On the Dotted Line

1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the
publisher.

On the Dotted Line
TOP SHELF
An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers
PO Box 2545
Round Rock, TX 78680
Copyright 2012 by Alexa Snow
Cover illustration by Alessia Brio
Published with permission
ISBN: 978-1-61040-688-8
www.torquerepress.com
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this
book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as
provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address
Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.
First Torquere Press Printing: March 2012
Printed in the USA

On the Dotted Line

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Dedicated to Jane Davitt, an amazing writing partner

and an even better friend. This story would have been

abandoned without her encouragement.

On the Dotted Line

3

Chapter 1

The phone rang in the middle of the night. Well,

okay, it wasn't exactly the middle of the night, more like
just after midnight, but Paul had been sleeping so deeply
that he could barely fumble his arm out to pick it up. His
hand, half numb, knocked the phone to the floor, and it
rang again while he leaned down to get it.

"Yeah?" he said. "Hello?"
"Paul, it's me," James said. "Listen, there's something

wrong with Gabby. We called the pediatrician's office,
and they said to take her to the emergency room."

Heart pounding, Paul shoved back the covers and

looked around for his pants. Where the hell were they?
"Okay. Okay, do you want me to meet you there? Or
should I come pick you all up?"

"No, we're leaving now," James said. "Saint Mary's."
Paul found his pants on the floor and sat on the end

of the bed, pulling them on, the phone tucked between
his ear and shoulder. "Okay. I'll be there as soon as I
can."

It felt like it took too long to put on his shoes and

grab his wallet and keys, and he had to pray under his
breath that his piece of junk car, which was pretty much
held together with twine at this point, would start. It did,
thank God, on the second try, and he roared out of his
parking space so fast that he thought he probably left
half his tires on the blacktop.

At least there wasn't much traffic at this time of

night; he only passed two other cars on his way across
town to Saint Mary's Hospital, which was the closest
ER, and he didn't have any trouble finding a parking
space near the building. He ran inside, almost crashing

into the automatic doors when they didn't open fast
enough, and looked around wildly.

"Gabby Price," he gasped to the woman behind the

desk. "Gabrielle. She's... she's a baby, she came in with
her parents. She's my -- my friends wanted me to come.
Is she here?"

On the Dotted Line

4

"She's here," the woman said, nodding. "They said

you were coming. She's back in exam room 2. Third
door on the left."

"Thank you." Paul managed not to run, but he still

burst into the room with a little too much fervor. The
door banged into the wall and James and Alison both
jumped. "Sorry. Sorry. Is she okay?"

"We don't know," Alison said, turning so he could

see the baby in her arms. "We're still waiting."

Gabby was wearing a short, pink-and-yellow-striped

pair of cotton pajamas over her diaper. She looked
maybe a little paler than Paul was used to seeing her, but
the bright fluorescent lights might have had something
to do with that. She kicked her legs and blinked, then
gurgled softly.

"She looks okay to me," Paul said, reaching out to

touch her.

"She's only had one wet diaper since this morning,"

Alison said. "And she seems, I don't know, like
something's not right. I thought maybe she was getting
dehydrated? I wasn't too freaked out until she woke up
crying and wouldn't stop. She kept trying to nurse, then
pulling away and crying more, so I had James call the
pediatrician's twenty-four hour service and they said to
bring her in."

"Always better to be safe than sorry with babies," a

male voice said, and Paul turned to see a doctor in a
white coat coming through the doorway. "She's probably
fine, but newborns can go south awfully fast. It's a good
idea to follow your instincts if you think something's
wrong. I'm Doctor Fraser."

"I'm Alison. This is my husband James, and this is

our friend Paul, and this is Gabby. Gabrielle." Alison

shifted Gabby in her arms so that the doctor could see
her more clearly.

