The noise of people talking grows louder as we continue, and then the butler leads us into a foyer, I guess you could call it. And yes, I can now confirm the producer has a theater in his house. How's that for life goals?
"Jackson," Max, the producer, greets me. "I'm so pleased you could join us."
He shakes my hand, and I'm surprised he even remembers my name, having met me only once, but maybe someone made him a cheat sheet.
"And who is this?" he asks. "Your boyfriend?"
I'm amazed at the casualness of that question, and I once again realize how big the cultural difference between rural Texas and LA is. Being gay really isn't that big of a deal here. That being said, I don't want him to get the wrong impression.
"This is Cameron, my best friend and roommate."
Cameron's head jerks to the side at the mention of best friend, which I'll admit slipped out before I even realized how true it is. I've never had a friendship like this one, and it’s not just because I have a crush on him. He doesn't judge, he doesn't criticize, he gives me the space to be myself and likes me just the way I am. He makes me feel at home, and I've never had that with anyone.
Patrick, the director, was right that everyone present here has brought a date. In that sense, I'm grateful I brought someone. It does raise eyebrows, however, the fact that I've brought not a date, but a friend. I spot some curious glances in our direction, but maybe I'm misinterpreting them and it's just because people are realizing I'm gay?
Rick and Cameron head off, bonding over a discovered shared love for animals. It turns out Rick is a vet. Which I guess I knew, but I somehow had forgotten, if that makes sense. Anyway, he and Cameron are chatting animatedly within minutes.
"Your previous statements that you were certain your roommate was gay make a whole lot more sense now," Ethan says softly.
I look at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"
He chuckles. "You didn't think I would recognize Campy? I may be old in your eyes, my young Padawan, but I still do enjoy good gay porn. And the Ballsy Boys deliver just that. Quality gay porn. Actually, Campy is one of my favorites. I don't know if you noticed, but he has a similar body type to Rick."
Ooookay then. We have now once again ventured into the weirdest conversation ever, one I never imagined I would have, especially at a Hollywood party. "Oh."
He lifts an eyebrow. "Jackson, you really didn't consider people might recognize him?"
I slowly shake my head. "No. I know that sounds naïve, but it never even occurred to me. Maybe it's because I've only watched one video of him, and that was when I discovered my roommate was a porn star. I mean, I know what he does, but to me he's just Cameron, you know?"
Ethan hesitates, then steps even closer to me. "Look, I'm not saying you should forget about him, but you need to keep in mind that Hollywood is, at its core, a very, very small town. Rumors spread quickly here, so if you don't want people to know you’re close with a porn star, you may want to keep him away from parties like this."
It takes me a few seconds to recognize the nasty feeling in my stomach, because I haven't experienced it in a while. Still, I remember it all too well. It's what shame feels like. Shame for who you are, shame for the choices you're making, shame for the people you hang out with. It's the shame I felt for years before I found the courage to come out, and even after that, it took me a long time to let it go.
Ethan is suggesting I should be ashamed of being seen with Cameron because he's in porn. The hypocrisy of that in a town like LA, like Hollywood with all its crazy excesses and drugs and marital issues and the things people do to advance their career…I can't even describe it. And I've only seen slivers of this, know the rest only from the research I've done, the books I've read. No one in this town has any moral high ground to judge Cameron, and yet they will.
"I'm not ashamed of him." My voice is surprisingly steady, even if it's a little louder than it should've been.
Ethan sends me a terse smile. "I'm not saying you should be, kid. I'm telling you that people will make you feel like you should be. I just want you to be prepared for the backlash it could create if you go public with your relationship with him."
I shake my head. "There is no relationship. You heard me, we’re just friends."
Ethan puts a strong hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "Then let me offer you some reassurance after the unpleasant news I just delivered. That boy is not straight. He may be confused, he may have not figured it out yet, but he likes you."
I can't conceal the joy that bubbles up inside me at those words. "How do you know?"
Ethan smiles, dropping his hand from my shoulder. "Because even when he's talking to Rick, his eyes constantly seek you out. Keep doing what you're doing, Jackson. It's working."
Campy
I should’ve known better than to come to this party with Jackson. It didn’t occur to me that people might recognize me. Sure, I get recognized at gay clubs, but I’m a porn star, why would people at an elite Hollywood party recognize me?
Maybe I’m being paranoid. Maybe all the looks and whispers are because I’m here with Jackson, not because they recognize me as Campy.
I glance over at Jackson and see him smiling brightly as he talks to his costar Ethan. His eyes dart to mine and our gazes linger on each other for a few seconds, sharing a smile that feels like it’s just for the two of us, even though there are hundreds of people in the room.
“If you’ll excuse me, I promised Jackson I’d get him a drink, I don’t want him going thirsty,” I say to the man who’s been talking my ear off for the past few minutes. Ethan’s husband Rick was nice to talk to, but this guy has been blabbering on and on. I figure the old excuse of getting someone a drink is bound to work, and it does.
“Of course, of course.” He waves me off and I make my way to the small bar on the side of the room. There are servers making their way around with champagne as well, but I saw the way Jackson wrinkled his nose when he spotted them, which is why I figured I’d score us a couple of beers.
