to show him the empty bedroom, stopping to let him look at the bathroom as well on the way.

  He stands in the middle of the small bedroom looking around for a few seconds before giving me another lopsided smile. “It looks great.”

  “Cool, welcome aboard, roomie.”

  “All I have right now is this suitcase of clothes, so moving in’ll be easy.”

  “Oh, right. You probably don’t even have a bed or anything, do you?”

  “Nah, but I got my first paycheck yesterday, so that won’t be a problem.”

  “Good. Let me grab you the extra key real quick because I won’t be here when you get back. I told some work friends I’d go out with them for a drink.”

  “Okay.” Jackson follows me to the kitchen where I grab the extra key out of the little basket on top of the fridge. “What do you do for a livin’?”

  I freeze, the key in my outstretched hand. “Oh, um, this and that,” I answer vaguely.

  Jackson cocks his head but doesn’t push for more.

  “Before you go, any sightseeing tips?”

  “Check out the beach.”

  “Thanks, I will. I’ll catch you later,” he says, taking the key from my hand and giving me a little wave before heading out to likely hit a furniture store.

  “Later,” I call after him.

  Jackson

  LA is a whole different ball game from Texas and one I'm not sure I like. I figured it would be an adjustment, going from a small town in rural Texas to a city like this, but to say it's been a culture shock is an understatement. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still all ready and rarin’ to go, but I may have underestimated the cultural differences a little. Just a tad.

  When I asked Cameron for some sightseeing tips earlier, just to get myself familiarized with the city, he sent me to the beach. Granted, that was on my list already, seeing as how it's one of the things I've been looking forward to. I've been to the Gulf Coast, but something told me it's not the same. And now that I'm sitting on a fluffy, soft towel on Santa Monica beach, I can confirm it's not.

  It's busy here, even on a Wednesday afternoon, both the beach and the bicycle path crowded. There’s a fair number of mothers with young children, presumably too young to be in school, but I also spot a lot of twenty-and thirty-somethings. A few are content to lounge and observe like me, but most of them are active in some way. They're walking along the beach, riding a bicycle, or doing a workout.

  What surprises me most is how the people around me look. They're all toned and tanned and sexy, and even though I know I’m in pretty good shape, it's a little intimidating. They're so darn perfect. These people, they’re almost like a different species.

  Over yonder, a guy performs a complex series of yoga positions, each one bending his body in ways that shouldn't be anatomically possible, and something heavy sits in my stomach as I watch him. It's weird, because I’m about to live my dream, but now that I'm here, I don't know if it will ever live up to my expectations. Or maybe I should say that I don't know if I'll ever be good enough to fit in here.

  I read an autobiography of the breakout star of a recent TV series, a young, gay guy who moved from Wisconsin to LA when he got the main part on that show. It became an instant success, catapulting him into celebrity s
tatus. Sadly, he struggled with that change and got addicted to all kinds of nasty stuff.

  I wanted to read his book because I figured it would be a good cautionary tale for me, and now that I'm sitting here, some of what he expressed makes more sense to me. He called LA a rat race, complained about the intense pressure to fit in, to look as good as everyone else. I didn't fully understand it at the time, wondering how people in the same country could look so different, but as I'm sitting here on the part of the beach that's known as Muscle Beach, I get it.

  I have never seen so many beautiful people at the same time, and it's disconcerting to say the least. Intimidating. Eerie, even, and I get where he was coming from now. How the heck can you compete with this and not go crazy?

  I turn my head in surprise when someone plops on the sand beside me. It's a guy my age with a pair of piercing blue eyes.

  "Enjoying the view?" he asks, gesturing at the yoga guy.

  "It's quite the vista," I say, trying to keep it light.

  He sends me a blinding smile, dragging a hand through his wind-tossed hair. He's the epitome of a surfer boy, right down to the colorful surf shorts he's wearing.

  "His ass is a work of art," he comments, and it takes me a second to realize he's still talking about yoga guy.

