Page 2 of For the Cameras

I crumpled up the letter and shoved it in my pocket to throw away later.

Victor was a guy I’d met at The Rowdy Box, a gay club down in Denver. He and I had only been having a casual fling for three weeks, but like all things with me, it had been… intense.

I may or may not have hooked up with him every single night for the past three weeks. My dick tended to lead me to places where my brain couldn’t quite catch up, and attention was what I craved most.

I’d known that my latest fling would be flying off to New York City soon, but until now, he’d led me on, making me think we could still hook up regularly when he visited Colorado.

I wasn’t heartbroken. Not in the slightest.

I was justinsatiable.

But that was a problem for future me. I needed to get to work. I took another chug of the iced coffee, praying that the cold, sweet, caffeinated nectar of the gods would fuel me for a long day of filming ahead.

I found my beat-up blue Honda Civic parked nearby on the side of the street, swung open the door, and sank into the front seat.

My elbow caught the steering wheel, and in a flash, the plastic lid popped off the coffee. A rush of cold liquid and ice waterfalled down the front of my body.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuckme.”

Ice and coffee pooled in my lap. I sucked in a breath through my teeth, saying every swear word I knew in a singsong voice.

I shouldn’t have wasted time trying to get offorwasted time reading the letter, and now I was double, triple, quadra screwed, with a squirt of fuck-me whipped cream on top.

I ran back inside, stripped, and hopped in the shower for thirty seconds before throwing on whatever clothes I could find nearby. My Civic had seen better days, but I wiped off the driver’s side seat as best as I could and stacked two beach towels on it before gunning it all the way to the job site.

I couldn’t fuck up.Notthis job.

I raced over to the place we were filming today for work, following where my maps app told me to go. I pulled up into the gravel driveway of an impressive two-story house tucked at a mountainside ledge, looking down over Denver. The Fixer Brothers were set to renovate this place next, and already, I could tell the house was going to be stunning to capture on film. It had gorgeous bones, great angles for sunlight, and a Craftsman-style design. It would film like a beauty for the TV show.

“I’m here,” I said as I got out of my car, waving to Flynn, the director, who was glaring at me from beside the film crew van. “I’m here.”

“I was getting worried,” he said, waving me inside. “Set up the wide shots in the kitchen. House should be great for the footage, don’t you think?”

“It’s perfect,” I agreed.

I headed to the gear van and took the first of the giant, heavy cameras out, hoisting it up onto my shoulder.

When I got hired to work filming a legit home renovation TV show, it had been like winning the lottery. For the first time in my life, I was working as a camera operator on a real show, and I had real paychecks to prove it. After being called a hopeless artist for a lifetime, that was all I needed. Proof that I was on the right track. Proof that I really could make a living doing what I loved: filming anything and everything.

I went back and forth making trips to the gear van for ten minutes before I even thought about who this house mightbelongto.

When I walked into the kitchen, I looked up and locked eyes with the homeowner: a tall guy.

A tall,very attractiveguy. A man with dark brown, nearly black hair, striking cheekbones, and plush, ruddy lips.

Lips that seemed familiar, somehow.

Very familiar. Almost like I’d seen them before.

My heart dropped like I’d just stepped off of a high cliff. I did a double take, and realized in a flash that I was right. I’d seen this guy before, without question. I’d seen him just this morning, as I almost came to the sight of him.

I was standing right across from Adam Dix.

Jawline? Check.

The little pair of freckles he had—one that was shaped like a little heart at the side of his face, and the other tiny one near his lips?

Check. Check.