4. Cameron

Jay and Jesse's book was doing a little better than I'd hoped, but I still had a ways to go to hit my first-month goals. I didn't have time to dwell on that much, though, because my bookkeeping jobs were keeping me busy. The work I had for my year-round clients was steady and provided a good financial foundation, and tax season would hit in a few short months, but if my book sales kept climbing, I wouldn't even need those.

Of course, marketing my books seemed to take even more time than writing them, but I knew that's what it took to get them into the hands of readers. So I'd scrimped and saved to pay for access to online courses and communities that would help me do things like running ads, finding quality editors, hiring the right cover designers, and even connecting with a few mentors who'd been invaluable along my author journey.

All that plus staying active in a variety of online book recommendation groups, managing all the other aspects of my author business like my website, social media presence, and email newsletter, and keeping my bookkeeping clients happy left me less time than I would've liked to actually write. But the writing itself was what kept me going, sustained me. Helped me relax, decompress, get out all my pesky stuck emotions.

Well, it had, past tense. I hadn't written in weeks, since before Jay and Jesse's book released, and if the drought went on much longer, I'd have to delay my next release. Last night's date with Jason had just made the lack of inspiration even more stark. Especially because the dry spell my love life was experiencing wouldn't be letting up any time soon.

My right hand sure got frequent workouts, as did my selection of dildos and plugs in varying sizes and textures. I even had a vibrator or two. Even years after starting hormones, my sex drive had never gone back down to pre-T levels. Not that I was complaining—an orgasm was a quick way to relax, and porn had the added bonus of being book research—but still. In a former life, I'd have wished for a man to warm my bed. Or more recently, a Daddy to warm my ass before he bent me over the bed. Then stayed all night to spoon me afterward.

Oh, hell, who was I kidding? I wished for one now.

I never was very good at lying to myself.

I sighed, filling a glass of water from a pitcher on the counter of my open kitchen then padding down the hall to my office and plopping down in front of my laptop. It was still early—I'd only just showered after a quick breakfast—so maybe I could finish up my final tasks for a bookkeeping client's payroll this morning so I was free to write this afternoon and evening. Charlie, Jesse's younger brother, needed his own fucking love story already.

When my stomach growled loudly hours later, I was deep into a particularly complicated project for one of my clients and making good time. I'd forgotten to eat lunch, but I hadn't even realized I was hungry. I might have even been so in my flow state that I'd lost time. One glance at my clock made my jaw drop. How was it two o'clock? It was only eleven like ten minutes ago! I loved when that happened.

Would've been better if I'd been writing, though.

I saved my work to my secure cloud before switching over to my browser, thinking I'd check my email before I grabbed some food. Since I'd just sent a newsletter yesterday morning, I wanted to be sure to respond to any readers who'd replied in a timely fashion.

I scanned my unread emails quickly, marking the ones I didn't need to click into as read: junk, sales for products I wasn't in the market for, one- or two-word replies to the newsletter I'd sent yesterday morning that didn't warrant a response.

But then my eyebrows furrowed at one particular email that had come in last night.

Tilting my head, I stared at the preview as if it held the answers to the mysteries of the universe. The subject told me I'd received a reply to yesterday's newsletter. The email address of the sender was innocuous—just the handle of booklover367 at a common domain—but the preview text had me swiping across my trackpad to click on it.

Several years back, when I'd only had a small handful of books out, I'd taken to using my email newsletter as a sort of journal, sharing with whomever cared to read it whatever was on my mind that day. I included book announcements and writing updates, sure, but I felt my readers would appreciate the personal touch, so I always had a section dedicated to insights into my admittedly chaotic brain.

I frequently did get meaningful and often heartfelt replies, so I figured I was on the right track, but this week's email had been forgettable, nothing special. Just a little blurb about my latest shopping find: a fancy coffee maker complete with a frother, a grinder, and temperature-optimized brewing that I found at a discount home goods store at half price. Coffee was a must for this writer, and I liked it fancy even at home—especially when I got busy and didn't have time to get out to my favorite coffee shop very often—so my new gadget made me happy. I just wasn't expecting many replies.

But as I began to read the email, my heart started pounding. To be honest, before I'd even opened the email, I'd sensed it would be unlike any other email I'd received.

I was right.

