Campy (Ballsy Boys Book 4)

by K. M. Neuhold

  When I walk into the living room, Cameron is spread out on the couch, barely awake enough to follow the program he's watching. He's pale compared to his usual tan, and the bags under his eyes betray he's not getting enough sleep. The man is working his ass off—almost literally, I fear. I know he needs the money, but I can't help but wonder how long he'll be able to keep this up.

  He looks up from the screen and gives me a thorough once-over. "You look all spruced up. Where are you heading?"

  "I have a first date," I say. "It's the first guy who was actually willing to chat with me and go through the getting-to-know-you phase rather than wanting to know my sexual preferences and whether or not I was available to hook up tonight."

  Cameron pushed himself into a sitting position, his eyes narrowing. "What do you know about him? Where are you meeting him?"

  Aw, how sweet, he's kind of stepping into the role of an older brother. Not that the thoughts I'm having about him are brotherly, not even close. With how tired he’s been, he keeps forgetting to throw on some clothes when he steps out of his bedroom. As a result, I keep running into him in various stages of undress. As if I needed any more reminders of how perfect that body of his is.

  "His name is Neil, and we’re fixin’ to meet at a gay bar called Bottoms Up? I think that was the name. I have the address. He said it was a well-known gay bar and safe enough for both of us."

  Campy nods, but his face still shows a hint of annoyance I'm not quite following. "Yeah, I know that one. We often hang out there with the Ballsy Boys. I guess you could say it's kind of our go-to spot, and a lot of our fans know to find us there as well."

  I gently shake my head at the astonishing contradictions in his life. "You're comfortable hangin’ out at a gay bar while you’re straight?" I ask, and then I realize how stupid that question is. Of course he's comfortable there. He hangs out with gay men all day at that job. Heck, he's pretending to be one of them, acting like one.

  A flash of guilt clouds his eyes. "It's doesn't bother me, but I never flirt or give off the wrong signals, you know? Whenever we hang out there, I just chat with the other guys."

  "Who's your favorite?" I ask.

  I may not watch Cameron's videos—though it's costing me a lot of willpower to stay away from them—but I have watched all of the others. I can honestly say I don't have a preference, because they all look sexy as fuck to me.

  I mean, I haven't had enough sex to know if I'm a top or a bottom, but if I had to take a guess, I would say I’m versatile. And looking at those videos kind of confirmed that, as the idea of sinking into that cute little Pixie guy aroused me just as much as the idea of being taken by Tank—though I may have to practice a little more if I want to take a dick that size and not get wrecked.

  Cameron's eyes twinkle. "To chat with or to fuck with?"

  I grin. "Fair enough. Both."

  "I like talking to Brewer. He looks like this total party boy, this shallow piece of ass, but if you get to know him a little, he surprises you. He and I share an affection for weird documentaries, so we always have enough to talk about."

  Huh, interesting. From the few videos I've seen of Brewer, he did appear like a total shallow player. "And for sex?" I ask.

  Cameron shrugs. "Pixie is always fun to work with, and I can't deny that fucking him is a pleasant experience. If I'm bottoming, I might have to say Brewer as well. Nothing against Tank, but the guy has a massive dick, and my ass prefers two sizes smaller."

  I mentally shake my head at the absurdity of this conversation. It still doesn't compute for me. How can Cameron talk about enjoying gay sex and yet maintain he's not attracted to men?

  When I suspected I was gay, I did a little research. Not at home, of course, since our internet filter wouldn’t have even allowed me to see the results. No, I went to a friend’s house and pretended to do research for a project for school. Anyway, I discovered that unlike what I had always been told, sexual attraction or however you want to label it is not a black-and-white thing.

  I thought you were either gay, straight, or bi, but it turns out there are a lot of variations and shades. There's even a scale or something to determine how gay you are. I don't know if they hand out, like, pink unicorns to those scoring a hundred percent on that scale, but if they do, I must be pretty close.

