Campy (Ballsy Boys Book 4)

by K. M. Neuhold

  I might've lied to him just a little about me being uncomfortable with that type of dancing. Well, it wasn't so much a lie as more of an exaggeration, I guess you could say. It's true that I don't have a lot of experience with anything other than line dancing or the occasional school dance, but for some reason, I've always been comfortable on a dance floor.

  Even as a teen, when my classmates were all gangly, awkward arms and legs, I was strangely elegant and coordinated. I get that from my dad, who could do a mean line dance as well as waltz my mom around the room. As conservative as they are, their strict rules never extended to the “no dancing” rules some of my Southern Baptist friends were suffering under. I guess they both loved music and dancing too much to give that up.

  Of course, pretending I needed the practice was the perfect excuse to get Cameron on the dance floor as well. I’m not above using all tactics at my disposal to get him to admit he’s attracted to me. Because he is. He has to be. After my conversation with Ethan, I refuse to believe in a different truth than that one. He likes me, he’s just scared to admit it to himself.

  "You're a great dancer," Baxter says. He’s cute as a button with his messy blond hair and a little makeup on. The lip gloss he’s wearing makes you want to kiss it right off his full lips. "I just saw you two on the dance floor, and you were easily the best dancer out of everyone there."

  The funny thing is that he's not even sounding overly flirty. He says it as if it's a fact, an observation. "Thank you," I say. "I love dancing."

  "Well, if the mood strikes again, I'd love to dance with you," Baxter says, and this time, he does wink at me.

  Clearly, I don't have a problem attracting men, I realize with a pleasant shock. Somehow, I had expected it to be harder.

  "I'd love that," I say easily.

  I debate winking back, then decide that's really not my style. At least, not with him, and not in front of Cameron. Baxter seems nice enough, but he’s not my type. And I can’t help but smile at the thought that I’ve come a long way since I actually am starting to realize that I do have a type. A very specific type. Type C, I think, and my smile widens.

  Cameron shoots me a questioning look. "What's up?" he asks.

  "Nothing. I just thought of something funny, but it's hard to explain."

  "Okay," he says, smiling back at me. Then he adds, "You can tell me when we get home."

  My eyes widen as it hits me. He's jealous. There's absolutely no other explanation for his behavior and this remark than him being jealous. I considered it when he and I went to the bar before, when we met Reed and Corey. Reed seemed so certain that Cameron was jealous, but I couldn't figure out why he would be.

  This time, I can't reason away his behavior any other way. He's jealous. I can't figure out what's going through his head, but the conflicted emotions are clear as day. He really frigging likes me.

  It may sound stupid, but as actors, we’re trained in showing and recognizing subtle emotions. I'm not, like, Juilliard trained or something, but I have taken quite a few acting classes. Not as many as I would've liked, but then again, acting in my conservative college was focused mostly on putting on dramas aimed at sharing the gospel, so it wasn't like there was a lot of opportunity to go deep, you know?

  But I happened to stumble across a local community theater in my college town that had a director who was formally trained as an actor. He worked on several movies and TV series until a horse-riding accident limited his mobility too much to work anymore. Man, I learned so much from him about facial expressions and body language. And everything I've learned is telling me that Cameron is jealous.

  I can understand why he’s conflicted about it. He's insisting he's not gay, or I should say, not attracted to men. From the moment I've found out, I've wondered how that's even possible, since he's clearly doing a good job working in gay porn. If he's really not attracted to men, he would have to be one heck of an actor to pull that off. There's a lot you can fake, but physical reactions are hard. But if he really likes me, and all evidence points there, then he must be so conflicted about it.

  "You guys live together?" Baxter asks.

  I wait for Cameron to answer. He's the one who brought this up, so now I'm curious to see how he'll talk himself out of it. He shoots me a look that's not exactly friendly.

