Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
RHYS
I remember Angel from back in the day. Well, sort of. I remember his name and how much it doesn’t match what he looks like. If anything, he’s the opposite of angelic.
The thick, dark hair on his head matches his full, lush beard, which matches the soft carpet of fur on his forearms. I’d bet my favorite pair of heels that his chest and stomach and legs are covered the same way too. He’s wider than he is tall, with broad shoulders and a belly I really want to tickle. His hands are meaty and rough, decorated with scars from nicks and cuts.
I can’t help cradling one of them in my own. His palm is nearly the size of my entire hand, and his pinky is just as thick as my thumb. There’s a smattering of hair across the back of his knuckles.
I should let go, but god, I really don’t want to. He’s so fucking adorable with his blushing and stammering. This big guy should be the most intimidating person at the party, but he’s just a squishy teddy bear. Exactly my type of bear.
Ngh. I respectfully set his hand on his thigh again… with one last pet on the back—sue me, I’m only human.
“What do you do for work, Angel?” It has to be something with his hands. Please let it be something with his hands.
“Construction worker.”
Swoon . Can a guy be more perfect? If only he were gay. I’d also take bi or pan—I’m not picky. But that’s beyond unlikely. Angel pings negative on my always-reliable gaydar.
“How about you?”
Uh…
Angel’s expression is one of genuine curiosity, like he really wants to know and isn’t just asking to be polite. Whenever people in the old neighborhood ask me that question, I usually tell them I’m a chorus dancer in some Off-Off-Broadway shows. It’s enough to satisfy them and shut them up.
Except I don’t want to give Angel a brush-off like that. I want to tell him the truth. Ha—that’s not something I would’ve thought was possible in the old neighborhood. But then, I totally didn’t expect to encounter Angel either—not like this.
“Are you sure you want to know?” I have to prepare the guy. It’s the kind thing to do. “Fair warning. It’s gay.”
Angel blinks like the word doesn’t mean anything to him. Then a series of emotions play over his features like there’s a projector connecting his brain to his face. Confusion, understanding, shock, fear, worry, resolution. It takes no more than a couple seconds, but I feel like I’ve watched a full-length movie.
“I can handle gay,” he says, with a tad more determination than necessary, almost like he’s trying to convince himself it’s true.
I hesitate. The last thing I want is to chase the guy away with my super not-straight career choices.
Wait. What? Why do I care if I chase him away? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. I probably won’t see him again for another couple years, and even then, only in passing. If he reacts badly, I never have to interact with him again. I’ll just zip out of the house, Mom’s cake be damned.
I straighten. “I’m a dancer.”
He brightens like he’s pleasantly surprised.
“You know, a dancer .” I lace the word with enough innuendo that it’s unmistakable what I mean.
His entire thought process flashes across his face again, and I can tell the instant understanding dawns.
“You’re a…” He swallows like he’s psyching himself up to say the next word. “A stripper?” he stage-whispers to me, as if there’s anyone else in the room who might overhear us.
Oh, my sweet, sweet Angel-bear. His ears are so red, I might burn my fingers if I touch them. His eyes are wide and his jaw hangs open. For a moment I’m afraid I might have shocked him to death.
I take pity on him. “Well, not exactly. I’m a pole dancer, which sometimes involves stripping, but not always.”
“Pole dancing.”
I don’t know whether I want to cringe or laugh. I definitely want to pull the guy into a hug, but something tells me that would make things worse.
“Yeah, you know, metal pole that goes from floor to ceiling? I spin around it?” I twirl a finger in a circle to help paint the picture.
His eyes go a little unfocused. He’s probably trying to imagine me wrapped around a pole. When he speaks, there’s so much awe and wonder in his voice that it takes my breath away. “You know how to do that?”
I nod. “Mmhmm.”
My hand goes to my phone before I can think better of it. Should I? No, I shouldn’t. Talking about being a pole dancer is one thing. Angel might be okay with it as a concept. But seeing it? With my sparkly thong and platform boots? With my legs spread wide in midair? It might push the poor guy too far.
And yet, I hold up my phone. “Wanna see?”
His eyes grow even wider. “You have pictures?”
I quirk my lips as I unlock my phone. “A video.”
His gaze drops to the screen of my phone, and I rearrange myself so we’re sitting side by side. He scoots in close enough for his leg to press against mine.
Mmm. So thick. So muscular. I bet he could crush me so good with those thighs.
Focus.
I make sure the sound is turned down low before hitting play. Angel angles himself so one arm is behind my back and he’s peering over my shoulder. He cups his other hand underneath mine so we’re holding my phone together.
His hand is warm—no, hot—and rough. It would rasp across my skin if he touched me. It would leave me feverish and tingling.
He smells like fresh sawdust. Like he’s been working in the carpentry shop and the clean scent of newly cut wood still lingers on his skin. I breathe in, nice and deep, trying not to be too obvious about smelling him.
He’s transfixed as he watches the video, eyes twinkling and lips curled in a slight smile. His tongue sneaks out and swipes over his bottom lip. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He shifts, like his clothes don’t fit as well as they did a moment ago.
