Campy (Ballsy Boys Book 4)

by K. M. Neuhold

  Something inside me jumps up in joy at his tone. “Really? He’s hot as can be,” I say, careful to keep my face straight.

  “Sure, but he’s way too practiced at flirting. He’s looking for a hookup, not for a happily ever after.”

  I have to admit he’s probably right about that, which makes me wonder if I’m misinterpreting things. Maybe he really is only looking out for me. I let out a sigh. “I guess you’re right. It’s a shame, ‘cause I do like him.”

  Cameron bumps my shoulder. “We’re just getting started, man. No worries. I’ve got you.”

  Confused doesn’t even come close to describing how I feel. Cameron’s mixed signals are driving me insane, going from he likes me and he’s jealous to he’s just looking out for me. Can you blame me, what with him going from hot to cold and from sexy and flirty to brotherly concern?

  And my own feelings for him, those are even harder. I like him, I have from the moment we met, and I tried to switch to friend-mode when he told me he wasn’t gay. But all the hanging out we do and him being my wingman isn’t making it easy to think of him as just a friend. Not when both my body and my soul want more.

  Just before we leave—Cameron is already heading to the door—Reed grabs my hand and pulls me close, whispering in my ear. “Come find me if your roommate decides he doesn’t want you after all. I hang out here a few nights a week…”

  He kisses me on my cheek and I nod. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, Texas. Now, go get your man.”

  My man. Now, there’s a thought I like.

  16

  Campy

  I watch with a scowl while that middle-aged, horn dog of a cowboy paws at Jackson, whispering something in his ear before kissing him on the cheek. I clench my teeth together and call on all my restraint to keep myself from marching over there and kicking the guy in the balls to get him off Jackson.

  He’s not interested, dude, take the hint already, I rant internally, glaring daggers at his hand resting on Jackson’s lower back.

  Although…Jackson isn’t pulling away or telling him off. And he has been doing quite a bit of flirting himself tonight. Fuck, maybe he is interested in the guy. That thought makes my stomach churn and the unpleasant, hot feeling in my chest flare.

  Am I jealous of this man with his hands still all over Jackson? But why? Why the hell do I care? We came here to find him someone to fall in love and live happily ever after with, so why does the thought of him actually doing it make me want to punch something?

  Jackson finally peels himself away from Cowboy Grabby Hands and makes his way toward me.

  “You know, you didn’t have to ditch him on my account. If you want to go home with him, feel free,” I snap, surprising both of us, judging by the look on Jackson’s face.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You and Red seemed pretty cozy, I just hate to break that up.”

  “Reed,” Jackson corrects and I scoff.

  “Whatever.” He frowns and I immediately feel like a giant asshole. “I’m sorry, I’m being a dick. Seriously, if you want to hook up with Reed, you should.”

  Jackson studies me for several long seconds and I start to feel myself squirm under his inspection.

  “No, it’s okay. He was nice and all, but I’m not interested.”

  “He’s your type though,” I point out.

  He shrugs. “When there ain’t any sparks, type don’t matter.”

  “That’s true,” I concede.

  “Funny how that goes both ways,” he muses. “When there are sparks, type don’t matter then either.” The deeper meaning of his words makes me squirm for a second time, his eyes feeling like they’re boring into my soul and seeing all the irrational jealousy and confusing thoughts on full display.

  “Yeah. Are you ready to go?” I ask quickly.

  “I’m ready.” He steps forward and pushes the door open, holding it for me.

  On the sidewalk, we hail a cab and ride silently for a while.

  Everything in my head is such a jumbled mess. I wish there was someone I could talk to about everything, but there’s no one. I can’t talk to any of the guys at the studio because it would mean outing myself as straight. I can’t talk to Jackson because, hello, awkward. I can’t tell my mom because too many questions would be raised about things I’m not going to tell her. Jackson is the only person with a foot in both parts of my life.

