Page 102 of Becoming His Perfect Daddy
He grinned, pride evident in his expression. “Yeah. Joey’s brilliant business brain has really sent things soaring. We might even be able to expand into other things when the time is right.”
Zander and I started talking about his business, including how their holiday sales went, and being in marketing myself, I found it fascinating. We chatted until Nate and Anson showed up, followed soon after by Ethan.
After that, conversations and drinks flowed freely between us men, and I’d never felt more at home. These guys were my friends, some of the first I’d had in my life, and I found my chest squeezing in gratitude.
“So, Cameron, how’s the writing going?” I overheard Joey ask, and my ears pricked. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t heard Cameron talk about his writing much since we’d gotten together. I got that we were new, but I would never want to keep him from something he loved. Was he still writing?
And what kind of boyfriend was I that I’d never thought to ask? What kind of Daddy?
“It’s going okay,” Cameron replied, and I really tried not to listen, but I couldn’t help it. It was a little loud in here, butCameron was sitting right next to me. “I’m just having a hard time picturing Jace’s Daddy. He’s . . . oh, I don’t know. He’s cis, and Jace is trans, of course.”
I knew that Cameron only wrote relationships with no more than one trans character—at least of the books he’d released. The thought made me frown, considering something that hadn’t occurred to me until now. Did he not think two trans guys should get together?
Was he not happy with us?
I shook my head, drinking my warming lager and playing with the cocktail napkin beneath it. I was being ridiculous, and I was spiraling again. I’d gotten better at reining myself in since Cameron had spanked me a few weeks ago, and I had almost zero interest in another session with the paddle.
Not tonight, anyway.
“So what’s the problem?” Tristan was asking him.
“I just . . . something’s off with them. I can’t figure it out.”
Joey patted his hand from across the table. “You will.”
Cameron sighed beside me. Our legs were touching, but I felt like his mind was miles away. He got like that sometimes, and I figured it was just part of him being a writer. He lived a lot of his life in his head.
Hence the frequent spankings to get him out of it.
“Maybe.” He shrugged, a quick heave of his shoulders. “It’ll work itself out eventually.”
Their conversation turned to more mundane topics, and I let my mind drift as I thought about what I’d heard. Cameron was a writer—that part of him was what I’d fallen in love with first. So why didn’t he feel comfortable talking to me about his writing? Was it somehow too personal for him?
And why didn’t I ask?
I sighed. This shouldn’t be a big deal, right? I didn’t need to borrow trouble, create an issue where none existed. But asHenry brought another round of drinks and the minutes passed, I grew more unsettled. Soon, the cocktail napkin in front of me had been ripped to shreds, and I still couldn’t stop fidgeting.
I nudged my boy with my arm. “Cameron?”
He looked over at me. “Yes, Daddy?”
The fact that I didn’t automatically smile at the honorific told me how agitated I really was. “Why don’t you ever talk to me about your writing?”
Cameron blinked, his movements languid as if his rum and cokes had loosened him up but not made him drunk. “What do you mean?”
I took a quick breath. “I mean, when we were emailing, we discussed your books all the time. It’s how we first started connecting. But since we got together for real, since you found out I was S.M.C., you’ve barely mentioned your writing at all. Are you even still writing? And why won’t you talk to me about it?” My filter had apparently stopped working.
Cameron leaned in, just a little. His eyes darted around at our friends, who were doing a poor job of acting like they weren’t listening. “Sam, can we talk about this later?”
I shook my head, thinking that I shouldn’t have had that last drink. I had less control of myself than I liked. “I want to talk about it now. It’s a big part of you, and you haven’t shared it with me at all.”
His face scrunched as if he was in pain, and my alcohol-addled brain didn’t understand why. “Come on, Sam.” He pushed at me to get out of the booth, and I obliged, sliding over and standing up. Once he was on his feet beside me, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the side door we’d used in October and out into the night. “Now, what’s going on?”
I crossed my arms, gulping in the fresh air heavy with impending rain before continuing. I wasn’t sure where this was coming from, but as soon as I opened my mouth, it all camespilling out. “I feel like you’re holding back, Cameron. You’re keeping a lot of yourself hidden from me, and I don’t know why.”
He gasped as the first drops of rain started to fall. “I’ve never held back from you, Sam.”
I waved my hand in the air between us. “During sex, yeah. Which is great. I have absolutely no complaints there. But in life? We’re together all the time, Cameron, but do we really talk? I ask about your day, and you say it was fine. Apart from the one time you told me about your anxiety, we don’t talk about anything real aside from our sex life. Any time I try to go deeper with you, you change the subject or start making out with me. And god, I love it, I do. But Cameron, I need you to let me in. I’ve bared my fucking soul to you, and I feel like you’re still keeping yours from me.”
