He was a gorgeous young man, and he had the most infectious grin.
“Hey! I only have a short video today, and I’m gonna copy something August did last year. I assume y’all remember his series of recipes you can make from Thanksgiving leftovers. Well, that’s what I’ll be doing today with food left over from Easter. But, you know, with my own twist.”
His smirk was as cocky as it was sweet. He was an absolute goofball, one who’d earned an impressive following because he was funny, very down-to-earth, and…well, he cursed a lot. Even by a New Yorker’s standard.
Sometimes I wondered if that was part of a PR ploy. His manners, the way he spoke and how he behaved… He just didn’t strike me as someone foulmouthed.
I listened on one ear as he rambled about deviled eggs and slow-cooked ham, choosing to pay more attention to how he moved around in his kitchen. I knew from having followed both him and King for months now that the two lived on a big ranch outside Nashville. They’d cooked in their state-of-the-art kitchen, in their barbecue area by a massive pool, over an open fire on their land, and once on a camping stove set up near an actual barn.
The large window behind Camden revealed a view of nothing but green hills and one long, winding dirt road.
“Fuck me, Easter bunny,” I heard Camden exclaim when he’d dropped an entire egg into a batter of something. A string of other curses followed as he fished out the egg to crack it, and it was impossible to miss the rich chuckle coming from the background. August. “Do as I say, not as I do,” Camden advised smoothly. “We can just cut this out later.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned editing something out of the video, and he clearly never did.
“So the reason I chose crepes,” he went on, “is because after Easter, I think most of us have leftover eggs that we bought too many of. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we all love deviled eggs, but it takes one egg before my stomach is full.”
I smiled. Maybe it only required one egg because he was little and fucking precious.
Despite living together, and despite that one could often be heard in the background of their partner’s videos, August and Camden had only appeared together in a single clip. At which point their height difference became abundantly clear. I pegged King to be a couple inches taller than my six-two, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Camden were under five feet.
“Make sure you don’t use too much heavy cream for the filling,” Camden said, focused on whatever he was mixing in a bowl. “As you can see, I’m using one cup. Because I don’t want the flavor of the smoked honey glaze to disappear—motherfucker. I forgot the mustard. Clara, can you get a close-up of the filling? I gotta get the mustard.”
I had a problem. He disappeared from the screen for five damn seconds, and it was enough to make me impatient for his return. Some bastards obsessed over porn; I obsessed over cooking tutorials.
It was like reading a great book series and getting attached to the characters, only these were real people. It was a real guy who had charmed the fuck out of me with his impish grins, shaggy, nearly black hair that always got in his clear blue eyes. And his mouth…and how he used it.
A detox was what I needed.
Maybe that was another marketing strategy. Viewers were often asking them to make videos together, and I could admit it was one of the reasons I kept tuning in every week. Camden was the little clown, the comic relief, and King was plain strength and grace. And the warmth. Couldn’t forget that. From the Southern drawl and hazel eyes to the kind smiles and ever-present tan. Camden’s accent betrayed his heritage. He was from the East Coast. Maybe even New York. August King looked like he’d been born on their ranch and worked there all his life. Manual labor had formed his body, not a gym. Sleek muscles, broad shoulders, silver in his hair—
“Detox,” I snapped under my breath, momentarily repulsed by my fixation.
I closed the video and tossed my phone on the table, then folded my arms over my chest and glared at nothing.
I shook my head.
This wasn’t fucking healthy.
I needed a life.
I…I needed to look up gay bars in Nashville. I needed to be out there, not holed up in my home, living like a senior citizen.
Chapter 2
Wanted Man
As soon as the first song ended, Luiz started counting us in on the hi-hat. Sylvia was quick on the synthesizer, generating a wailing sound through the crowd, and once Luiz kicked it up with a galloping beat on the drums, everyone came to life.