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ME: Good. Good boy.
Now that I reread my reply, I regret it. It sounds like something you’d say to a dog. My worry abates, though, when the alert comes in with his response.
CAM: Why are those words so hot?
Smiling, my exhaustion suddenly hits me with a vengeance. I thought he made me reckless, but now I think it’s just the opposite. He makes me calm.
Why is he so hot? I’m glad he’s not here, or I’d probably have made a fool of myself and asked that question aloud.
ME: I don’t know
It’s sad that it’s probably the first honest answer about intimacy I’ve given him. I’m too tired to pretend right now, though. Too worn out to posture and present the man he thinks I am. The small bit of truth feels right, like facing two mirrors toward each other even though we’re currently miles apart. Bi, gay, demisexual—I don’t really care what I am anymore. I care more about what I’m not. Normal, I’ll never be. I accepted that a long time ago, but now I’m inadequate in a new way. I’m not Cam’s, and I never will be.
CAM: Well, I certainly feel good, so it’s an accurate description.
His words shouldn’t pain me, but knowing that he only feels good because of some spontaneous behavior and words on my part isn’t enough to make him feel good for a lifetime. It’s just a moment in time. That’s all I have with him until he finds what he deserves, until he finds something as sweet as him. Eyes drooping, I send him that wish, blindfolded in the wrapping paper of a throwaway sentiment, before I get up to wash the lack of control off my hands.
ME: Sweet dreams.
CHAPTER 13
Pete
My mind should probably be searching for reasons why Randy Fairway asked me to come to his office, but as I march down the hallway of the tenth floor, my thoughts are far from business. I have become a walking zombie in a suit. Except, this is not what people mean when they use the phrase corporate drone.
CAM: How does this sound? “New to dating. A shy homebody, but with a passionate soul. Looking for an honest man who values building a relationship.”
As I drift on autopilot toward Randy’s office, Cam’s request last night for help writing his dating app profile sticks in my craw. How does it sound? It sounds horrid. It sounds like he’s opening himself up to be slaughtered by some stranger who will instantly see how innocent he is.
It also sounds like an absolutely accurate description of himself and what he wants. How can I find fault in it? How can I be annoyed that he hasn’t asked for more help that involves the use of our bodies? It’s all I have to offer him, and now he doesn’t need it anymore. I’ve felt defective my entire life, but never so useless or rather… helpless.
It’s only Wednesday. That’s four days since I tackled Jesse for trying to snag my phone. Only four days since I’ve had the third hottest experience of my adult life, and apparently it wasn’t as ‘insane’ as Cam claimed it was, if he’s moved onto setting up his dating app profile.
Rubbing my hand over my suit pocket, I curse myself at the feel of the bulge in it. I truly am desperate if I’m carting around a new toy in the off-chance I run into Cam in the building. I haven’t though. He’s been nowhere to be seen. When I found a reason to go down to the sixth floor yesterday, he was off running errands. It was probably for the best.
Who in the hell carries sex toys around in their suit jacket in the middle of the workday? Bitter Pete, that’s who.
What was I thinking?
He’d probably think I have some fetish with toys if I gave it to him. I’m supposed to be over this… whatever this thing is between us, not carting around risqué objects to give him as an excuse to stay in his life. It’s safe to say that I’ve become obsessed. I freaking knew this would destroy me.
“Carver,” Randy drawls from his desk, making me realize I’m standing in his doorway.
“You asked to see me,” I say, dropping my hand from over the top of my pocket. Hopefully, he doesn’t notice that there’s something inside of it and ask about it.
“Yeah. It’s about your leave,” he says, studying some papers on his desk, not even bothering to ask me to come inside.
“What about it?”
“HR informed me that you planned to transfer your leave balance to some of our staff.”
Could he get to the fucking point? Why state the obvious?
“Not all of my balance, just the excess. I did it last year. I transferred some to my top-performing staff as a performance incentive.”
Snorting, he shoots me an unimpressed look and leans back in his chair, folding his hands together over his middle. “Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen this year. Account managers don’t make decisions like that.”
I wait for more, but he just stares at me. A hint of one of his smug smirks plays on his face. How is he related to Cam? His entire persona screams asshole, but not a beautiful asshole that sweetly swallows well-thought-out gifts.