  But it seems to me that no matter what Cameron says, there is no chance in hell he would score zero. Maybe I’m overthinking things, but I can't imagine admitting you like fucking a cute guy like Pixie and then in the same breath maintain you're not attracted to men. And dang it, he’s got me using curse words again.

  Cameron looks at me expectantly and I realize he asked me something. "Sorry, what?"

  His grin widens. "I was curious to see who your favorite is."

  "I don't watch your videos," I hasten to say. "I admit I did subscribe, but I'm not watching your videos. That would be too weird. I only watched the one, the first one where I discovered who you were."

  He shrugs. "That makes sense. But I'm sure you've watched the others."

  We’re certainly venturing into personal territory here again, and I can only hope I won’t blush. "Well, as you said, I think being with Pixie would be a pleasant experience. And maybe Rebel? I know he's not active anymore, but I watched some of his older videos, and he's super hot."

  Cameron nods, an adorably serious expression on his face. "He is. He knows how to work that dick too. He's always been a viewer favorite."

  "Anyway," I say, checking the time on my watch. "I have to go if I want to make it there on time."

  "Are you taking an Uber? You have my number in your phone, right? Call me if you need to. If this guy turns out to be a total dick, don't be afraid to ditch him. You can call me and pretend there’s an emergency or something."

  I think his care for me is super sweet, even if it's a little over the top, and so I dutifully nod. "I will."

  "Wait," Cameron says when I’m already halfway out the door. "Show me a picture of that guy, just so I know what he looks like."

  I dig my phone out of my pocket and swipe until I've found the profile pic the guy used. I turn the phone toward Cameron and let him see it.

  "I hope that's his real picture. It looks kind of too good to be true, don't you think?"

  Frustration dances down my spine. "You don't think a guy like that could be interested in me?" I ask, my tone a little sharper than I intended.

  "No, of course not, that's not what I was trying to say. It's more that so many of these guys try to pretend they’re better than they are in real life, at least that's what I've heard. So all I'm saying is that I hope you won't be disappointed."

  I study him for a second or two before I take my phone back. "Well, there ain’t a heck of a lot I can do about it now except wait and see. I'll tell you afterward how it went.”

  I hurry out the door now, having learned that getting anywhere in LA takes an inordinate amount of time with the crazy traffic. Luckily, I have an Uber within two minutes, and the guy turns out to be content focusing on driving while listening to some nineties radio station. Works for me.

  The entire trip to the bar, I wonder why Cameron is so overprotective of me. Is he just being nice or is this a projection of something else? Maybe he's so powerless with his mother’s illness and watching her struggle that he's focusing on something he can influence?

  It doesn't quite make sense to me, but I can't think of another reason why he would be so invested in finding me a suitable date. He's a nice guy, but we haven't known each other that long, you know? It's kind of…odd.

  But as the Uber pulls up to the bar, I let it go. I want to focus on Neil, and as I get out of the car and hesitantly make my way inside, I hope with all my might he's exactly who he presented himself to be.

  Campy

  I can’t keep a scowl of my face and the unpleasant feeling from my stomach as I watch Jackson leave the apartment for his date. I turn up the volume on the wolf documentary I’m watching, hoping that
will drown out the worries and irritations buzzing in my mind about whoever this Neil dude is Jackson’s meeting up with.

  When that doesn’t work, I grab my phone and mash the button to call Brewer.

  “Hey, boo what’s up?” he asks, picking up on the third ring.

  “What are you up to tonight?”

  “Nothing much, maybe hanging out with Tank, why?”

  “I was thinking of going out to grab a drink, but it’s no big deal if you’re busy.”

  “I could probably make time for one drink,” he concedes. “Don’t rat me out to Tank though.”

  I grin, even though he can’t see it. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “See you at Bottoms Up in forty-five minutes?”

  “Sounds good,” I agree before hanging up.

  I’m not going to spy on Jackson’s date, I’m hanging out with my friend. I’m not even the one who suggested Bottoms Up, I reassure myself before switching off the TV and going to my bedroom to get dressed.