“Two beers, anything is fine,” I tell the bartender when I reach him.
“Coming right up.”
“Excuse me.” A voice behind me has me turning my head. There’s an attractive woman in a tight, red dress standing there, blushing and smiling at me. “Oh my god, it really is you. I thought my friends were messing with me.”
I feel a frown forming on my face but force it into a phony smile.
“I’m sorry?” I decide to play dumb. There has to be a tiny chance she thinks I’m someone else, right?
“Campy, right?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” I mumble, figuring there’s no way she’ll buy a lie.
“Did I see you walk in with someone? Is it your boyfriend? Is he on the show?” She asks the questions rapid-fire, leaving my head spinning.
“Here are your drinks,” the bartender says, saving me from answering and making me want to kiss him for it.
“Thanks,” I say to him, turning to grab the drinks and then giving the woman another quick smile. “It was nice to meet you, have a good evening.”
Without waiting for a response from her, I start moving through the crowd, back in Jackson’s direction, but I stop before I reach him.
If I go to him, she’ll see and know who I’m here with. Not only that woman, but anyone else at the party who happens to recognize me. Jackson’s trying to start his career as a serious actor, and being associated with me could ruin that before the second episode even has a chance to air.
I turn on my heel, nearly spilling the two beers on myself as I run into another guest directly behind me.
“Sorry,” I mumble before sidestepping them and making a beeline for the nearest door.
My lungs feel tight and my heart is pounding too hard as I push through the doors to the back garden. To my relief, there isn’t anyone else out here.
I set the drinks down on the garden wall and collapse on the wrought iron bench beside it. Leaning forward, I bury
my face in my hands and try to breathe. I’m such an idiot, I should’ve realized the harm I could do to Jackson by being seen with him. Maybe no one noticed us arrive together. If I slip out now, I could save him from the association. I can send him a quick text and call a rideshare to get the hell out of here before I can do any damage.
I pull out my phone to send the text, but the door to the yard opens again before I can send it.
“I was wonderin’ where you got to,” Jackson says, stepping out into the garden.
“Hey, sorry, I needed some air. I was actually about to text you and tell you I was going to get out of here.”
He frowns, coming to sit beside me on the bench, his concerned gaze roaming over me.
“Is something wrong? Are you not feeling well? Is your mom okay?”
For a second I consider lying and telling him I’m feeling sick. It’s easier than the truth, but, looking into his trusting eyes, I can’t bring myself to do it.
“I’m an idiot. I should’ve realized people here might recognize me. You can’t be seen with me, it’ll ruin you. If the wrong person saw us walking in together they might already be selling the story to every tabloid they can get ahold of.”
His eyebrows furrow and his frown deepens.
“I don’t care about that.”
I scoff and shake my head. “You have to care about it, you’re about to become a huge star. This is your dream, and I’m not about to be the one who wrecks it for you.”
“So, what? You won’t be seen with me in public anymore? We can’t hang out? Are you going to make me move out?” he snaps, surprising me. I’ve never seen him so angry before. “I don’t give a good goddamn what they might say about me for being seen with you. They think they know you just because they’ve seen you fuck? They don’t know you, and they don’t know me. You’re a good person. You’re strong and kind. I’d wager you’re a hell of a lot better than half the people in that room who might judge you.”
I blink in surprise at the curses falling from his lips, so passionate in his defense of me that he’s not bothering with his usual politeness and niceties. His words shake something loose inside me and before I know what I’m doing, I’m leaning forward, intent on feeling his mouth against mine.
His warm breath fans over my lips as I get close, my heart beating an entirely different erratic rhythm now. His breathing is harsh from his rant, but it hitches when he realizes what I’m doing. There’s no way I’m ready to admit it out loud, but right now I can admit to myself that I’ve been thinking about kissing Jackson for weeks. I don’t know what it means, but it feels inevitable.
The lightest brush sends a spark through me. Our lips aren’t even really touching, not yet, but I’m more than ready to rectify that. I lean even closer…
“Jackson, the show’s about to sta— Oh, oops,” Ethan’s voice has us flying, the moment gone and disappointment settling over me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, we’re here to watch the pilot episode, we can’t miss that,” I say quickly, jumping up and darting my gaze around the garden, trying to look at anything but the two of them. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
“Right, the pilot,” Jackson agrees, his voice huskier than usual as he stands as well.
We near the door and I reach out to grab Jackson’s hand to stop him.
“Are you absolutely sure? I can still leave, let you enjoy your night without worrying what people might say about us.”
His fingers tighten around mine and he gives my hand a tug.
“I want you here, anyone who says or writes anything negative can kick rocks. Come on.”
I let him drag me inside and we claim spots beside each other in the theater where all the guests are gathered to watch the show. To my relief, everyone seems too focused on watching the show that’s about to start to look at me anymore.
I notice Jackson doesn’t drop my hand, and I don’t say anything to draw his attention to it. Instead, I settle back in my seat and enjoy the rest of the evening.
