Page 8 of Taken Off Camera
“I did.”
Of course, he did. I can easily picture the tailored lines, the perfect fit. Did he take a date? I hate the jealousy that rises at the thought. GentlemanX isn’t mine, no matter how much I want him to be.
“I bet you’re handsome when you’re all dressed up.”
“It was… uncomfortable.” The way he adjusts his collar suggests more than physical discomfort. “Too many people with too many agendas.”
“Not a people person?”
“Not a pretending person,” he corrects. “Too much artifice in those circles.”
Even his word choice highlights the differences in our educational level, but the irony of his statement isn’t lost on me. Here I am, an online performer whose entire career is built on selling an illusion, talking to a man who won’t even show his face. Yet somehow, these sessions have become the most honest part of my week.
“What would you do if we ever met in person?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
His breathing changes, his microphone picking up a subtle hitch. “What would you want me to do?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with possibilities. My heart thuds hard. “I’m not sure.”
That’s a lie. I want him to seeme, not ElliotUnleashed, but Micah. I want to hear if he sounds the same without digital processing, if his hands feel as strong as they appear. I want things that scare me because they’re real, not a performance.
“Your food’s getting cold,” he says softly, letting me retreat from the precipice of honesty.
I take another bite, grateful for the reprieve. “Tell me about the food at the gala. Was it those tiny portions that leave you starving?”
He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Microscopic servings. I couldn’t even tell what I was eating. I stopped for a burger on the way home.”
And we’re back on safe ground, swapping stories about the comfort of greasy takeout. But as we talk, treacherous thoughts circle in my mind. I’m falling for a voice and a pair of hands. A man who pays to spend time with me yet asks for nothing but conversation in return.
After we finish eating, I move back to my bed, curling onto my side so I can prop my laptop on thepillow beside me and pretend GentlemanX is lying beside me.
The clock on my laptop tells me we’re approaching midnight. Our two-hour session is nearing its end, and a heaviness settles in my chest at the thought of disconnecting. I reach for the ratty teddy bear I’ve had since childhood and tuck him under my chin.
“Getting comfortable?” GentlemanX asks, a contented Alpha rumble coming through from his side.
“Mmhmm.” I nestle deeper into my pillows, arranging them in a nest around me. The blue glow of the screen casts shadows across my comforter, turning the familiar landscape of my bed into an ethereal oasis. “Don’t mind Mr. Snuggles.”
“Mr. Snuggles?”
I hold up the teddy bear, its worn fur catching the light. One eye is missing, and the stitching around its neck has been repaired multiple times. “My oldest friend. He doesn’t judge me for my life choices.”
“Neither do I.”
The sincerity in those three words catches me off guard. I hug the bear closer, using it as a shield for the sudden vulnerability washing over me. The screenshows only GentlemanX’s torso, but I imagine his expression is kind.
“Our time is almost up,” he says with regret.
“I don’t care.” I rub my cheek on the top of Mr. Snuggles’ head. “I want to fall asleep listening to you talk.”
A pause fills the speaker, followed by the subtle sound of fabric shifting as he adjusts his position. “What do you want me to talk about?”
“Tell me a story.”
“A story?” The question hangs between us.
“Please?” The day’s stress catches up to me, leaving my eyelids heavy. “You help me relax.”
Another pause stretches, long enough that I worry he’ll refuse. Then the sound of him clearing his throat comes through my speakers, the small, intimate noise sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.