  I drag my view back to our yoga friend, who is now doing the most perfect downward-facing dog ever, the aforementioned rump sticking high in the air. Then it hits me. He must be gay. Surfer boy, not yoga dude, although he could be too. No one would comment on another guy’s ass like that unless he were gay, right?

  Something sizzles in my stomach. This is the kind of casual meet up with gay men I've been dreaming about. And it’s only my first day here. Maybe LA isn’t so bad after all.

  "It's certainly a nice ass," I say, forcing myself to use the word that my mama woulda smacked me on my head for and pushing down the almost automatic fear that I'm inadvertently outing myself. There’s no need to be afraid here. I can be myself. This is going to take some getting used to, I realize.

  "Well, yours isn't bad either," surfer boy says, and my head shoots to the side.

  He's grinning at me cheekily, winking. Hot dang, he's certainly forward, isn't he? How does he even know I'm gay? Come to think of it, how can he even see my ass when I’m sitting down?

  “And how you would know, curious minds and all that?” I ask.

  “I may have been watching you for a little bit,” he happily admits. “Before you sat down, even. Plenty of opportunity to check out the goods, I assure you.”

  What do you even say to a compliment like that? I don't think anyone has ever mentioned my ass before, at least not someone whose name I didn't even know. "Thank you?"

  "I take it you're a new arrival," he says.

  I smile back at him. His easy happiness is kind of hard to resist. "The greenhorn was that easy to spot, huh?"

  "Aside from your wide-eyed observation of your surroundings, your accent was a dead giveaway, and let’s not forget your cowboy hat. Don't get me wrong, I love it. In fact, I'd love to hear you talk some more, want to grab lunch together?"

  My eyes widen. He’s asking me out? He moves fast, doesn't he? I swallow and pray that I’ll be able to keep my cool. "You want to maybe tell me your name first? I'm Jackson, by the way."

  I extend my hand to him and he takes it with a widening smile. "Good god, you're adorable. Nice to meet you, Jackson. I’m CJ."

  Adorable, that's good, right? Personally, when I hear adorable, I think more along the lines of golden retriever puppies or baby owls, but at least it's positive. I think I would've preferred sexy or hot, but I'll take adorable for now. Not that I even care what CJ thinks of me, obviously, but wouldn't it be nice to get some experience in flirting with men? He could be my practice, I decide.

  I squeeze his hand a tad longer before I let him go. "The pleasure is all mine, darlin’."

  CJ chuckles. “Oh, you’re good. The way you just said darling, that was so fucking sexy. I could listen to you all day."

  "All day is mighty presumptuous of you, but we could start with that lunch you mentioned?"

  He winks at me again. "Sounds good, let me grab a shirt and some shoes. I'll be right back, so don't go anywhere."

  I laugh as he jumps up and runs off toward what I assume is his car while I unashamedly stare at his ass. I can't really make it out in those baggy surfer shorts, but the rest of his body looks good.

  "I see CJ already got to you?" a voice speaks up, and when I turn my head, yoga guy is standing in front of me, his body covered in a thin layer of perspiration.

  Gosh darn it, the dude is perfect. Every muscle on his body is sculpted like a Michelangelo statue. How many hours of yoga a week does he need to do to be in that shape? I would kill for a body like that.

  Then his words hit me, and I manage to drag my eyes away from his body back to his face. "Excuse me?"

  The guy smiles. "CJ, he asked you out, right?"

  What is with these people? How is it possible I managed to keep my sexuality a secret for so long and these guys can see I'm gay within seconds? Did coming to LA somehow boost my gay vibes or something?

  "We’re just gonna grab lunch."

  He nods. "I figured as much. Come find me next time, okay?"

  I frown, completely confused by what he means. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. You want to work out with me or something?"

  The laugh he lets out is genuine, a booming, rich laugh that draws a couple of people's heads in our direction. "Fuck, you're adorable," he says, and there's that word again. Adorable. I'm still banking on it being a good thing, though I am starting to get worried a little. "Usually, I don't mind when CJ gets the new arrivals first, but I have to admit that in this case, I'm a little disappointed. Yes, honey, I would like to work out with you."