One of those little pen lights appeared in the doctor's

hand as if from nowhere. Was the guy a magician in his
spare time? He shined it into Gabby's eyes, watching her
reaction. "Well, hello there, little lady. Gabrielle, that's

On the Dotted Line

5

quite a name for such a small girl. Xena fans?" He
glanced up at the rest of them, grinning.

"Actually, yes," Alison said.
Doctor Fraser -- whose first name started with a C

according to his name tag -- looked into Gabby's eyes
again, then pulled on a pair of gloves and stuck a finger
into Gabby's mouth. She looked startled, but didn't cry.
"She's not dehydrated on any significant level, but you
told the nurse she hasn't been urinating?"

"Not since early this morning," Alison told him. Her

face clearly communicated the fact that she was
exhausted and worried.

"Hm. Well." Dr. Fraser frowned and gestured at the

exam bed. "Can I get you to lie her down for a minute?"

"Of course." Alison moved over and laid Gabby

down, keeping one hand on her stomach protectively,

not that there was much chance of Gabby rolling off the
bed -- that wasn't a skill she'd mastered yet.

"I'm just going to feel her abdomen," Dr. Fraser said,

and Alison pulled her hand back and let him. Gabby
again looked surprised as he pressed his thumbs into her
belly. She gave a tentative, half-hearted sort of cry, just
testing it out to see how the adults around her would
react, Paul thought, but gave it up when Dr. Fraser
stopped. "Everything seems fine there. Are you sure she
hasn't urinated? These disposable diapers are awfully
absorbent. Sometimes it can be hard to tell."

"I don't think she has," James said. "We've been

checking." He looked worried, and Paul's stomach
clenched; stepping closer, Paul put a supportive hand on
James' lower back, and James gave him a grateful
glance.

"I'll just take a quick look." Dr. Fraser seemed to tell

them everything he was going to do before he did it;
Paul wondered if he did that with adult patients, too, or
just when worried parents were hovering. He unsnapped
Gabby's outfit at the legs, eased the tape off the sides of
the diaper, and pulled it down to reveal a pale yellow
stain on the inside. "Well."

On the Dotted Line

6

There was a moment's silence while they all took in

the facts, then Alison, face flushed, said weakly, "I
guess she was saving it up?"

Dr. Fraser smiled. "As you can see, it's not a dark

color, which would indicate dehydration. Sometimes
babies surprise you."

"I can't believe we brought her in for nothing," James

said, in an apologetic tone of voice that Paul knew
meant he hadn't really thought it was nothing.

"No worries," Dr. Fraser said. Now that Paul wasn't

all caught up in the worry, he could take the time to see
how good-looking the doctor was -- dark hair, sharp,
brown eyes and a wide, crooked mouth. "It happens
more often than you'd think, and, like I said before,
better safe than sorry."

"Well, thank you." Alison sounded relieved, and she

was smiling now. "Thank you so much."

"Just keep nursing her. Sometimes people will tell

you that you shouldn't offer every time she fusses, but
the reality is, that's what they need at this age. You can't
spoil a baby this young." Dr. Fraser finished making
some notes and looked up. "Go get some sleep."

"We will," James said. "Thanks."
While Alison and James set to work putting a clean

diaper on Gabby, Paul followed the doctor out into the
hallway and stopped him with a hand on his elbow.
"Hey. I just wanted to say thanks, too. We were really
worried, and you were great."

Dr. Fraser blinked and then smiled at him, that same

broad smile that revealed his straight, white teeth.
"You're welcome. It's stressful, being new parents. Are

you the uncle?"

"No, I'm the... um." It didn't seem right to say

'biological father,' even though that wasn't inaccurate, so
he went with, "Sperm donor. Paul." He offered his hand,
and Dr. Fraser shook it.

"Cameron," he said. "You must be close, if they

called you."

"We are. James and I have been friends since high

school. We met Alison in college; they got married

On the Dotted Line

7

about five years ago. They started trying for a baby right
away, but... it didn't work out, so I... well, I offered."
Paul still felt a sense of disbelief every time he
remembered that Gabrielle was actually, sort of, his --
he'd never even imagined he'd have any kids.