  I glance over at him and find him leaning his head back, watching the buildings as we drive past. The lights flickering across his face give him an oddly ethereal look and the serene smile on his lips warms my chest. He notices me looking and tilts his head in my direction.

  “I haven’t been able to decide if the city is beautiful or if it’s just a giant concrete wasteland contributing to air and light pollution.”

  “I think it’s both, honestly,” I offer. “I’ve lived here so long, sometimes I forget stars even exist, because you can’t see them here. When I stay late at the wildlife center, I sit on the hood of my car for a few minutes afterward just to look at the sky for a while.”

  “That’s kind of sad.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “I don’t want to forget stars exist. Maybe if I make enough money on the show I’ll buy a ranch outside the city where I’ll be able to go outside and see the stars whenever I want.”

  “Take me with you?” I ask wistfully, only half-joking.

  “Of course,” he agrees solemnly.

  We fall back into silence, this time far more companionable, the rest of the way home.

  “Sorry this night was a bust,” I say as we climb the stairs to our apartment.

  “It wasn’t a bust. Just ‘cause I didn’t find no one to go home with doesn’t mean it wasn’t fun. At least I got to practice my flirtin’ a bit.”

  “Is that all it was with Reed? Practice?”

  “Sure, I told ya I didn’t feel a spark.”

  I nod, unexplainable relief flooding me.

  “Maybe next time,” I offer and Jackson smiles.

  “Yeah, maybe next time.”

  We both head into our own rooms and I take my time changing out of my clothes and into pajamas, still wrestling with my thoughts and wishing like hell there was someone I could talk to about all this.

  I wonder what would actually happen if I told anyone at the studio. I do my job like a professional, surely Bear wouldn’t fire me for not being gay, right? But they might see me differently, feel differently around me. But more than that, if I told them this secret, what would keep the barrier between Cameron and Campy? As strange as it seems, being Campy is my escape from my life. Once they know Cameron, I won’t have anywhere to hide anymore.

  Jackson

  Ever since Corey's remark, I keep thinking about it. Is Cameron jealous? I can't make up my mind about it, going back and forth between it's absolutely ridiculous to even consider it and all the evidence is pointing that way. How on earth can I find out the truth?

  I have to push this issue down, because I have a tough scene to shoot today. It's an emotional scene between me and my TV mom about my father's death, and the mess we've discovered he has left us. It's the type of scene I fear and love in equal measure. They certainly challenge my capabilities as an actor, but they also give me a massive high after doing it well that’s unlike anything else.

  It takes us five takes until the director is happy with the result, and that last one went so well I knew we nailed it before he even yelled cut. Me and Brenda, who plays my mom, high-five each other. It's a weird sight, I'm sure, as both of us are still teared up from the emotions the scene required, but the joy of performing well races through me.

  "Jackson!" the director, Patrick, calls out.

  I turn around, hoping for praise but inwardly bracing myself for anything else. If there's one thing I've learned in the last few weeks, it's that this is a brutal business. You have to have thick skin to survive. It's a good thing I'm made from strong, Texas stock.
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  "Yes, sir?"

  Patrick grins at me. "How many times have I told you not to call me sir? It makes me feel ancient, kid."

  I could point out that at pushing the end of his sixties, he could easily be called ancient compared to me, but I don't think that will earn me any favors. "Sorry," I offer instead. "Force of habit."

  He gestures me closer, as around us, assistants are setting up for the next shoot, which we’ll do after lunch. "You did really well today, Jackson. It's been a pleasure watching you grow. I have a good feeling about this show."

  My face splits open in beaming smile. "Thank you. I love the material we’re working with. The writers have done such a phenomenal job on giving us these great lines. Like the scene we just did, that was so easy for us to act out since it was written with emotional oomph. It makes it very easy to perform well."

  Patrick nods at me, his face a little more serious now. "You know, that's the most perfect response ever to a compliment like the one I gave you. I don't know if someone taught you that or if it's your ingrained humility and politeness, but an attitude like that will get you far. I don't kiss ass, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, but you’re a pleasure to work with, kid. Even if this show doesn't do well, I'm confident you'll find another gig soon."