Cameron,

I know you don't know me, but I've been a huge fan of your books since I first read The Prince's Rule.

I smiled. Using my real name didn't bother me; it wasn't a secret. I used it to sign all my email newsletters. The writer of the email had just been paying attention. And the book they mentioned was one of my bestselling books, so that didn't surprise me. I'd been asked repeatedly to release a bonus epilogue for Rafael and Stephen's story. Maybe someday. The book's tenth anniversary was coming up in a year or two . . .

I'm not a writer myself—not fiction, anyway—so I can only imagine how difficult it must be to keep releasing quality book after quality book. Your writing is engaging, sexy, swoony, kinky, and sweet, and I eagerly await every release. *grin*

Jay and Jesse's story gutted me in all the best ways, and I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said that book changed my life. I'm loving this new series, and I can't wait for the rest of the crew to get their love stories—especially Hudson.

Hmm. Hudson was originally intended as a throwaway side character, but he must've connected with this mystery sender. Come to think of it, a few of my reviewers had mentioned him, too. And my editor.

A whisper of an idea started to form in my subconscious—nothing concrete or even vaguely tangible, just the spark of something that might turn out to be everything in the future. I knew my brain would need time to work it out before I could actualize it into the form of a book, though. Time I didn't have.

I went back to finish the email before I got distracted by my self-pity.

I just wanted to say thank you for writing the books you do. They mean more to me than you could possibly know. Seriously. Keep writing. I'm here cheering you on.

Always,

S.M.C.

I blinked at the closing and the mysterious initials. Always? What did they mean by that?

I read over the letter again, trying to read between the lines. Whoever this was—I couldn't even tell their gender by the email's content—was likely a technical or professional writer of some sort, but that could mean anything, I supposed. They were playful, given the cheeky grin, and refreshingly honest. I even puffed up at their praise, as any rejection-averse author would.

But my book changed their life? How was that possible? I knew Jay and Jesse's story was powerful, especially since it was supremely personal—it was one of just a few of my books with a transgender character—but how could that be true? Hyperbole, certainly.

Leaving the email open on my screen, I grabbed my now empty water glass and headed to the kitchen to find lunch. I gnawed on a sandwich while standing at the breakfast counter, my mind too occupied with rereading the anonymous email on my phone to be bothered to find a seat at my small kitchen table.

I crunched on a chip as I considered the sender's words. Who on earth were they? Not knowing was driving me a little crazy.

Refill in hand, I returned to my computer, mulling over my next steps. Should I respond?

That was a silly question—of course I should. I always did when readers took the time to reach out.

But what would I say?

I hit reply, trusting the words would come when I started typing. That was usually how it worked, fiction or not.

Nothing came.

I kept my draft open but switched over to a browser to pull up my email marketing site. I searched my subscribers for that email address, and sure enough, it was on the list. I exhaled loudly as I slumped back in my chair when I looked at the contact. No other information. Figures they'd have joined before I had my software collecting names.

Well, I was getting nowhere. Time to bring in reinforcements.

I sent a quick text to Tristan, my best friend. Send help.

Tristan was a boy—as in, Daddy/boy—I'd met in our Daddies and Subs Club that gathered every other Tuesday at Mix It Up, a modern, upscale gay bar that held kink nights every Thursday. We'd become instant friends when he started attending our meetings regularly nearly two years ago, several years after I'd realized I was a boy and started writing Daddy/boy books. He'd say he was my BFF. I'd say I was too old for childish designations like that. But I had almost a decade and a half on him, and he lit up when he called me that, so I allowed it.

His text came in quickly. What's up, Cammy?

I rolled my eyes at his choice of nickname. I never knew what name I would get with him. I have 2—no, 3 problems.

My phone and computer rang simultaneously with an incoming video call almost instantly. I answered it on my computer with a sigh. "Hey, Tris."

"Oh no," he answered without preamble. "What's going on?"

"Okay, first," I started, "last night's date was a horrific crash and burn. Like a car explosion you could see from space."

Tristan's mouth dropped open, and my lips twitched as they fought to curve upward. "Oh, shit. Really?"

I tried to nod solemnly, but my smile finally broke through. Just seeing Tristan on the screen commiserating with me was already making me feel better. "Really. Jason was a transphobic asshole. And even if he wasn't, I think he had some anger issues. Got mad at me for daring to mention that I didn't eat red meat."

