Page 6 of Taken Off Camera
GentlemanX sent 2,000 tokens— “Dinner’s on me. Order whatever you like—and don’t forget the tip.”
I blink at the screen. Two thousand tokens is about two hundred dollars in real life, which means a little over a hundred for me after the site’s cut. My regulars throw down a hundred tokens here, two hundred there, and it’s a big deal.
This? This is grocery money. This is electricity and internet for a month, tossed out with the same casual ease someone else might spend on a latte.
Heat creeps into my cheeks. I’m caught between wanting to laugh, wanting to scold him, and wanting to just melt into the pillows and let someone else take care of me for once.
GentlemanX probably doesn’t even realize what that kind of drop means to me. GentlemanX is a man of means, which he’s done a poor job of hiding over the last year. To him, this is pocket change. To me, it’s the difference between counting bills at the end of the month and breathing a little easier.
“Overkill,” I murmur, though I should have expected it from him. “You could’ve just sent twenty tokens.”
On the other end of the feed, his chuckle rumblesinto my ears and straight to my hips. “Then you wouldn’t have ordered dessert.”
I scroll down to that section of the menu. “Since you insist, which sounds better? Mango coconut sticky rice? Or fried bananas?”
“Why not both?”
“You spoil me,” I tease, my fingers already moving.
Within minutes, my food is on its way, and I catch him placing an order of his own, though he doesn’t say what.
While we wait, our conversation wanders. Nothing heavy. We trade favorite comfort shows, laugh about terrible movie sequels, and argue over pineapple on pizza. His low rumble makes everything easier, smoothing over the jagged edges of my day.
When a knock at my door breaks our rhythm, I take the laptop with me and set it on my kitchen table, pointing the camera toward my set so my dirty dishes are out of view.
Then I lean into the screen and wink. “I’ll be back in a second.”
Leaving him, I grab the takeout bag from where the delivery person left it in the hall and bring it inside. The scent of noodles and roasted peanuts fills my apartment,and my stomach lets out another growl. This is so much better than the chicken breast and broccoli I planned to eat later, after my private session ended.
When I sit back down, GentlemanX has already taken his delivery containers out of the bag and has them sitting in front of him.
“On three,” he says, holding a pair of chopsticks up to the camera.
I lift mine in answer. “One, two, three.”
We flip back our lids, and a small laugh escapes me. “Did you order yourself Pad Thai, too?”
“It sounded delicious.” He stirs the noodles, which are fewer than mine, with shrimp mixed in, clearly from a higher-end place than mine. “And this way, it’s like we’re at the restaurant together.”
“It does.” A blush creeps up my cheeks.
I’ve shown my body to hundreds of men, but I’ve never been on a date. Is this what people mean when they talk about connection?
We both dig in, chewing in companionable silence for a few moments before he comments, “I caught your stream earlier.”
“You were logged in?” The question comes out teasing, not accusing. He never comments, but I should’ve guessed he was watching, anyway.
He always is.
“Work has been keeping me busy, but I had it playing in the background tonight.”
My chopsticks freeze halfway to my mouth. “You play my channel at work?”
“I’m always working,” he admits. “But don’t worry, I work alone. Most of what I do is virtual. It’s rare for anyone to come to my office. More often than not, I go to them.”
“Ah.” I adjust my mental image of GentlemanX. “Do you get lonely? Or do you like not having to deal with coworkers in your face all the time?”
He falls silent for several heartbeats, long enough for me to worry I crossed the line, before he says, “I grew up in a big family, and they’re all nosy busybodies. I wouldn’t trade them for the world, but I like having my own space.”