Ngh, it’s not fair. Why does he have to be so perfect in every fucking way?
“Do you have any more?”
“Huh?” I’m so engrossed in studying Angel I haven’t noticed that the video ended.
With one hand still holding mine in place, Angel brings his other arm between us to swipe at the screen. I’m too slow to stop him, and the pole dancing video slides off the screen. The next video autoplays.
It’s one of me and Hayden from a while back. We’re both naked, lying on our sides, him behind me. My leg is drawn forward so the camera has a perfect view of Hayden’s dick pumping in and out of my ass. I’m moaning—loudly. Hayden grunts each time he bottoms out. The camera zooms in for a close-up shot of Hayden’s cock stretching me wide. The skin around my hole is shiny from the lube.
Hayden isn’t just my best friend and roommate. He’s also a camboy and we’ve done a number of videos together. Our fans love the best-friends-with-benefits storyline we’ve got going. This is one of our more popular ones.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I’m stunned—or maybe embarrassed—into inaction, and it’s several long seconds before I react. Except, instead of pausing the video and locking my phone’s screen, I somehow hit the volume button and my phone moans louder. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room.
“Fuck, fuck, shit. Fuck. Sorry!” I stab my finger against the screen until the damn thing turns off, and I fling it into my bag.
Neither Angel nor I say anything. The sounds of the party downstairs float up to us.
I’m a hundred percent not ashamed of my work as a camboy. It’s what pays the bills. It’s how I met Hayden and our other friends, Sebastian and Noel. It’s how I was able to afford pole dancing classes and how I pay for the fancy outfits I wear on stage. I like being a camboy. I’m good at it. But I’m not about to go announcing it to someone from my old neighborhood.
I clear my throat. “Sorry about that.”
Angel’s still sitting beside me. His leg is still pressed against mine. I shift away from him, giving him a bit of space from the effeminate, gay, pole-dancing camboy. It’s a lot for anyone to take in, never mind a guy like Angel from a community like this.
He clears his throat too, but even then, his voice is a little hoarse when he speaks. “Um, was that a, um, sex tape?” He mumbles the last two words.
I wince. Technically, yes, it is a recording of me having sex. But that’s not what Angel means .
“Sorry, I shouldn’t pry. You don’t have to answer that.” It’s not just his ears that are red now. His entire face is.
Shit. I’ve embarrassed him. And not in a cute way like before. He’s uncomfortable. He looks like he’s about to bolt.
“It’s not really a sex tape,” I say evenly, trying not to spook him. “It’s a video, yes. Of me having sex with Hayden—he’s my friend. We cam. You know, like OnlyFans?”
Angel cocks his head to the side as a flicker of recognition flits across his face. “OnlyFans?”
“Have you heard of it?” I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t. Angel gives off more of a dirty-magazine-hidden-under-the-bed vibe than subscription-to-an-adult-only-content-streaming-site.
“It’s… porn?” He doesn’t so much say that last word as mouth it silently.
A smile tugs at my lips, despite the awkwardness of the situation. He can’t say the word “porn” out loud. He’s so goddamn precious.
I nod. “It’s called camming. We’re camboys.”
“But it’s… porn .” Again with the mouthing.
“Yes,” I say, careful to keep my voice low. “It’s porn.”
Angel blinks, his gaze drifting off into space. He looks dazed. Like I just told him that the world is going to end in forty-eight hours. I let him sit and absorb the news. Not only am I a pole dancer, I’m also a camboy. Yes, I have gay sex on camera and other people pay to watch.
“Does it… pay well?”
My eyebrows shoot up. Shit. That’s the last thing I expected him to say. “Why do you ask? You thinking about starting your own page?” I’m teasing, obviously. Though I probably shouldn’t, considering. I’ve put Angel through a lot already in the short time we’ve been chatting.
But then his ears flush red again and he fidgets while rubbing his palms over the tops of his thighs. He’s not saying no. Most people would immediately—and loudly—say no.
“Angel?”
“No! I mean…” He shifts around, making the bed dip, and I slide a little toward him. “No.”
The second “no” sounded a whole hell of a lot less certain than the first. It sounded almost… reluctant? Holy fucking shit. It’s my turn to blink in astonished silence. Maybe sweet, wholesome Angel isn’t quite as sweet and wholesome as I thought.
“It’s just… interesting,” he says, as he scratches his jaw.
Interesting is definitely one way to describe it.
“But I’m not—I’m not gay.” He shakes his head with a furrow in his brow, then his head snaps up like he only just remembered he isn’t alone. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. I don’t have anything against gay people. It’s just, I’m not.”
Oookay. I feel like I’ve missed about three-quarters of the conversation he’s having with himself. This whole situation has gone totally off the rails, and I don’t even know how it happened.
“I don’t think you’re gay,” I say gently, as much as it pains me.
“I’m not. I’ve had girlfriends.”
“That’s…” Great? Wonderful? Congratulations?
“I… ”
Oh god. Is he about to stroke out? Have an episode of some kind? Do I need to run down and call for help?
“Angel?”
He blinks, staring into space. “You don’t… do you… do you have to be gay to, you know, do gay porn?”
What. The. Actual. Fuck?