  "Hey Dustin, you trying to steal my date?" CJ calls out as he makes his way back to us.

  Yoga guy, whose name is Dustin I just learned, holds up both of his hands. "I wouldn't dare, and you know it, babe. I know the rules. Just let me know when you're done with him, okay? I wouldn't mind the leftovers, if you know what I'm saying."

  There's a whole subtext here I’m only getting partially, I realize. I'm the new arrival, that much is clear, and these two both know I'm gay. How, I’m still not sure, but it means they’re gay as well. And CJ is known for taking out newcomers? I don’t know what that is about, but the comment about leftovers, that one I got. It leaves a nasty taste in my mouth, even though both men are laughing and joking about it.

  "You know what they say, Dustin, save a horse, ride a cowboy. And we have found ourselves a mighty fine cowboy right here."

  Okay, as naïve as I might be, that reference is hard to miss. Ride a cowboy? Really? I get that my accent and hat might make me appear like some dumb country boy, but I can’t help but be a bit offended. The direct flirting, that’s all fine with me, but I’m not a piece of livestock they get to haggle over. I’m better than that, I decide, no matter how much I would love to experiment a little.

  “I’m terribly sorry to disappoint both of y’all, then, but this cowboy is gonna go hunt for greener pastures. Y’all can fight some more, but I’m callin’ it a day. Have a nice day, gentlemen.”

  I tip my hat and saunter off, strangely satisfied when I leave them standing there all by themselves. I may be looking for some experience, but I still have standards.

  3

  Campy

  I stumble out of my room, half-asleep and still a little drunk after going out last night with the guys and not getting in until almost three in the morning. I tried to leave earlier, but Brewer kept handing me drinks, telling me it might be his last night on earth before Tank kills him today. If I didn’t have the barn today, I’d be half tempted to head down to the studio to watch their shoot out of morbid curiosity.

  I shuffle to the kitchen naked as a jaybird, rubbing my sleepy eyes. When I see a large man standing at the refrigerator, I startle, letting out a surprised
yelp before remembering that I got a roommate yesterday.

  Jackson looks at me over his shoulder with concern.

  “You all right?” he asks before his eyes go wide, flicking quickly over my naked body. I’m surprised to see a light-pink tinge creep over his cheeks. I wouldn’t have pegged him as the blushing type.

  “Shit, sorry,” I mumble sleepily. “I forgot I don’t live alone anymore, I’ll go put some clothes on.”

  I hurry back to my bedroom to pull on a pair of pants and a T-shirt before heading back to the kitchen. This time I find him messing with the coffee maker while bread cooks in the toaster.

  “Sorry about that,” I say again.

  “No trouble.” He waves me off, not looking at me this time. Great, I made him uncomfortable. Some roommate I am.

  “So, did you get all your stuff moved in okay?” I ask, making polite conversation.

  “Oh, yeah. Like I said, I didn’t have much. I came here with a suitcase of clothes and blind hope.”

  “I think that’s how most people come to LA,” I chuckle, reaching for a coffee mug and filling it once he finishes with his.

  “Was it how you came here?”

  “Me? No, I was born here. Well, not here but about an hour outside the city. I moved here after high school for college initially and then stayed for work.”

  “Oh, right. You told me you grew up here, sorry. What do you do for work?” he asks for the second time in two days.

  Fuck. I walked into that one, honestly.

  “This and that,” I answer, the same way I did yesterday. I really should come up with a standard lie I tell for times like these.

  “Oh.”

  Now I feel like a jackass, so I decide to elaborate slightly more than I normally would.

  “I didn’t get a chance to finish my undergrad degree because some personal stuff came up. So now I do what I have to do.”

  “I’m sorry.” The way he says it sounds like he truly is sorry, and not just like it’s what he thinks he should say.