5. Cameron

CHAPTER 5

CAMERON

When I arrive for the third session I'm supposed to have with Dom, my stepdad stops me before I can get started. I'm in a shit mood, and this is the one part of my day I've actually looked forward to, so I don't give him my warmest reaction to being interrupted.

It's been a grueling week. Fitting these lessons into my already busy schedule is manageable, but it takes away from what little free time I have. Although, that might be a good thing, because I've barely had to look at Emile all week. He knows I'm upset, and he has to know why, but he hasn’t said anything to me about it. He's just as hard on me in rehearsal as always, if not more so. This morning he snapped that my saut de chat wasn't high enough, and he made me do it over and over again in front of everyone, pointing out every flaw. When I was finally dismissed to get a drink of water, I overheard someone whispering that I must not have sucked him hard enough, and I barely made it through the morning session without breaking into tears.

My hackles are already up, and because of that, I automatically assume that whatever Dwayne is interrupting us with will be something bad. Does he think the ballet training isn’t working, because it's too soon to see any real results.

Dom isn't here yet. Did he quit? Does he hate having someone everyone sees as smaller and weaker than him boss him around?

Honestly, maybe it's for the best. I've been getting a little too attached to the big, clumsy oaf and the annoyingly endearing way he tries so hard to please me. It puts me in a weird headspace, where I forget he's supposed to be my uncle. My straight uncle.

Despite fooling myself into thinking those looks he's been giving me were more than friendly, I overheard my mom and Dwayne talking about his ex causing drama in the tabloids again. Of course, I immediately got on the internet to find everything I could about her. It seems like the media wants to paint her as a victim of Domenick Connor's infamous womanizing ways, but the way she's acting and talking shit about Dom is very telling. Especially since I haven't found any evidence that he's even tried to defend himself or talk poorly about her in retaliation.

Then again, my affection where he's concerned could just be another facet of my delusions.

Too nice. Too complimentary. Too endearing. Too straight. Too connected on a familial basis.

Bad, Cam. Bad.

I'm confused when Dwayne leads me upstairs instead of to his office. I'd almost forgotten that the gym has a second level. When he bought the place, Dwayne mentioned turning this into office space, or perhaps loft apartments.

"It's still a bit of a construction zone up here," he explains as we head down a hallway. The stripped floors are bare and the walls are nothing but unfinished, sanded drywall. "I haven't really decided on a decor theme. Your mom's gonna help me with it, but if you have ideas?—"

"Not that kind of gay," I say flatly.

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

He trails off, and I sigh. That wasn't fair. I know he didn't mean anything by asking about ideas for the decor. If anything, Dwayne has been the most supportive straight person I've ever met outside of my mother. In fact, when he started dating her, he referred to me using they/them pronouns until I finally broke down and let him know I identify as a man. I gave him a lot of hell for making assumptions based on my chosen career as a ballet dancer, and the perception of my more feminine aesthetic. I knew he meant well, and his attempt to be respectful was actually amazing, but I enjoyed making him squirm. I still do, but it's usually a lot harder to fuck with him these days.

"I know you didn't mean anything by it. I was just being an ass because I'm in a bitchy mood," I say with a huff. "It looks great so far." I reach for anything I can think of to fill in the awkward tension I created. "I like the exposed brick. Maybe leave that?"

Dwayne gives me a warm smile that is absolutely not breaking through my tough exterior. "Yeah," he says, nodding. "I like it too."

"Definitely ask mom," I tell him. "She's the one you want making choices like those."

"I'll run it by her and get her opinion for sure."

He stops and thumps loudly on a door. Does somebody live up here?

After waiting for less than a full minute, Dwayne beats on the door again. Finally, it swings open, and Dom's imposing figure fills the entire frame. He's on the phone, his facial features contorted with anger at his brother's obnoxious knocking. He's pissed about something. Pissed and half naked, wearing only a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants. The kind that look super soft and hug the body just right. The kind that aren't quite thick enough to hide anything . My eyes are wide at the clear imprint of an appendage that I keep getting hints about. I can't decide if I'm feeling jealous or sorry for whatever lucky cervix that thing is wrecking.

"It's about ti?—"

Dom gestures to the phone and then makes a swiping motion under his chin to signal for Dwayne to shut up. Dwayne gives an exaggerated cringe and snickers before following Dom's retreating form. Goddamn, he has a biteable ass. Like the rest of him, it's thick with muscle and just enough cushion to make me want to use it as a pillow.

Dwayne grabs my arm when I zone out and start following Dom across the large studio apartment, entranced by all the rich, brown skin and curvy muscles on display.