  "We’re roommates," he says, and I'm weirdly disappointed he still qualifies us as that. Somehow, I had hoped he would continue his jealousy and suggest we were more than that, but that's ridiculous, of course. He’s not there yet, not by a long shot.

  "What do you guys do for a living?" Cameron then asks, and I have to give him props for trying to keep up the conversation.

  It turns out Baxter is a paralegal, while Mike works at the county shelter. Cameron’s eyes light up when he hears that, and seconds later, the two of them are involved in a deep conversation about puppy mills, rescue dogs, and the stupidity of people who would rather pay a couple of thousand dollars for a purebred dog than rescue a shelter dog.

  I've seen it before, but it never fails to amaze me how Cameron changes when he talks about animals. It doesn't matter if it's giraffes, tigers, dogs, or even birds, when he talks about them, his whole face changes. It's not just that he smiles or talks more animatedly, it's that his whole body radiates energy and passion. It's a transformation, almost a metamorphosis, right before my very eyes.

  It makes me realize all over again how unhappy he is doing porn, not just because he claims he's not gay, but because his heart isn't in it. He does it for the money, which is a valid reason, but I wish he could quit.

  Maybe one day he can. A weird dream pops into my head, a vision of me and Cameron together, owning our own place. A quiet house, a ranch maybe, somewhere in the country. Me making enough money to support him going to school. It's so real, even as I'm sitting here in a noisy bar, that it takes my breath away.

  And I realize with shocking clarity that my days of dating are over. I don't want anyone else. I want Cameron, and I'm willing to wait until he pulls his head out of his ass and sees how perfect we would be together. I’m his man. All he needs to do is open his eyes and see it. He likes me, that I'm sure of, and I think he does more than like me. He's just too confused or scared or something to admit it, but I have two advantages over him.

  I have time and I have patience, and both will work in my favor.

  19

  Jackson

  It's two days before the pilot party, and Ethan's words haven’t left my mind. I've been pondering them for days, until I realized he's right. I have two choices. Either I can forget about Cameron and try to move on, or I can go for it. The latter scares the living daylights out of me, because it's risky as all get out.

  I’m almost one hundred percent sure he’s attracted to me, but if it turns out I'm wrong or if he takes it the wrong way, I'm not only losing a friend, but most likely also a place to live. Still, I don't think I can live with any choice other than pursuing this. Just like I took a huge risk coming to LA and pursuing my dream to become an actor, this is something I have to do. My heart has made its choice. It wants Cameron, so now I need to figure out a way to make him realize he likes me.

  So I've decided to be a little sneaky. Rather than declaring my intentions—holy cow, there's an old-fashioned expression I never thought I would hear myself use—I'm simply going to appeal to his friendship and his offer to help me.

  I know he has a shoot today, which means he'll be tired when he gets home. He doesn't realize it, but on those days, I've been taking care of him a little more than usual. I don't mind cooking. It's a great way to relax after a long day of work. And since we started shooting early today, we’re done by six, which means it's early enough for me to grab some ingredients and come home and cook.

  I've discovered Cameron really loves Italian, so tonight I'm making lasagna. He already told me he wasn't expecting to be home before eight, but he still has to eat. When he walks in a little after eight, I already have the lasagna in the o
ven and I'm preparing a salad.

  "That smells good," he comments as he walks into the kitchen, sniffing the air. Then as he peers into the oven, his face lights up. "You’re making lasagna?"

  "Yup, a triple portion so we have some leftovers for the rest of the week."

  "If my lips weren't so sore from sucking dick half the day, I would kiss you."

  If that’s not the weirdest compliment I will ever receive, I don't know what could possibly top it. The strange thing is that it doesn't even bother me so much to think about him being with the guys he works with. It bothers me far more to think about him doing this only for the money, only because he has to. There is a level of sadness in that I find hard to swallow—unlike him, apparently, but I stop my thoughts before they focus too much on the word swallow.