  As usual, we get to skip the line when we get there. Greg, the bouncer, greets us with a smile and a few flirty words before letting us right through. In the dim light of the club, I start scanning immediately for Jackson. I’m not sure why I thought it would be easy to spot him, this place is always packed and the flashing lights don’t help matters.

  My eyes scan the bar anyway, and surprisingly it doesn’t take long before I spot him sitting at the end of the bar with his date.

  “Who’s that?” Brewer asks, following my gaze.

  “My roommate, Jackson.”

  “Did you know he was going to be here? Why didn’t you just come out for a drink with him?”

  “He’s on a date,” I explain, and Brewer looks confused for a few seconds before understanding dawns.

  “Ooo, is this like a stakeout? Do we not trust this guy? Is he not good enough for hottie roommate?” He grabs an empty stool across the bar where we’ll be able to watch Jackson without him noticing us, and politely asks the man beside him to give up his seat to me.

  “It’s not a stakeout, I just wanted a drink.”

  “Riiiight.”

  I clench my teeth and sit down way harder than I need to. For the first time ever, I can see why Tank always said Brewer was obnoxious.

  “Seriously, I’m not here to spy on his date.” Maybe if I say it enough times I’ll believe it too. “That guy totally sent a picture that was a good ten years old though,” I grumble, studying Neil, if that’s even his real name.

  “He’s not bad looking though,” Brewer says, tilting his head as he studies Jackson’s date as well. “I mean, it’s kinda dark in here to tell for sure, but he’s pretty attractive.”

  “Whatever,” I grumble, flagging down the bartender, Ryan, for a drink.

  “Hey guys, how are you doing tonight?” Ryan asks.

  “Great,” I mutter.

  “Good, we’re spying on his roommate on a date,” Brewer shares and I elbow him in the ribs. “Ow, hey. Watch it.”

  “We’re not spying on anyone. Look, this is Jackson’s first date in LA, he doesn’t even know this guy. For all we know, he’s a serial killer. I just wanted to make sure he was safe.”

  Ryan’s eyes soften with understanding and so do Brewer’s.

  “Point him out, I’ll keep an eye on them to make sure his date doesn’t do anything fishy.”

  “Really? Thank you.” I breathe a sigh of relief and nudge my chin in Jackson’s direction so Ryan can pick him out.

  “Oh, he’s pretty hot. Are you sure this isn’t even a little bit about jealousy?”

  I scoff and shake my head. I’m not gay, I scream inside my own head, biting my tongue to keep from shouting it out loud. “It’s not like that.”

  “Whatever you say.” He shrugs. “I’ll keep a close eye on them, I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  He brings Brewer and me our usual drinks, and as promised, Brewer takes off after finishing just one, asking over and over if I’m sure he shouldn’t stay with me longer. I wave him off, telling him I’m going to take off soon too.

  I don’t take off soon. I sit and watch as Jackson chats and laughs with the man for hours, which could be days for the way time passes in the loud, dark club. Eventually, they get up together and head for the door.

  A weight sits heavy in the pit of my stomach as I imagine Jackson going back to this guy’s apartment and having hard, sweaty sex all night long. My cock perks up at the thought of Jackson’s skin glistening with sweat, and I shake my head at myself. I’m so good of an actor I even have my own body fooled at this point.

  I toss a handful of bills onto the bar as a tip and drag myself out of the club. No reason to sit here any longer thinking about Jackson and his date, I might as well go home and try not to think about it there instead.

  The drive home feels like an eternity and when I get up to our apartment, I’m surprised to find Jackson sitting on the couch, watching TV.

  “Hey, I wondered where you went,” he says as soon as I step through the door.

  “Oh, um, just out for a drink with Brewer. How was your date? I didn’t think you’d be home so early.”

  “It was good.” He shrugs. “He was handsome and polite enough. There wasn’t much of a spark though. The goodnight kiss felt like I was kissin’ my brother.”