He gives me a perplexed look, and I cover by pretending to examine the space, making my way out of the entryway and into the apartment. Like the hallway, the walls are bare bones, but it’s a nice space. One entire wall is exposed brick featuring large, wide windows with deep sills that I can imagine filling with pillows and curling up to read or watch as people go about their day in the city block below. The rest of the space is open and feels empty without much furniture. There's a huge thick mattress on a box platform with no frame or headboard pushed against the brick wall between two windows. A large crate is tipped over on one side of the bed, holding a lamp and a stack of books. I'm desperate to get closer, to see what Dom reads in his spare time, but I stick close to the entryway. There's an open galley kitchen with brand new sterling silver appliances and industrial lighting above a huge polished concrete island.

"This is amazing," I say honestly.

"Yeah?" Dwayne grins proudly. "Dom's been helping me finish the place while he's staying here. It was just as bare as the hallway a few weeks ago."

"It could use a rug and some furniture. But other than that, I really like the unfinished, industrial look."

I'm talking out of my ass. I honestly don't know anything about interior design, but I do think it looks cool.

"I don't give a shit, Brian! I'm not interested in speaking to the press!" Dom's muffled voice comes from the only door in the apartment, which I assume is the bathroom. I guess it wasn't us he was pissed at when he answered the door. Although I'm sure Dwayne's incessant knocking didn't help. "Let them talk!" he shouts, and then I hear the clatter of what must be his phone on a hard surface. Then there's the sound of running water.

"We can't decide what color to paint this wall," Dwayne says, studiously ignoring everything we just overheard.

I look at the expanse of drywall that's directly opposite the huge windows, at the light pouring in. I should get Dom a houseplant.

"Black," I say, absentmindedly. "There's enough space and light in here that I think you could pull it off."

"I'd never have thought of that," Dwayne says, staring at the space as though imagining it. He doesn't look sold, but it's not my apartment, so I don't actually care.

Dom strolls out of the bathroom, rubbing a small hand towel over his face. Water drips down his exposed chest, making me think of how his dark skin glistens when he's worked up a sweat.

"Sorry, I'm running behind. I swear to fuck if the paps show up to this fight, I’m gonna wring his twerpy little—" Dom stops short, apparently noticing me for the first time. He stutters for a moment, which is stupidly adorable.

"Good morning, Uncle ," I say sweetly. Dom makes a face, and Dwayne laughs.

"Watch out for this one today," Dwayne says. "He's in a mood."

"Noted," Dom says, narrowing his eyes at me. I bat mine in return before turning my attention away from the sinfully jacked body currently sauntering across the apartment.

"So, what was is that you wanted to talk to us about? Considering the last time you called a meeting, I got dragged into teaching ballet to a bodybuilder, I'm super curious how else you could make my life interesting."

"Ah, yes! Dom! Let's show Cameron our surprise."

"Our?" My gaze flits back and forth between them. "As in, you conspired to create whatever fresh hell I'm going to be subjected to?"

"Damn right," Dom says, pulling a black tank top on over his head. He pumps his eyebrows and then winks. What the hell are they up to?

We walk out of Dom's apartment to another door on the opposite end of the hall. Dwayne holds out a key on a red lanyard with the Connor Bros Boxing Gym logo. I scrunch my forehead and look at it warily, but take it from him and push it into the lock.

"Now, just for the record," Dwayne says before I can open the door. "There's no pressure here. You can do anything or nothing at all with this, okay?"

More confused than ever, I push the door open. It's a wide-open space that's brightly lit by the same kind of windows in Dom's apartment. All the walls are exposed brick except for the wall directly opposite the windows, which has been covered with a massive floor to ceiling mirror.

A proper barre has been installed along the entire length of the mirrored wall. There are benches on either side of the room, and a shelf with a record player and a tablet set up for music. I look up and notice the speakers in every corner of the room and wonder what the acoustics will be like with these high ceilings.There's a door on the far side of the room. I open the door to peek into a bathroom that has been converted to a small locker room. The toilet is in a stall, and the shower walls are frosted for privacy. One wall is covered with shelves that look like open lockers, with another bench in front of them.

Speechless, I step into the middle of the polished wooden floor, ready for the first steps to be danced across its surface. I'm overwhelmed.

"You did this for me?" I whisper, my voice catching in my throat.

"Well, I won't lie and say the space doesn't have the potential to benefit the gym." Before my mind can run away with what he means, he's quick to clarify what he means. "Who knows, maybe we could go into business together someday if this ballet training works? Or you could use the space to teach your own classes. Or you can use it as your personal practice space. Like I said, there's no pressure. No strings. Maybe a shameless bribe to bring you around more often."

There's not much more I'm capable of, other than clenching my eyes shut and sinking into this moment. He's right that this space has a lot of potential, and I can see myself spending time here. No more being observed by judgmental onlookers when I want to play around with my own choreography or just dance for the sake of dancing.

