Campy (Ballsy Boys Book 4)

by K. M. Neuhold

  “I thought that was the point,” I deadpan.

  “You know what I mean.” Rebel rolls his eyes at our childish snickers. “You don’t look like you’re having fun. Is there a problem? Do you need anything?”

  I give a sharp shake of my head. I’m usually much better at acting than this. In the year I’ve been at Ballsy, no one has ever been able to spot the fact that I’m not into dudes. But the past few weeks, the stress has been getting to me. Everything feels like it’s being piled on until I’m about to collapse under the weight of it.

  “Sorry, just a little distracted. I’ll get my head in the game.”

  Rebel gives me a look and for a second I’m worried he’s going to press me on what has me so distracted. But to my relief, he just gestures to the cameramen and shouts, “Action!”

  Heart instantly starts moaning loudly, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at his theatrics. Head in the game, I scold myself.

  I pull my hips back and then snap them forward, pegging Heart’s prostate and eliciting a genuine moan this time, his fingers digging into my back and his eyes rolling back in a way our viewers love.

  I let my eyes fall closed for a second, searching for mental inspiration to get through this scene with more enthusiasm. Typically, I’d bring up the image of a beautiful woman—sweet, girl-next-door types always do it for me. But for some reason, the first image that pops into my head is Jackson. Why my brain decides to conjure up my burly, manly cowboy of a roommate with a crooked smile and kind eyes when I’m balls deep in Heart is beyond me. It surprises me enough I lose my rhythm for a few seconds.

  To make the whole thing even more shocking? The images of Jackson do the trick in the inspiration department, making my cock harder and my balls churn. The fact that I need to get through this scene keeps me from analyzing it too closely, I just thank fuck for my renewed enthusiasm and fuck Heart like I mean it.

  His moans reverberate against all the acoustically ideal set walls and mine join in. I force my eyes open, hoping to dispel images of Jackson before I come. Heart is blushing and panting, my own harsh breaths matching his. I reach between us and wrap my hand around his cock, jerking him in a fast rhythm that’s bound to make him blow in no time. I never thought I’d become an expert on how to get men off, but obviously life can take us in unexpected directions.

  His channel clamps down around me and his eyebrows scrunch together, a look of almost pained pleasure on his face—also known as Heart’s famous O face. His cock swells in my hand and he cries out as his cum spills over my fingers and shoots onto his chest.

  When he finishes, I pull out and quickly do away with the condom, tossing it onto the floor before fisting my own erection and jerking off onto Heart’s chest, so when my orgasm washes over me, my release adds to the streaks already there, mixing together and looking entirely filthy in the best way.

  Always one to go the extra mile, once the last drop of cum is milked from my cock, I lean forward and gather our combined releases on my tongue and then pull Heart into another sloppy kiss, sure to let some of our seed drip down over our lips and chin to create a nice fantasy scene for viewers to finish to.

  He smirks when I pull back, a strand of sticky spit connecting our lips for a few seconds before falling away.

  “Cut,” Rebel calls, and I let out a little sigh of relief.

  “Way to rally,” Heart says, clapping me on the shoulder before climbing off the bed and catching a towel tossed to him by the main cameraman, Joey.

  “Thanks, Joey,” I call when he chucks one at me as well.

  “We good?” Heart checks and Rebel gives him a thumbs-up.

  Together, we make our way upstairs to the showers and changing room, both eager to wash the scene off.

  “Is everything okay with you, man?” Heart asks as we enter the locker rooms.

  My stomach twists. I fucking hate how thoughtful and caring all the guys are. I know that’s a dickish thing to think, but every time they ask me if everything is okay or offer to listen if I ever need to talk, I feel like a piece of shit. They genuinely want to be friends and form a connection so we can work better together, and I have to hold them at arm’s length to protect my secrets. What would they think if they knew I wasn’t even gay? What would Bear think? And worse yet, how much would they pity me if they knew the reason for my lie?