  I'm stunned by this unexpected praise, and he's right, I do realize how much it means coming from him. Patrick has a bit of a reputation as a director. He does a great job, as the many awards he's received over the years show, but he's a perfectionist and he demands the best from the people he works with. For him to pay me a compliment like this, it means a lot.

  "Thank you," I say, then I have to clear my throat to even make myself audible. "That means a lot coming from someone with your reputation. I really appreciate it."

  He nods at me again. "A few more weeks and then we'll know if all our hard work has paid off. You are coming to the pilot party, right?"

  He's referring to the party the network is throwing to celebrate airing the pilot episode. Of course, we’re all on pins and needles as to how that one will be received. The network has guaranteed us a full first season either way, but if the pilot and the first few episodes do really well, we could be signed for a second season soon. Both Patrick and the producer, a rather grumpy and businesslike guy named Max, have assured us the network executives love what they've seen of the show so far.

  "Yes," I say, barely able to swallow back the sir that I almost tacked on automatically again. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

  "Good. Make sure to bring a date. Those parties are a great way to impress a girl."

  And here we go again, one of those subtle remarks that makes me wonder if I have to say something or not. Is it important? In the bigger scheme of things, maybe not, but I have promised myself I would be true to myself in this city. I don't ever, ever want anybody to be able to say that I lied to them or even pretended.

  I take a deep breath. "That would be a boy, sir. Patrick, I mean. I would bring a boy, if I had a date. I'm gay."

  He shrugs, his face showing complete indifference to that news. "Well, a guy then. Whatever. Just make sure to bring someone, because it's guaranteed to get you laid."

  I'm not sure what to say to that, but I appreciate the thought, I guess.

  When lunch is called, I grab a tray and head over to Ethan's table, as I've been doing a lot. I really like his company, and we always find something to talk about. And it's not like it always has to do with us being gay either. The man has a lot of experience in Hollywood, and he has told me some amazing stories about the movies and TV series he’s worked on. He's a veritable fountain of knowledge, and I drink it all in. On his part, he seems to appreciate a captive audience, as he always seems glad to have my company.

  "So," I say, studying the egg salad sandwich in front of me that looks like a sad rip-off of the one my mama used to make. "Patrick just mentioned the pilot party. He said it's custom to bring a date. Do I have to?"

  Ethan shrugs. "It wouldn't hurt, but it's not like a requirement. Most people will, though. Are you comfortable with everyone knowing you're gay?"

  My answer is fast and certain. "Yes. That's not the problem."

  Ethan sends me a smile. "What is the problem then? Dare I guess it has something to do with your illustrious roommate?"

  I let out a deep sigh. "Remember when I told you I was absolutely, one hundred percent certain he was gay?"

  Ethan raises an eyebrow. "Uh oh."

  "Yes, uh oh is right. It turns out he was not what he seemed and now says he’s straight."

  Ethan gently shakes his head. "Careful there, boy. In my experience, guys who say they are straight are a recipe for a lot of heartbreak. You may want to move on to someone else who has figured out what he wants."

  I drop the remnants of my miserable sandwich on my plate. I'm sure my frustration is clearly visible as I raise my eyes to meet Ethan's, who is looking at me with sympathy. "I wish it were that easy. The thing is, I…"

  "You've kind of fallen for him already," Ethan guesses correctly.

  I wipe my hands off on a napkin and lean back in my chair. "Pretty sad, right? The first guy I meet here and I'm stupid enough to develop a crush on him."

  "Maybe it's just a proximity thing," Ethan suggests. "After all, you’re seeing him every day if he's your roommate."

  I let out a bit of a bitter laugh. "Yeah, don't remind me. He forgets he has a roommate half the time and walks around half-naked. That's not making it easy either."