I felt Tristan's eye roll in my soul. "Fucker."

I snorted. "Exactly. So I told him off and came home."

Tris nodded like that was completely reasonable. I mean, it was. How else should one deal with a bigoted jerk? "Okay, that sucks. So sorry about him, dude. You know there are better guys out there—you've just gotta keep trying."

Sighing, I slumped in my office chair. "I don't know, Tris. You know I was about to give up on dating completely when Ivan stranded me on the other side of town and left me with the dinner bill."

Tris's eyes were sparkling with mirth as he covered his mouth with his hand. But he couldn't hide his snickering. "At least he wasn't a raging transphobe?"

Unable to help myself, I started chuckling, too. "Sure, okay. He was kind of sweet until he jetted out of there with barely a backward glance because his childhood love wanted a second chance."

Tristan was full-on laughing now. "At least you got Prickles out of the deal."

Nodding, I laughed along with him, because if I didn't, I'd start crying. But once I'd gotten myself under control, I sobered quickly. "Sure, yeah. But Tris, this was the last time. I'm so tired of having to weed through every single gay guy in Seattle just to find the one diamond in the rough I can spend my life with. I'm done."

Silence fell between us for a few moments as Tristan processed what I'd just admitted. I waited until he was ready to speak. "I hear you, Cameron."

I nodded my understanding.

"I just hate to see you give up on love. I know you want—need—a Daddy."

I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back. "I know, Tris. But I feel like I'm a ping-pong ball being batted around—I'm just bruised, you know? Would I love to have a Daddy? Of course. Am I willing to keep putting my heart out there only to have it handed back to me in shreds? Yeah, not so much. The universe is just going to have to bring the right guy to me when we're both ready. I can't keep going like this. Besides, with a few rare exceptions, guys just can't be trusted."

"I hope I'm one of the exceptions." Tristan smirked.

I huffed out a laugh. "Of course, dear."

"Good to know." His eyes sparkled again, and I basked in how full of life he was. I liked to think we balanced each other out—my down-to-earth, practical disposition and his playful, life-of-the-party energy. "Okay, that was one. You said you had three things."

After a deep breath, I blurted out, "I haven't written in months."

Tristan gasped. "Seriously?"

I nodded, my eyes falling closed. "Seriously. Nothing. Less than nothing. Not a single word. I can't do it, Tris. I'm afraid I'm going to have to postpone my next book. I'm already on a tight deadline as it is, and unless I get an idea, like, tomorrow, I'm going to have to officially push back the release."

"Oh, Camster, I'm so sorry."

I nodded. "I know, and I appreciate it. It's making me super anxious. I'm just worried I'll never write again."

"You will, dude, I promise. This is just a dry spell. This doesn't mean you won't ever write again—you just need a break. And if you have to postpone your next book, your readers will understand. But even if they don't, you have to put yourself first. You know more than anyone you can't force a book out. You've told me that a million times."

I smiled, just a little. I had. "I know."

"See? You'll be fine. Let me know if and when you decide to announce it—I'll support you however I can."

God, I was so lucky this man had glommed onto me and declared himself my BFF. I'd always be grateful. "Thanks, Tris. You're amazing."

"I know." He grinned. "And number three?"

I sighed, my mood instantly tanking. "I got an email."

His eyes widened comically. "Oh, fuck."

I snorted again. "Shut the fuck up, dude. It wasn't just any email, obviously."

He threw his head of dark-brown curls back and laughed. "Obviously. Send it to me."

I clicked around and forwarded the email quickly. Tris's eyes scanned his computer screen for a moment before they widened. He turned back to me. "Damn, I see what you mean."

"So what do I do?"

His head cocked to one side. "Um, reply?"

"Ugh, I know that, Tris! But what do I say?"

"Um, just spitballing here, but maybe that you appreciated their email?"

I scoffed. "I know that, asshole. But this email feels too, I don't know . . . important? Significant? I don't know."

He smirked again. "You said that already."

"Shut up. Help me!"

Tristan just stared at his camera as if his gaze was crossing the miles and actually looking into my soul. I shifted in my seat as the silence lengthened. Then, finally, he spoke. "What are you afraid of, Cammy?"