  “Oh yeah, great,” I lie, forcing a smile and it’s obvious he doesn’t buy it, but I take advantage of the fact we’ve reached the showers to end the conversation by jumping into the nearest one and turning on the water. I wince at the icy spray, bouncing around for a minute while it warms up.

  “Did you seriously get into a cold shower to avoid talking about whatever’s bugging you?”

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  He mumbles something before starting his own shower. I close my eyes and tilt my head back into the now-warm cascade of water. Whatever the deal was with thinking about Jackson today, I’m sure it had to do with spending some time together. It’s not like I’ve never thought about a man while fucking before, it’s just not a regular thing and it’s never been someone I know. Usually it’s a celebrity or something. And, sure, on occasion a scene I’ve filmed will pop into my head when I’m jerking off, so technically I’ve thought about some of the guys I work with while getting off, but it’s not like it means anything. Thinking about Jackson didn’t mean anything either. I’m not homophobic, obviously, I’m just not gay.

  When you think about it, it’s not that surprising Jackson popped into my head. After all, we have been spending a lot of time together recently. For the most part, our schedules match up nicely, both of us getting home near the same time most nights, both tired after filming and content to sit together and watch TV or movies while we eat dinner. He’s even been taking time to call and check in on my mom when I have busy days and can’t manage it.

  I’ve never had a roommate, but I’ve heard enough horror stories from other people to know I got lucky with Jackson. He’s not only a great roommate, he’s becoming a good friend. Given all that, it makes sense I’d think of him randomly like that. It doesn’t mean anything more.

  I mean, yeah, he’s good looking too, but that’s not why he came to mind. There are plenty of good-looking guys in the world and I’ve never fantasized about any of them. I’m not about to start with my roommate who somehow manages to be both adorable and drop-dead sexy at the same time.

  I rinse the soap off, ignoring the fact that my cock is hard again as I shut off the water and reach past the curtain for a towel.

  I push the curtain back and startle at finding Heart standing on the other side, freshly showered and clearly not finished bugging the shit out of me.

  “Can I help you?” I ask dryly.

  “I just wanted to make sure you knew I was serious, if there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m here.”

  The sincerity dripping from him throws me off for a second.

  “I appreciate it. I really am okay, but thank you.”

  “The offer stands.”

  I nod, wrapping my towel around my waist and stepping out of the shower as Heart turns and walks toward the lockers, bare assed. The sight of his pert ass wiggling as he walks does nothing for me, even though I’ve fucked him so many times I’ve lost count. See? Definitely not gay.

  8

  Jackson

  I’ve done my research, and it turns out, LA has a zoo. I don’t think it’s the most impressive one ever, but it’ll do the job, I hope. On my phone, I also compiled a list of gay-friendly restaurants—thank you, internet—and with that, I think I’m all set to ask Cameron out. All I need now is courage.

  Actually, I need some wisdom as well. Do I tell him I know about his job? It could get mighty awkward, but if it comes up later, I’d feel horrible for pretending I didn’t know. Also, he’ll want to know how I spotted he was gay, for sure. I’m not gonna lie to him. That doesn’t seem like the way to start a relationship.
No, honesty is the best approach here.

  I saw Cameron leave the house this morning, and if I interpreted his clothes correctly, he had a shoot today. That means he’ll come home tired and hungry, and since I’m off today on account of it being Sunday, I can prepare dinner. He seemed to like the casserole I made for him and his mom, so I’m gonna do something similar. Also, casseroles are hard to mess up. Even I know that, as they’re basically the backbone of Southern cooking. That, and anything fried and barbecued, but the latter is hard to do in our apartment.

  Grabbing some bags to put the groceries in, I head out. It’s not the best part of LA we live in, I’ve discovered. When I saw on the map that Cameron lived close to Hollywood Boulevard, I was all excited. That’s where the Hollywood Walk of Fame is, after all, and I thought it would be a nice neighborhood. Boy, was I wrong.