Music swells from the speakers around the room, a familiar tune filling the space. I look up to find Dwayne and Dom sitting back on a bench, waiting for me to do something. I shake my head and grin, but find my next pose and fall into the choreography for the opening number of Gloire Du Matin.

I dance through most of the soundtrack before I notice Dwayne has left, and it's only Dom sitting there watching me. For the fun of it, I pull him onto the floor and take up the women's choreography for the song playing over the speakers. Dom is stiff and unsure, but he follows direction well and manages his first mini supportive role quite nicely. I'm shocked when he remembers there's a lift at the end, and more shocked than I should be when he lifts me above his head with no effort at all.

The music slows and fades out as I look down into his bottomless dark eyes that usually look black, but in this light, I can see are actually deep brown. I could fall into those eyes and never come up for air.

Dom slowly lowers me. The top of my foot, all the way up my shin, and then my thigh, slide down his heaving chest. He holds me still when we're face to face, my arms are around his neck, like they would be if we were continuing the dance, except that everything stops. My feet aren't quite touching the ground, my chest against his. Every inch of me that is touching him burns, and every inch that isn't feels cold. The music becomes muffled background noise, drowned out by the buzzing between my ears. Awareness ripples up my spine and my back bows. I feel lightheaded.

"Dom?" I whisper.

Lowering my head infinitesimally, my nose brushes his. Our breaths collide and sync, so I'm breathing in the air he releases, and vice versa.

The door opens, and I’m suddenly on my feet. Dom stumbles backwards like he isn't sure what just happened.

I'm not sure what just happened.

Dwayne walks in, eyes glued to his phone. "You won't believe what that idiot Hoyt and your stupid bitch of an ex are doing now." He walks over to Dom, showing him his phone screen. Dom stares back at it, looking dazed. He keeps flicking his gaze to mine.

"I, uh, I need to get going. We've got a weekend full of performances, and you’ve got that fight, so I'll see you here on Monday? Same time? Uh, good luck."

Dom doesn't respond, but I keep moving, grabbing my bag and slipping my feet into my shoes. I don't need to be at the studio for a few more hours, but I need to get out of here and try to process what I'm feeling.

I make bad decisions when I get overemotional, and making bad decisions with your stepdad's brother would definitely top the list of stupid things I could do to forget my issues.

It would ruin everything.

“Okay, but how hot are we talking exactly?”

I make a whiny sound and then start counting things off on my fingers. “Six-four. Built like the definition of a brick shit house, with just enough softness to make you want to bite into him. His thighs are like the size of my waist, I swear. Beautiful, smooth brown skin that glistens when he sweats. Just enough scruff to make me daydream about how rough it would feel against my?—“

“ Ohmigawd I got it. Don’t get me all flustered when Orlando isn’t here.”

My cousin fans his face, as if the green facial mask he’s wearing might melt off.

“And you’re, like, convinced he’s got a monster cock, too?”

“It’s not possible that it isn’t huge. I eyed a clear dick print in his shorts the other day that literally made me choke.”

“Ugh. And he’s nice?”

“Yes! Mom and Dwayne made it out like he was super quiet and grouchy, and the first time I met him, he seemed that way, but he’s actually pretty easy to talk to.”

“But he’s straight.”

“I think so? I keep getting, like, a vibe or something. That’s why I need you to do your thing.”

“What thing is that?” Antoni asks, using the phone as a mirror to dab something under his eyes.

“That thing you do where you’re super blunt and don’t bullshit me. Tell me I’m out of my mind so I can go back to my boring existence, letting Emile railroad me into changing myself,” I say, quoting the last blunt advice he gave me. “Except this time, I’m actually asking for your opinion,” I snark.

Antoni rolls his lips.

“I don’t know, ‘cuz. If all these little moments happened the way you say they did, he could be into you. Maybe he’s bi or pan and just doesn’t know it. Maybe your ass is going to be his awakening.”

“You read too much smut.”

“There is no such thing. Read all those books I sent you. Maybe you’ll have an awakening of your own. Ooh, I could recommend a real nasty age gap romance to you.” He waggles his eyebrows dramatically.

At least he makes me laugh.

“On second thought, you shouldn’t start reading. You don’t sleep enough as it is. You have bags the exact size and shade of my favorite Louboutin tote.”

“How can I sleep when I can’t close my eyes without thinking about the?—“

“—the hot boxer Daddy. I know, I know.” He perks up, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “I just had the best idea, but I need to do recon. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Antoni air kisses the screen and then hangs up. I sigh at my blank screen.

It was nice talking to someone about this, even if he was absolutely no help at all.