His puppy outfit had been replaced by pajama bottoms and a hoodie that must belong to one of his Dominants. It was much too large for his petite body.
“Well, ask your Daddies when you can visit,” he said into the phone. “The sooner, the better, Camden. I’ve almost managed to convince Cameron about the Bratmobile too. He’s super tempted.”
What was a bratmobile?
It sounded like mischief to me.
Noa wrapped up his call a moment later, and he sat down across from me.
I sipped my coffee, wondering how he could pull off sleepy and energetic at the same time. It had to be his age.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
I shook my head. “You?”
“My friend woke me up.” He grinned. “He’s in Nashville—and he worked late. But when a brat has a good idea, he has to plot with someone right away.”
I was certainly not a brat, so I couldn’t relate to what he was saying.
“I’m guessing this is where the Bratmobile comes in,” I said.
Noa laughed like the little goofball he was. “Yeah, but you can’t tell anyone. We haven’t figured out all the details yet.” He perked up as a thought struck. “Do you wanna hear about it?”
Did I? I wasn’t ready to tackle my own thoughts, though. So I said, “Sure.”
Noa’s eyes lit up. “Okay, so background story. My boyfriend works as a data analyst at a gaming company. Like, they create phone games and video games and stuff. Cameron has nothing to do with that,” he quickly added, “but it’s how he met this guy Camden. He’s a content creator based in Nashville. And one day, Cameron came home from work and told me about a new game they were developing—an adventure game where you travel around the world and complete tasks along the way. And I love The Amazing Race—it’s one of my favorite shows!”
I smiled at his exuberance.
Noa went on, explaining how Cameron had introduced Noa to Camden through a virtual mingle event, and they’d hit it off after discovering they had kink in common. A “work thing” had brought Camden to DC last year, and they’d met up “IRL.” Over drinks and snacks, Noa and Camden had taken one of the vehicles used in the adventure game, and they had created a fantasy van, a bratmobile, for which they had grand plans and dreams.
At that point in Noa’s rambling, it was difficult for me to stay focused. All I saw was his passion for the life he shared with his partners and friends.
This boy was having the best love affair with the world. He spoke so animatedly, so happily, and he fit in here. He had a place in this community. He had love.
Kingsley and Tate had that in common with Noa. Despite their problems, their love and their will to work for better days were tangible. I’d woken up mere minutes ago to find Tate wrapped in Kingsley’s arms. They gravitated toward each other even when they were asleep.
Same with last night after our scene. Kingsley had literally blindfolded Tate and put him on speech restrictions—which was a thing—and then Kingsley had focused on me. He’d made sure I had some snacks, we’d talked a little, and we’d had a comedy running in the background on the flat-screen. And even then, even in a moment he was deliberately shutting his partner out, he kept Tate close to him, always within reach.
“Hey.” Noa cocked his head at me. “You zoned out like Daddy and Uncle Lucian do when I talk about cartoons at breakfast.”
I cracked a little grin and took a sip from my coffee.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I was, wasn’t I? I was realizing a few things I didn’t quite know how to process yet, but yes, I was okay. I nodded slowly, and I looked out across the dark pool area and the lawn that slanted down to an even darker forest. Had it not been for the pale glow of the moon, I wouldn’t have been able to see any of it.
Thanks to the stories Tate had shared and the photos I’d seen on the community website, I could picture fragments of love stories taking place right on that lawn. Subs running from their Masters, brats laughing, Sadists smirking at their masochists’ antics.
I understood one thing. “I don’t believe I fit in here,” I said pensively.
“That’s rubbish!” Noa’s seemingly knee-jerk response came out sounding awfully British. “What makes you think that? Did something go wrong last night?”
No. God, no. Every minute of last night had been wonderful and drugging. “I got everything I wanted yesterday—and then some.” I chose my words carefully. “In retrospect, I’m wondering if it would have been better if I’d had my own guest room. My own bed. A more definite mark to end the scene, so to speak.”
Noa bit his lip. “Are you a bed hogger?”