  The part near the Chinese Theatre is nice, but other than that, it’s a bit seedy. Lots of people loitering, in various stages of being drunk and/or high, or dressing in a way that makes me suspect they’re earning their money a certain way. I did see Pretty Woman quite a few times, which in hindsight should’ve clued me in to me being gay, since I was way more interested in Richard Gere than in Julia Roberts.

  Even our street, a few blocks from Hollywood Boulevard, can get a bit rowdy at night, and we regularly have homeless people sleeping near the entrance to our building. That’s something I’m not used to—my country background showing up again. Cameron said not to give them any money on account of the landlord not wanting any homeless people hanging around permanently, so I haven’t, but I do occasionally give out sandwiches to this one guy who’s a regular.

  It’s a twenty-minute walk to the farmers market, but I don’t mind. If there’s one thing I miss since moving here and taking the acting job, it’s being outside. I used to work outside on the ranch as much as I could back in Texas, before I went to college, that is. I’ve always loved being outside, and riding horses sure is no punishment either. I really need to figure out a way to get some outside exercise in here, I muse as I walk to the market.

  This market is rapidly becoming a favorite of mine, since it reminds me a little of the farmers markets back home. It’s much bigger and more crowded, but I love seeing the same pride in homegrown produce. I grab some leeks, fresh herbs, and potatoes, then stock up on fresh fruit. Cameron loves pineapples, I’ve discovered, so I buy two of those as well as some other fruit to make a fruit salad for dessert.

  On the walk back, one of those open-tour minivans drives past me, the driver calling out something about a seeing a genuine cowboy in LA. I tip my hat the best I can with my hands full of groceries, which earns me spontaneous applause from the passengers.

  I guess I do stand out with my boots, hat, and jeans. I flat out refuse to wear shorts, no matter the temperature. I only wear shorts when I have to, like in sports, but even then I’ll take them tight football pants over those crazy, unflattering baggy basketball shorts any day. My behind looks a sight better in tight-fitting jeans, and why yes, I checked it out in the mirror multiple times to verify.

  And I rarely venture out without my hat, as it keeps the sun from my face. I suppose a baseball cap would do the trick, but I never felt they looked particularly good on me. Call me vain, but my cowboy hat suits me whereas a cap seems so…ordinary. But once the series airs, I may have to reconsider. Not that I expect to be instantly famous, but you never know, and with my hat I may become a bit too easy to spot.

  By the time Cameron comes home, the casserole is bubbling in the oven, the cheese already browning nicely, and the fruit salad is chilling in the freezer. I take it out as soon as I hear his key in the door, because it tastes much better at room temperature. It’s stupid, but I can barely refrain myself from meeting him in the hallway, kissing him senseless, and then asking how his day was.

  Luckily, I don’t have to wait long till he steps into the kitchen, his hair still damp and his body wash drifting toward me. He looks tired, as he often does on days he has a shoot.

  “Hey, what’s cooking?” he asks, sniffing the air.

  “Potato-leek casserole,” I say with pride. “It’s almost done.”

  “It smells amazing,” he says, sending me a smile. “Though I’m not so sure I’ve ever had leeks.”

  “They’re good,” I say. “You have to make sure they’re well-done, though, so I always let them simmer softly for fifteen minutes before putting them in the casserole.”

  “You’re a regular Martha Stewart,” Cameron jokes. “That casserole you made at my mom’s was amazing as well. One of these days, you’ll have to teach me your secret.”

  I swallow, overcome by that urge again to hug him. He looks fragile, underneath that strong body, and it’s the weirdest thing. “Bacon,” I say instead. “You just add bacon. That makes everything taste better.”

  He grins. “True that.”

  A few minutes later, we sit down in front of the TV with our food. Cameron prefers watching something while he eats. I think it helps him relax.

  “What do you want to watch?” he asks.

  I gesture at the remote. “You pick something.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “You know that means watching some boring nature documentary, right?”

  “If it’s boring, why would you watch it?” I fire back.

  His eyes drop to the floor. “I like watching them,” he admits. “But we can totally watch something else. I’m not expecting you to like those.”