21
Campy
Standing outside Brewer’s apartment at the asscrack of dawn, with the rest of the guys half-asleep and grumpy just like I am, I have to wonder if we should start offering our services as movers, since apparently it’s our new pastime.
Brewer sent out an SOS text telling us he was getting kicked out of his apartment and needed helping moving his stuff into Tank’s place ASAP. I won’t lie, I was surprised considering they just started dating and this seems ridiculously fast, but what do I know about relationships? Nothing, as evidenced by the whole thing with me and Jackson.
The near-kiss last night hung in the air between me and Jackson this morning, neither of us seeming to want to be the one to bring it up.
I tossed and turned all night, replaying our almost kiss over and over in my head, my feelings about it ranging from disappointment to relief depending on the time of reflection. Around four in the morning I settled on seeing it as a bullet dodged on Jackson’s part. I’m a mess and he deserves so much better than me. All I do is lie to everyone around me. And I’m not even gay, I remind myself for the millionth time. Whatever last night was, it’s a good thing Ethan interrupted us before we ruined our friendship.
If Jackson will let me get away with pretending it didn’t happen, that’s definitely the option I’m going to take for as long as possible.
The door opens and Brewer stands on the other side with a giant smile. Bear grunts something resembling a greeting and we all follow suit. Jackson has filming this morning, so he couldn’t help this time, which means we have one less set of capable hands.
Tank is standing behind Brewer and when he turns around to whisper something to him and give him a gentle kiss, my stomach gives a weird dip. I never would’ve thought these two were capable of being so sweet to each other.
“You two are so sweet,” Pixie sighs, echoing my thoughts.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” Tank says.
“Who’s in charge?” Bear asks. “Who’s gonna tell us what to do?”
Brewer doesn’t hesitate before answering. “Tank. He’s got this all planned out.”
Within minutes, Tank has divided tasks. Rebel and Troy are dismantling two of the bookcases in the living room, Brewer and I are packing the last stuff into boxes, Pixie is getting Brewer’s stuff from the fridge, and Tank, Bear, and Heart have started bringing down the first big pieces.
“So, moving in, huh?” I say casually to Brewer as we work.
A guilty look crosses Brewers face before he nods. “Yeah. It’s fast, but when I lost my room here it didn’t make much sense to spend a lot of time and energy into finding a new place. We’re moving my bed and stuff into Tank’s guest room since that was empty anyway.”
“That makes sense,” I say. “Too bad it didn’t happen a few months sooner though, I would have loved to have you as a roommate.” But even as I say it, I know I wouldn’t trade Jackson for Brewer if given the choice.
“Sure, but your new roomie is a pretty sweet deal, right?”
“What do you mean?” I feign ignorance, my jaw slightly clenched as we dance near dangerous territory with this line of conversation.
“Dude, the guy is hot as fuck with that whole cowboy thing he’s rocking, including that Southern drawl. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice. His voice alone gave me a hard on.”
Wanting to hide my reaction, I turn toward Brewer’s closet and start gathering hangers. Obviously Jackson is hot, you’d have to be blind not to notice it. So why is it pissing me off so much to hear Brewer say it out loud?
“He’s cool,” I answer after a few tense seconds. “Jackson is hot, sure, but he’s also super nice.”
“No reason why he can’t be both,” Pixie pipes up, strolling in from the kitchen. “I wouldn’t mind a roomie who looked like that.”
“He’s straight.”
The lie falls off my tongue before I can think too much about it. I’m not sure if I’m saying it bec
ause I want them to leave it alone or to deflect from any future questions about why we aren’t hooking up.
“That sucks,” Pixie says, but then his eyes narrow. “I didn’t get a straight vibe off him. He flirted with me.”
“Everyone flirts with you, Pix,” Rebel says. “That doesn’t mean shit about being straight or gay.”
“Huh. I never saw him flirt with you,” Brewer says. “I thought he was straight as well.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been as grateful for someone’s gaydar malfunctioning.
I shrug, doing my best to play it cool. “Either way, I’m not interested in him that way. You know I don’t date.” At least that part’s true.
Pixie puts his hands on his hips. “And why is that? Why aren’t you interested in finding a boyfriend?”
Another stiff shrug. “Who needs a boyfriend when you’re a porn star and get to fuck the sexiest guys without any complications? Works for me.”
“You know, I felt the same way,” Brewer says.
I look up from the box I’m taping to study Brewer. “You’re saying you feel different now?” Not that it matters. Our situations are completely different. But I’m still curious to know how he could’ve gone from total playboy to domesticated so quickly.
“Of course he does. He’s with Tank now,” Pixie says almost indignantly.
As on cue, Tank walks into the room, wiping his face with his shirt. “You guys about done in here? We’ve dragged the big stuff down, so we can fill it up with the boxes now.”
“This is the last one.” Brewer points to the box I’m finishing with.
“Good. We’ll take a little break and then load up the boxes.” Tank looks at Brewer for a few seconds, then walks into the kitchen and comes back with a bottled water and a banana. “Here. You need to eat something.”
“I’m not—”
“I wasn’t asking.”
Campy (Ballsy Boys Book 4) Page 15
