Page 21 of Playing Cowboy
I roll my eyes, snatching my phone from the living room table and swiping through icons until I find my handy DefendiCon app.“Nash makes me do this whenever he rents a new bachelor pad,” I insist, syncing up the app with whatever digital cameras might be in play.
“Do what?”he asks, peering over my shoulder as the light from my phone highlights his chiseled features and thick, pouty lips.
“Dismantling the cameras, silly.”
“You can do that?”
“I kind of do a little bit of everything at the studio,” I brag.If anything, though, it’s underselling things.Wild West Studios might have two bona fide hits streaming on the Campfire Channel at the moment, but that’s a drop in the bucket compared to most TV studios in play these days.And that could change at any moment.So, budget restrictions?Tight.My job?Do it all, including installing and uninstalling cameras around the studio.It’s easy, really, once you get the hang of it, and once you’ve put enough of them up, it’s way easier to take a couple down.Especially these country ass mail order cameras Palmer Properties has installed.
“Gotcha!”I exclaim as I tap into the cloud feed on the cabin’s internet server.
“Hey,” he exclaims, catching himself on the camera feed on my phone and waving at himself.That is, before he remembers he’s supposed to be incognito and quickly skirting out of frame.
“Now you see us,” I mutter, enabling the app while disabling the camera.“And now you don’t.”
“Really?”He glances at the blank screen, scowling.“And this is what they’ll see, from now on?”
“Until I enable it again,” I brag, closing out the app.
“And you did them all?”
“There were only two,” I explain, setting the phone down and spying the bottle of red wine on the patio table.“Front and back, right?”
“If you say so.”He sighs, as if relieved.“I just, you know...”
His face is apologetic.“I get it.”I sigh, vaguely missing the freewheeling scene back in LA where being gay isn’t a life-altering event like it must be out here in Pistol Creek, Kentucky.“Small town.Small minds.Prying eyes, am I right?”
“Probably not like that back home, huh?”he asks, sounding envious of my LA address for the first time all day.
“In LA?”I agree.“No.But in Palmdale, where I grew up?Hell yeah.”
“Really?”he marvels, sliding burgers and franks off the grill and onto a plate next to a stack of buns and assorted condiments.“But California is so progressive about those things, right?”
“Parts of it,” I harumph, remembering my misspent youth, ducking and weaving as I tried to explore my sexuality in my scruffy little hometown before finally just giving up.That is, until I met Pierre.Fucking douche.“But most parts?Yeah, no, might as well be, well...”
“Kentucky?”he teases, closing the grill as the smell of sizzling charcoal wars with the fragrant pines from all around.“I get it.”
“So maybe we’re not so different after all, huh?”I offer.
He pours the wine.Hands me a glass.Clinks mine with his before offering a short but heavy toast.“Here’s to finding out,” he says quietly before taking a sip.I follow suit, marveling at the buttery notes and oaky tones of the grocery store wine.
“Nice,” I murmur approvingly.
He rolls his eyes.“Wedodrink wine down here.”
“You know,” I counter, inching closer as he starts to make a plate with his free hand.“Not everything I say is a dig.You ...you know that, right?”
“I do,” he says, offering me a plate with a hamburger and a hot dog on top.“And I don’t.”
“Well, it isn’t,” I insist, piling on a few rippled chips and pickle spears for good measure.“So maybe ...lighten up?”
He nods, smiling.“I’m trying,” he insists, making a plate for himself before nodding to the patio set as we sink into opposing deck chairs.“This is pretty new for me.”
“You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“Fuck no!”He chuckles, setting his wine down on a nearby table.“I just meant ...it’s not so easy to find like-minded fellas in these parts, you know?”
I nibble a chip, starving but also ...wanting a nice, flat belly if something’s going to happen later.“I could see that.”
