Page 57 of Playing By Ear

This might have been true in general, but not when it came to football. Jamie would destroy his knees if he didn’t slim down a bit.

His own weight was the last thing he wanted to discuss with Perry. People with money couldn’t fathom the instinct to overeat when one’s next meal was uncertain. Jamie would know, having both had money and not had it.

“For what it’s worth,” Perry said, adjusting his glasses, “I think your body is fabulous.”

“Same. Obviously.” Jamie’s neck warmed at the heat in Perry’s eyes, not to mention the way his muscles filled out that bright-red Partick Thistle T-shirt.

The kettle dinged. Perry hung a small black contraption the size and shape of a pencil sharpener on the edge of an empty glass mug. Then he picked up the kettle and tapped it against the mug before pouring. “There’ll be a loud beep.”

The noise made Jamie jump. “Christ.”

“Warned you.” Perry moved the wee device to the other mug and poured the second cup. “I use my finger to check the level of most liquids, but I draw the line at putting my hand in the path of boiling water.”

Jamie braced himself for the second beep, but it still startled him. “I guess you cannae surprise anyone with a cuppa.”

“Yes, my days of ninja tea parties are well and truly done.”

Jamie took his tea to the table, where he watched Perry glide back and forth between the cooker, the fridge, and the toaster, bobbing his head in time to the Aztec Camera album playing from the cupboard-top speaker. Though it was Jamie’s first morning here, the kitchen felt like home in a way his own kitchen never did.

“This’ll fuel at least the first half of your day,” Perry said as he set Jamie’s plate in front of him, brushing the back of his shoulder. Then he fetched his own plate and sat across from Jamie.

The food was perfect. “You’re an excellent cook. Did you learn from your parents?” Jamie asked, not wanting to be sexist by assuming it would be Perry’s mum but also not wanting to be ableist by assuming it wouldn’t be his mum.

“Dad taught me how to improvise and adapt recipes, and Mum taught me how to cook by smell and hearing. Like flicking a drop of water into a frying pan to see if it sizzles. That’s how you know the oil’s hot.”

“I just use my finger. I can tell how hot it is by how loud I scream.” He scooped another forkful of eggs, relishing Perry’s laughter. “Talking of hot things, I had a few thoughts on your camming.”

“Oh?” Perry leaned forward, but his brow creased. The mixed signals made Jamie choose his words carefully.

“The sound would be better with a boom mic. I can lend you mine to try, see if you fancy the model before you buy one.”

“Thank you.” Perry’s posture softened. “Anything else?”

“Video’s good. You’ve got a decent camera and lights, especially compared to other cammers.” Jamie paused. The most crucial feedback involved a big, sensitive step.

“What about, you know…” Perry focused on stirring milk into his tea “…the performance itself?”

“Your performance is stellar. You’ve got immense attributes and you know how to use them.” Ooft, he sounded like a sports agent.

“But…”

“But.” Jamie took a shot. “Have you considered showing your face?”

Perry stiffened. “Of course I’ve considered it. Models who show their faces make loads more money. But I can’t do it. I won’t.”

“Are you worried someone’ll recognize you?” Jamie could certainly relate.

“It’s not so much—” Perry swiped a napkin over his mouth. “Yes, that’s it, actually. My parents would go spare if they found out. Not to mention my editors and teammates.”

Jamie wondered what Perry had planned to say before he cut himself off. “If you trusted me enough to tell me about camming in the first place, can you trust me enough to tell me how you feel about it?”

“I don’t know.” Perry looked down at his plate, rotating it slowly in place. “I’m still a bit raw from stepping off the honesty cliff last night.”

“I get it. So you know, I admire what you’re doing.”

Perry gave a soft laugh. “Careful you don’t call me ‘inspiring.’”

“Why not?”