“Oh! Seizures?” I asked, remembering a friend who had wanted to join the military, but had been disqualified because of his epilepsy. He’d also been unable to keep a driver’s license because his seizures had become so bad. I realized too late that it was probably a pretty personal question and I shouldn’t be asking about his medical history.
“Huh? No,” he said, barely pulling his eyes away from his phone. “I just don’t drive.”
“Um, sorry,” I muttered, a bit embarrassed by my inability to manage an intelligent conversation with the man and totally thrown off balance. I was hoping desperately that my pants would help conceal the bulge my cock was creating.
“Whatever,” he growled, his face glued to his phone.
What a brat! Part of me wanted to turn him over my knee. Another part, perhaps the one tucked uncomfortably into my pants at the moment, wanted me to lick and nibble along his throat and see if that was an erogenous zone for him.
“How… How was your flight?” I asked, falling back on inanities, trying to smile and carry onsomekind of conversation with him as I helped carry his luggage to the car. I could do this. I’d faced the Taliban and come out the other side, I could handle one measly comic book writer.
“Long,” was his reply, his eyes still glued to his phone. “And cheap. I’m going to have a talk with my manager. Had three layovers of two or three hours each!” he exclaimed. “Ridiculous.”
His comment burned me up. I was willing to give this guy all kinds of leeway because of whatever fuck up had left him stranded at the airport. Hell, I might have been pissed about it, too, if it was me. But my brother had sold something precious to pay for this guy to fly across the country. He could at least act like we weren’t beneath him.
The rest of the walk to the car was like this, and finally his monosyllabic responses were enough to make me stop trying. This guy was the hugely popular writer and artist my brothers raved over? A huge asshole, in my opinion. Maybe the reason he was so reclusive was because he was such a jerk.
I loaded his things into the back of my car, then watched him shove his earbuds in and climb into the back, like I was some kind of damn chauffeur. Okay, so as an Uber driver, Iwasa chauffeur. I just wasn’thischauffeur. I was used to that kind of attitude when I was driving for work, but not when it was a friend. Not that we were friends, but…whatever.
I growled in frustration as I closed the hatch on my Jeep, which I’d named “Hound” when I first got him. Hound was my baby. My brothers showed their geekiness through their bookstore. I showed off mine by naming my car after a cartoon robot and putting my own Autobot sticker on the back window. To each their own.
Before I got back in the car, I texted the twins to let them know I had found their wayward star. They seemed relieved and appreciative. They’d put a notice on their website and Facebook page that he would be there tomorrow to sign autographs.
They had apparently given up for the day and locked up, so I decided to take Cameron directly to his hotel. As I drove, I tried desperately not to sneak looks at my passenger in the back seat.
His body was a walking wet dream. He had the body of an athlete, but not a gym rat. Maybe a baseball player, or a runner? Tall, slim. Well-muscled, but not overly so. He wore a black t-shirt that hugged his chest, outlining every muscle and curve. He had on a pair of cutoff jeans shorts that cupped his ass and looked like they’d been poured on. His legs were toned and defined, like a runner’s, but his thighs weren’t super thick.
I noticed almost absently that for all of his athleticism and that he lived on the West Coast, his skin was very pale. Whatever Cameron did to keep in shape, he did it inside. As I had gotten the last of his gear out of the back, and he reached up to close the hatch, I caught aglimpse of the creamy skin of his stomach when his shirt rode up, and I had to bite my lip not to groan.
I wasn’t anticipating him to just tell me I could leave, but I wasn’t really surprised. Along with his other comments, I figured Cameron wasn’t used to having the “help” hang around when he was done with them. I sat in the car after his rude dismissal, my fingers biting into the steering wheel as I tried to control the insane feelings running through my body.
My temper was definitely running high at the moment, and I couldn’t figure out how this guy had gotten under my skin so quickly. I sighed and forced myself to relax for a minute.
Fuck him. He was here for just a few weeks. He could do his job, then go back to wherever the hell he came from. No skin off my back.
I turned my attention back to my phone and was sitting there texting the twins when there was a rap at the window.
I looked up in surprise to see Cameron’s face outside my window. Damn, he had the prettiest eyes. His dark eyelashes fluttered against his pale skin as he glanced around anxiously.
I rolled the window down and he grimaced at me. “There seems to be a problem,” he said.
We stood in line silently, waiting our turn to approach the front desk. Cameron kept his face glued to his phone, earbuds in. I was beginning to hate that thing. His ears were a bright red and he alternately played on his phone or tugged absently at his hair. Something about his actions reminded me of something, but I couldn’t quite think what. It was driving me crazy, but apparently Mr. High-And-Mightydidneed help checking into a hotel, so here we were. Finally, it was our turn, and we approached the agent at the desk.
“May I help you?” The clean-cut, cheerful man asked.
“We need to get him checked in,” I said, gesturing at Cameron. “Name is Cameron. It’s a two-week reservation from Twin Peeks bookstore.”
“One moment,” he said, typing some things into the computer. A strange look crossed his face, and he typed a few more keys.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“The… the reservation was canceled,” he said, looking at the two of us, appearing nervous.
“What?” I said, maybe a little too loudly, confusion in my own voice. “That’s not right, please look again. I know my brothers confirmed the reservation. Maybe look again, under Devereaux?”
I stole a glance at Cameron, a feeling of dread running through me. Not another fuck up.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the reservation was canceled. T-the credit card was declined,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. His eyes flicked to Cameron, the other guests in line, then back to me.