I blinked at him. "What?"

"Just that: What are you afraid of? Why don't you want to reply to this email?"

"I just . . ." My shoulders slumped. "I can't explain it, but I feel a connection with whoever wrote this email. Like this could lead somewhere. And that's . . ." I sighed.

"That's what scares you."

I nodded slowly.

"Okay," he replied, and I could almost see the wheels spinning in his head. "Alright, so think about it this way: You don't know who they are, do you?"

"No, not at all. I don't even know their gender."

Tris clapped his hands. "See? That's perfect! That email is giving you a chance to explore that connection without the pressure of attraction or a relationship or even interacting in person. It's mostly anonymous, and you can just see where it goes. Maybe it turns into something more, and maybe it doesn't. But either way, this could be a way for you to put yourself out there without risking your heart. Maybe this is a safe way to find out what happens next."

I bit my lip as I considered his words. That actually seemed kinda smart.

"And another thing: You're always overthinking, Cammery, making things seem worse or bigger than they really are. You could reply, and nothing could come of it. Or they could reply, and you could become friends—or more. My advice? Stop trying to figure out the outcome and just live in the moment. Trust the universe. You'll know the right thing to do at the exact right time. Trust, and let the rest go."

Was it bad to be a little irritated when my BFF made so much sense? Asking for a friend.

But he was right; I could put myself out there again in this tiny, small, safe way and see what came of it. Maybe nothing. But if the sender of that email was meant to be important to me in some way, my anxiety could worry about that later. For now, I'd just focus on the first step: replying.

"Thanks, Tris."

"Anytime, Camers. I just . . ."

His voice trailed off, and my eyebrow raised. Tris was never shy about speaking his mind. "What?"

His shoulders heaved in a loud sigh. "You know I don't want you to get hurt, but I don't want to see you close yourself off to love or even a new friendship, either. That's no way to live."

I nodded, suspecting he knew this from firsthand experience. He didn't like to talk about his life before I'd met him, so I didn't know much about his past. But this felt real to him, important. "I hear you, Tris, I promise."

He wiggled in his seat, straightening. "Good. Now that that's all settled, I'm going into Daddy mode. Have you eaten lunch yet?"

Outwardly, I rolled my eyes, but inwardly, I was beyond grateful. I needed a Daddy in my life, and Tristan was happy to fill in from time to time until I found one, even though he was a boy himself. I just hoped he wouldn't have to do it forever.

But the way things were going, I wasn't so sure.

After I wrapped up my call with Tris, I turned back to my computer and knocked out more client work until I was ready to wrap up for the night. But before I shut everything down, I opened my email draft from earlier and started typing.

S.M.C.,

Thank you so much for your kind words! They mean a lot more to me than you know. And I can't say I hate that you love my books so much. *wink*

I think you're probably right about Hudson. I may just have to work him in somewhere.

I added a smirking emoji. Was I flirting? I didn't even know who this person was!

Again, thank you so much for replying and sharing your love of my books with me. It not only did my heart good to know someone out there is reading the stories that mean so much to me, but I also love that my writing touched you on such a deep level. If you'd like to share, I'd love to hear more about what connected with you most.

Always,

Cameron

I hit send before I could overthink it. I didn't know why I signed it with my real name. I didn't know why I asked for more information on what was probably very personal. I didn't know why I copied their sign-off, and I didn't know why I was flirting.

Because I definitely was.

With a self-indulgent shake of my head, I shut my computer and streamed a movie in the living room before running through my usual yoga practice—a must after a full day at the computer—then heading to bed.

As I lay in bed trying to fall asleep, my thoughts drifted to S.M.C.'s email, and the possibilities exploded in my head before I could stop them, courtesy of my writer's brain. But like Tris had reminded me, I had to stop overthinking. Maybe replying would lead to something, and maybe it wouldn't. Maybe they wouldn't even email me back.

I hoped they would, but I had to trust the process, trust that S.M.C. would reply if it was meant to be. Regardless, I realized that reaching out to S.M.C. could be the perfect way to get over an endless string of bad dates, restore my faith in humanity, and possibly start over with someone new—without all that messy business of actually falling in love.

Yup. That was a great plan. It wouldn't backfire at all.