  Ethan chuckles. "I can see why that's a mixed blessing. Maybe you should try to date more."

  I throw my hands up in frustration. "I'm trying, but so far that's not going well. The thing is that I really don't want to hook up with guys, you know? I know that may sound outdated or whatever, but it's just not me. I may be an actor and living here, but I guess I'm just an old-fashioned cowboy at heart."

  "You can take the cowboy out of Texas, but you can't take Texas out of the cowboy," Ethan says, but there is no scorn or judgment in his tone. Instead, he leans forward, sending me an almost fatherly look. It's how I had hoped my father would look at me and talk to me, but that's a whole different story.

  "Look, kid, navigating this whole relationship thing, it's hard. I got lucky when I met Rick, I know that. But like you, I was sick and tired of the whole casual scene. Not to brag, but it's not hard for guys like you and me to score a hookup, you know? We’re actors, we’re not ugly, and we’re charming enough to make a good impression. If you wanted to, you could get laid every night. The problem is that you want more, and so did I."

  "I do. I want the white picket fence, you know? I don't care if that makes me horribly old-fashioned, but it's the truth. I don't see myself hopping from bed to bed. I see myself settling down with someone, buying a home, raising a family. And when I look at Cameron…"

  My voice trails off as my heart unexpectedly clenches. Oh my, I hadn’t realized he’d managed to settle that deep in my heart. This is more than a crush. It feels bigger than that, deeper. Could it be…?

  "You see him in that picture," Ethan finishes, his voice soft and understanding.

  "I do. It doesn't make sense at all, because he has given no indication he's interested in something permanent, even if by a miracle he would suddenly admit he was attracted to me. So what do I do now?"

  Ethan grabs my hand and squeezes it, a gesture so comforting that it almost brings tears to my eyes. "Here's the thing, Jackson. The heart wants what it wants. You can try to convince yourself you want something else, but you know better. That means there's two things you can do. Either you decide you're going to give it your all and you're going to try and convince this Cameron of yours that you’re his man. Or, you'll accept that you'll be pining for him for a while until your heart is finally able to let go. I can't tell you which choice to make, that's up to you. But I'll be rooting for you."

  17

  Campy

  I stumble into the kitchen half-asleep, following m
y nose to the smell of coffee brewing.

  “Mor—” Jackson starts, cutting himself off with a choking cough.

  My eyes pop all the way open as concern wakes me the rest of the way up.

  “Are you okay?” I hurry around the counter to check on him.

  “Fine, I just…uh…” his eyes dart down and then back up again. I look down and realize I walked into the kitchen completely naked.

  “Oh, shit, sorry.” I spin and hurry to my bedroom to tug on a pair of sweatpants. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to remember to put on pants when I wake up. In my defense, I didn’t get much sleep and I’m fucking exhausted, but still, pants shouldn’t be that difficult to remember.

  “Sorry,” I mutter again as I make my way back into the kitchen, this time with my junk covered.

  “It’s okay. It’s certainly one way to make sure I’m awake in the morning,” he assures me with a wink.

  “Speaking of dicks out and swinging,” I transition skillfully as I pull out a mug and fill it with coffee, “Rebel asked for help moving his boyfriend into his place today, you up for some manual labor?”

  “That sounds great, actually. As weird as it sounds, I kind of miss working up a good sweat doing something other than lifting weights.”

  I am not going to think about Jackson sweaty. I’m not. I’m not.

  “Awesome. All the guys will be there, so it’ll be a good chance for you to meet them.”

  Jackson’s eyes go wide. “Oh gosh, if my mama could see me now,” he jokes, shaking his head. “She would tan my hide. Helping a bunch of porn stars move furniture, who’d have thought.”

  “Well, it’s not like we’re going to be naked or fucking while we’re doing it, if that makes you more comfortable,” I tease. “But listen, the stuff about my mom…”

  “I won’t say anything,” he promises.

  “Thank you.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “None of the guys know, it’s just easier that way.”