  I wrinkle my nose, the knot that has been in my stomach all night finally loosening. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. The right guy is out there, I just need to find him.”

  His eyes flick to mine for a fraction of a second and a little zap of heat goes through me.

  “Yeah,” I agree, turning quickly to head down the hall to my bedroom. “Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that. Night, Jackson,” I call over my shoulder before closing my bedroom door and leaning back against it, letting my head thump back against the wood. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  14

  Jackson

  “Jackson, what the fuck?!” Brax explodes into my ear as soon as I pick up the phone.

  That issue I have with cursing and using rough language? My younger brother so doesn’t have a problem with that, somehow managing to turn it off magically when he’s home.

  “Hey Brax,” I say weakly, mentally bracing myself.

  “I don’t even know what to say to you,” Brax says, anger still dripping from his voice. I know from experience it’s best to stay silent and wait till he gets it out of his system.

  Brax and I have always been close. It's funny, because on the surface, we have little in common except a shared parentage. I played football in high school, but I was also part of the drama club and a straight-A student who loved to read.

  He can’t throw a ball if his life depended on it, but put him on a horse and he's amazing. He's won an endless collection of ribbons in rodeos, for barrel racing when he was a kid, then for roping. He even tried bareback bronc riding a few times, but after he broke his arm with a particularly nasty fall, he decided that wasn't worth the risk. He's always been more of a hands-on person, preferring to learn by doing much more than by reading. I’m amazed he even went to college, but then again, he takes ranching as seriously as I take acting.

  Despite our differences, we’ve always found enough to connect over. Video games, for one. TV shows we both loved to watch. Working on the ranch in companionable brotherhood. He was actually the first one who knew I was gay, even before my parents. He didn't bat an eye, just gave me a slap on my back and told me that he'd still kick my ass in gaming.

  I was the first to know that he had a girlfriend, and then that he'd gone all the way with her, as he explained. I was also the one who listened to him pour his heart out when she got pregnant, two scared kids who were determined to do the right thing. She had a miscarriage before they could even tell our parents, and I don't think he ever told them.

  It’s why I feel so crappy about keeping this from him, and I’m pretty sure he’s about to tear me a new one for it.

&
nbsp; “Dammit, Jax,” he says, using his old nickname for me. Jax and Brax, almost like twins, we used to joke. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? Didn’t you know I woulda supported ya?”

  “I know you would’ve.”

  “Then why, man? I don’t understand how you could lie to me like that.”

  The underlying I thought we were close hits me deep, and in that moment, I realize I was wrong. I shoulda told him, shoulda given him the chance to support me. “I’m sorry, Brax. I had my reasons, but I was wrong.”

  He lets out a long sigh. “Okay, then. Talk to me. What the fuck is going on? Mama said you got an acting role?”

  I tell him about Hill Country and the part I’m playing.

  “That’s an amazing opportunity,” he says, and it’s only because I know him so well that I recognize the slight edge he still has to his voice.

  “I wasn’t scared you wouldn’t support me,” I say quietly. “I was scared you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about it. You know how Mama can put pressure on us when she’s suspicious.”

  Brax groans. “Ugh, don’t I know it. She’s like a pit bull when she senses something. And I suck at lying to her,” he says, and I hear the tone of his voice change. “You were always better at that.”

  That’s kind of a mixed compliment, but I get what he means. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want that pressure on you.”

  He’s quiet for a bit, then says, “Okay, I hear ya. It’s all good, Jax. Now, tell me about LA. How hot are the girls? Oh damn, like you would know.”

  I snicker. “I still got eyes, bro. They’re really freaking perfect. Those stereotypes about pretty California girls? All true.”

  “Aw, nice. And the guys, are they equally hot?”

  This is why I love my brother. He’s been wonderfully supportive, even though it must’ve been hard for him as well, adjusting his mindset to having a gay brother. He’s not as conservative as my parents, as evidenced by how liberally he sprinkles his conversation with R-rated expressions, but still.