  “I don’t mind nothin’,” I say with a smile, laying the accent on a bit thick. He always smiles a little when I do that, and I think he secretly likes it. “I like animals and nature.”

  His eyes light up. “Have you ever seen the BBC series Planet Earth? It’s amazing. I haven’t seen the second season yet.”

  I shake my head and minutes later we’re watching jaw-dropping footage of tropical islands where all kinds of animals try to survive. I learn things about Komodo dragons and pygmy sloths, I kid you not, and it’s pretty cool. Even cooler is that Cameron gobbles down his portion of casserole and then goes for seconds. He likes the fruit salad as well, and he looks a lot more relaxed by the time he’s finished his food.

  “Wanna watch another episode?” he asks.

  I gather all my courage. “Actually, there was something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. Something I wanted to ask you.”

  “Oh?”

  He shifts on the couch to look at me, those gorgeous brown eyes studying me inquisitively. This is it, the moment of truth. Just be yourself, Ethan had said, and with that in mind, I opt to go for simple.

  “I’ve loved gettin’ to know you a sight better these last few weeks, and I gotta say, it’s been a pleasure, so I was wonderin’ if maybe you wanted to go out with me? I was thinking we could go to the zoo, since you like animals so much?”

  His mouth drops a little open, and so I plod on, terrified to stop now. “And I looked up some gay-friendly restaurants, so afterward, I could take you to dinner?”

  I have to breathe, and when I do, Cameron’s face transforms in a way that makes my stomach drop.

  “Jackson,” he says. “I’m really flattered, but I think there’s a misunderstanding. I’m not gay.”

  Campy

  Jackson cocks his head, confusion clear on his face. He studies me for a few seconds before his confusion turns to hurt and embarrassment. My heart constricts painfully at the expression. I want to scoot closer and wrap my arms around him, maybe even agree to go out with him if it will make him stop looking like a kicked puppy.

  “If you’re not interested it’s fine, but you don’t hafta lie, Cam.”

  It’s my turn to be confused. “I’m not lying,” I assure him. “I’m not gay.”

  Jackson’s face gets a little red and he huffs out a breath, shaking his head and looking down at his hands. “I’ve seen the videos.”

  I can feel the blood draining from my face and turning to ice in my veins, and my lungs refuse to coop
erate as I try desperately to drag in a full breath. So far, I haven’t had any problem keeping Campy completely separate from Cameron. It helps that I don’t have much of a social life, but I naïvely had the feeling of those two parts of myself being neatly compartmentalized, neither bleeding over into the other at any point. What if Jackson isn’t the only one who’s seen the videos? What if someone from the wildlife center stumbles upon them? What if my mom finds out some day? Even after I quit doing porn, they’ll still be out there for anyone to find.

  “Breathe, Cam,” Jackson’s steady voice breaks through my fog of panic. “That’s it, deep breath in and hold it for a few seconds.” His hand rubs soothing circles on my back as he coaches me through breathing for a few minutes.

  “I’m not gay,” I say again once my breathing is under control.

  “Then I’m confused,” Jackson says.

  I look up, meeting his eyes with a pathetic expression. “Can you think of another job I could do that would allow me to not only cover my own bills, but keep up with my mom’s mortgage, living expenses, and medical bills? Because I can’t.”

  Jackson’s mouth falls open. “When you told me about your mom, I figured it was why you were in porn. But, you’re not even gay and you’re doin’ that for her?”

  I give a weak, one-shoulder shrug. “Gay porn pays a hell of a lot better than straight porn.”

  Jackson blinks a few times and then runs his hands over his face and through his hair. “I’ll be honest, I couldn’t do that with a woman for all the money in the world. Nothin’ against women, but I literally don’t think I could get it up.”

  I chuckle, relaxing a fraction. “I didn’t think I’d be able to either when I first started. It was sort of a Hail Mary, praying I could pull it off. I took Viagra my first few shoots and after that I noticed I didn’t really need it,” I explain. “Coming is coming as far as my dick is concerned, I guess,” I chuckle and Jackson winces at my crude words. “Sorry.”