  He changes into something more comfortable, and by the time the lasagna is done, we’re both lounging on the couch in sweatpants. Much to my surprise, he doesn't turn the TV on.

  "How was work today?" he asks. "You had that fight scene with your uncle, right?"

  I'm not able to keep the surprise off my face that he remembered. I had casually told him I wasn't looking forward to this scene because I like Ethan so much. It would be hard for me to fight with him on screen.

  "It went really well. It took us a few tries, but man, he is so good. The way he looked at me, you would’ve put a million dollars on it that he hates my guts. That made it easy for me to look at him the same way. The director was elated with the results."

  "Didn't you say he was happy in general with how things have been going so far?" Cameron asks with his mouth full.

  "Yeah, he is, and so is the producer. They keep sayin’ they got a good feeling about it, but I’m not sure if they're just being polite and this is something they're supposed to say, or if they really mean it."

  "Two more days till the pilot airs, right? That means you guys should have some reviews the day after. Are you scared?"

  "Yeah, I am. Not so much for the show, because I really do believe it's good, but I’m scared the reviews for my role or my acting specifically will be harsh. What if critics love the show but they hate me?"

  Cameron nods. "I can understand why you would be scared of that. But I think if you had sucked that badly, your director would've said something, right? You said this guy, Patrick, had a lot of experience in this and won a bunch of awards. Surely he would've said something if your performance was so subpar."

  See, this is something else I really appreciate about Cameron. He tells you like it is. He coulda told me that he knew I would do a good job, but he's not the type to lie to me. How could he know when he's never seen me act? Instead, he chooses to focus on what he knows to be true, and he does have a point.

  "Good point," I admit. "Either way, I think the whole cast will be happy when that first episode has aired and we've got some reviews."

  "Do you want to watch it together?" Cameron offers.

  He couldn't have given me a better opening if I had told him what I had planned. So I take a deep breath, fortify myself on the inside, and make him an offer he can’t refuse.

  "Speaking of that, the network is throwing a pilot party to celebrate the first episode being aired. Gonna watch it together and have some food and drinks. Do you want to come with me? It's kind of a cool thing, because you'll get to meet all the people you hear me blabber on about daily."

  Cameron's hand stops halfway to his mouth, a bite of lasagna balancing precariously on his fork.

  Campy

  “Isn’t that the kind of thing you might want to take a date to?” I ask, feeling like a complete ass when Jackson’s face falls.

  “I suppose it is,” he agrees, setting his fork down and pushing his plate away. “I thought it would be fun to bring you, but I can—”

  “I’ll go.” I cut him off before he can finish the sentence. “I want to go.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m sure it’s no different than parties thrown at the studio you work for.”

  “If everyone is fully clothed the entire time, then it won’t be like the parties at Ballsy,” I joke. “But if you want, I can return the favor and invite you to the next Ballsy Boys party. You can see Brewer’s dick in person if we get enough alcohol in him.”

  A blush spreads over Jackson’s cheeks, and my stomach gives a little flutter at the pretty sight.

  “So, you’ll come to the pilot party?” he asks again, sidestepping the offer and the mention of Brewer’s dick artfully.

  “If you’re sure you want me there, then I’d be honored to come. I’ll just have to talk to Rebel and see if we can move the shoot that day up an hour or two so I can be sure I’m finished on time, no pun intended.” Jackson snorts a laugh and blushes harder. “How fancy do I need to dress for this?”

  “Nothin’ too fancy, what you wore when we went to the bar is probably fine.”

  “Okay, thanks for the invite, I’m looking forward to it.” I’m not sure why I do it, but I reach for his hand and put my hand on top of Jackson’s. His eyes widen and so does his smile.

  “Me too.”

  After dinner, I do the dishes, under protest from Jackson who tries to insist he can clean up, and then the two of us settle back on the couch. When he puts on one of the nature documentaries I like, I side-eye him curiously.

  “Am I dying or something?”

