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I sighed. Before I agreed, though, I eked out a bit of courage to at least ask a question I felt was more than reasonable. “Why isn’t she moving out? Shouldn’t she be the one leaving if she broke up with you?”

Carl sighed loudly, and I wondered if he was getting exasperated with me. That felt unfair. “She said that I have the better job, so it would be easier for me to find another place.”

I paused on the sidewalk, pinching the bridge of my nose and turning my face to the night sky. This was going to cost me time and money—it always did. Not that I would mind if he had an occasional, legitimate need. But he did this every few months, so I knew the routine by now. He’d expect me to hire movers to cart his not-insignificant collection of furniture and belongings, which was expensive. Despite his decent job, he never seemed to have money on hand to do it himself.

I’d loaned him so much money over the years, I’d lost track. Had to have been tens of thousands by now.

I hated that I couldn’t stand up to him, tell him to handle his own shit, but that felt heartless and mean. He was a forty-eight-year-old adult, and yet, I had been his constant crutch when anything in his life went wrong since he lost his first “real” job out of college.

Why couldn’t I just say no?

“I . . . okay, Carl. I’ll book the movers and be over around ten.”

“Could you make it eight? I have something scheduled at three, so I want to be done by then.”

Fury rose in my chest until it burned through my nose. I had to literally bite my tongue to avoid outright yelling at him, but I so wanted to.

I could ask what his appointment was, but I was certain I didn’t want to know the answer. Three o’clock on a Saturday? Was he going to a friend’s house to watch a game or something?

I sighed, and I didn’t care if he heard. “Fine. Eight.” At least we’d likely be done before I needed to be at Mix It Up. I doubted I’d get much sleep, though.

His sigh of relief was only slightly mollifying. “Thanks, man. I owe ya.”

Yet he would never pay me back.

“See you then.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but I knew he’d already hung up.

Fuck my life.

Chapter four

Tristan

Late July

“Lunch is here, bro!” I barreled through the front door of my bestie’s adorable Craftsman home, shouting obnoxiously as I was wont to do. But Cameron was used to me by now. I kept him fed until he found a Daddy who would take over that duty and talked sense into him when he needed it, and he kept me grounded, gave me a purpose. And, yeah, talked sense into me when I needed it, too.

We didn’t keep much from each other, either. He was an indie gay romance author, and once I’d found that out, no topic was off-limits—especially since I’d divulged that I was a solo adult entertainer or, more colloquially, a camboy. Which made our conversations interesting, to say the least. Especially since he liked to act all innocent until I coaxed his spicier side out of him.

He wrote steamy—not to mention kinky—gay romance, after all. Who the hell was he kidding?

Prickles, Cameron’s aloof cat who seemed to hate literally everyone but me, sashayed out of the hallway and started demanding pets by rubbing against my leg. I bent down and obliged, smoothing my hand over his back gently before scritching between his ears like I knew he liked. I was rewarded with a long string of soft purrs. The sound made me smile, though I’d never tell anyone that.

My phone vibrated in my pocket as Cameron tumbled out of his hallway, blinking and bleary-eyed like he’d been in his writing cave all morning, as per usual. Standing, I pulled my phone out to check the caller and promptly frowned at my mother’s picture on the screen. Why the fuck would she be calling me? I hadn’t heard from her since they tried to force me to comply with their wishes years ago.

I sent the call to voicemail and forced a smile before my best friend noticed something was amiss. Prickles, clearly knowing he wasn’t getting any more attention, stalked off to the couch, leaving us alone like we were beneath him. Per usual.

“Hey, man,” I called to my bestie as I slipped past him to set a bag of custom salads from our favorite lunch place on his kitchen table. I’d brought him food so often I knew exactly what he liked. “Have a seat.” I nodded at the chair he usually used, and he shuffled over to it as if he had to force himself to move.

Once I’d unloaded our lunch and sunk into my usual chair, I eyed him from across the table. “You okay, Camerlyn Falls?”

My ludicrous nicknames were legendary, and Cameron loved me for them. I hoped. Had to keep everyone entertained, right?

Cameron blinked again then seemed to come out of his stupor. He reached for the bottle of juice I’d set beside his chicken bacon ranch salad, twisted the cap off, and took a large swig. With a satisfied sigh, he leaned back in his chair, shoulders finally relaxing. “Yeah, sorry. I was just writing an intense scene.”

I smirked at him as he combed through his blond locks with his fingers. “I thought so. This for your new work in progress?”