  “What?”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask suspiciously. “Fuck, are you moving out and trying to find a nice way to tell me?”

  “What? No.” Jackson shakes his head rapidly. “I like cooking dinner and I know you had a long day, so I thought it would be nice to put on something you like to watch.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, my suspicion still simmering.

  “You don’t have to do nice things for me because you feel bad about my busy schedule and my sick mom.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m doing nice things because you’re my roommate and my friend, and I like spending time with you, that’s all.”

  “Oh.” I blink in surprise at the sincerity dripping from his voice. “Sorry,” I mumble.

  Jackson just chuckles and shakes his head at me. “If you’re done being paranoid, can we watch this show?”

  “Yeah.” I scoot a little closer to him without thinking about it. Jackson’s nice to be close to, and nice to spend time with. “Thank you.”

  “No thanks required.”

  20

  Jackson

  When our Uber stops in front of a huge mansion, protected by a heavy, black wrought iron gate, Cameron and I look at each other in surprise.

  "Are you sure we’re at the right address?" Cameron asks.

  "I think so." I double-check the elegant invitation I received. Yessiree, we’re exactly where we should be. "I think this may be the producer’s house?"

  Cameron grins. "Dude, we’ll be hanging out with some high rollers tonight. You should've told me, I would've dressed a little fancier."

  I think back to the moment he stepped into the living room in those tight-fitting jeans with that dark-blue, button-down shirt that clings to his body. If you ask me, he looks mighty fine. He couldn't have looked hotter in a tux.

  "No worries," I say weakly. "You look perfect."

  I wince inwardly at that last word. Am I giving away too much? I keep wondering whenever I blurt something like that out, but Cameron seems oblivious to my remarks. He's either seriously oblivious when it comes to flirting, or he is indeed as straight as they come. I'm still harboring a lotta hope for the first option.

  We get out of the car, and just as our Uber drives off, another car pulls up. The chauffeur gets out, and seconds later he holds open the door for Ethan and his husband, Rick. Both are impeccably dressed in suits, and my stomach drops. Did I misread the dress code?

  "Jackson," Ethan says with genuine warmth. "Let me introduce you to my husband."

  Rick and I shake hands. "I've heard so much about you," Rick says. "It's a pl
easure to meet you."

  "Likewise. I’ve so enjoyed working with your husband, both professionally and personally. This is my friend Cameron, by the way. Cameron, this is my costar Ethan and his husband, Rick."

  When Cameron and Rick are shaking hands, Ethan winks at me. I'm comforted by the idea that he knows what's going on. Maybe he can give me some impressions after he's observed us for a little bit. After all, a guy his age must have a well-developed gaydar, right?

  “Did we underdress?” I ask him, which worries me more right now than anything else.

  “You’re fine. My man here likes me in a suit, what can I say?” Ethan says, sending a smile at Rick that makes my insides go weak. Gosh darn it, I want someone who’ll look at me like that.

  Before we can even ring the doorbell—or search for it, for that matter, because I have no idea where to even start—the gate slowly slides open.

  "Prepare to be wowed," Rick says with a hint of humor in his voice. "I remember the first time Ethan took me to a party like this. My eyes about popped out of my head. Don't feel embarrassed if you get a little starstruck."

  He says it as much to Cameron as to me, and I guess he has a point. Cameron may be completely new to this, but it's not like I've had a lot of experience. I think Ethan is the biggest star I've met so far.

  The door is opened by what I assume is some kind of butler, and he ushers us in with practiced efficiency. "If you follow me, the guests are assembling in the theater."

  Cameron and I share another look as we follow him. Theater? This house has a friggin’ theater? The butler leads us through a long hallway, and I can't help but peek into the rooms we pass. There's a fitness room, what looks to be a library, an office, and a more casual family room, and that's just the ones we can see. This house is absolutely gigantic, and I can't even dare to guess how much it costs. Mind you, this is Beverly Hills. A shack costs a pretty fortune here.