"That must have taken a lot of thought on your part,"

Cameron said.

"Not really. I wanted them to be happy." That part of

it was simple, at least.

Cameron was looking at him like he was something

fascinating. "You're a nice guy."

"Oh God," Paul groaned. "There's a death sentence. A

'nice guy'? Seriously?"

"It's not a death sentence," Cameron protested,

smiling. He seemed to do that a lot. "It's a good thing.
To me, at least. Don't tell me you deliberately surround

yourself with people who aren't nice?"

"Well, no, but still. When you say it like that..."
"When I say it like that, it's a compliment," Cameron

said. "Take it as one."

"One deserves another, right?" Paul asked. "I like

your shoes. Bally?"

"Yeah." Cameron sounded surprised. "I'm... pretty

sure you're the first person who's ever commented on
my choice of footwear."

Paul blushed, something he didn't do often. Or, okay,

ever. "Um. I work at Aegis -- that menswear shop on

North Jefferson? -- so it's kind of a thing with me."

A nurse down the hallway called, "Dr. Fraser? Are

you free?"

"Yeah, Trish. I'll be right there." Cameron seemed

reluctant to leave, which was kind of funny, because
with the way Paul was staring at him, he'd have thought
the guy would be anxious to get the hell out of there.
"Well. I'd better go."

"Uh-huh." Paul glanced back into the room, where

Alison and James had finished changing Gabby's diaper
and gotten her dressed again. "Well, um. It was nice
meeting you. And thanks." He forced himself to turn,
working under the theory that it was always better to be

On the Dotted Line

8

the first one to leave, but Cameron reached out and
stopped him, hand on his arm.

"Wait. Uh... I might be totally out of line here, but...

would you have any interest in getting a couple of drinks
sometime?"

"Not out of line," Paul assured him. "Yeah, I'd like

to."

"Okay. Cool. Here." Cameron fumbled a card out of

his pocket and shoved it into Paul's hand with an
eagerness that was flattering. "Call me."

Oh, great. Paul hated when he was supposed to be the

one doing the calling, but Cameron was already lifting a
hand in a casual wave as he walked off down the
hallway, and it wasn't like Paul could go chasing after
the guy -- it was a hospital, for God's sake. He sighed,
put the card into the front pocket of his jeans, and re-

joined James and Alison.

"Did you just pick up the ER doctor?" Alison asked

with a teasing smile.

"I think he picked me up." Paul was still pretty

surprised about it, and he knew it showed on his face,
just like everything did. "Home again, home again?"

"Jiggity jig," James agreed.
Paul walked them out to their car, which was about a

hundred times nicer than his, and watched as Alison

strapped Gabby into her car seat.

"Hey," James said, slinging an arm around his neck

in an unexpected hug. "Thanks for coming. Sorry we
were just overreacting."

"Nah, don't worry about it." Paul took advantage of

the embrace and put his arms around James, tugging him
in a little closer and inhaling the scent of him
surreptitiously. He hung on a few seconds longer than he
should have, then forced himself to let go so he could
hug Alison, too. "Go home, get some sleep."

"We will. You, too. You want us to follow you

back?" Alison asked. It was a nice offer -- he was pretty
sure Alison suspected how close his car was at any
given moment to complete failure -- but he shook his
head.

On the Dotted Line

9

"I'm good."
He was hard when he got behind the wheel, his dick

responding to the contact with James even though his
head knew -- had been reminded again and again -- that
James was off-limits. Not to mention completely
uninterested. Paul wasn't even sure which one was more
important, the fact that James was the straightest guy on
the planet or that he was married to one of Paul's best
friends.

Luckily, he was exhausted enough that his erection

had subsided by the time he got home, so all he had to
do was walk up the four flights of stairs to his crummy
little studio apartment, unlock the door, kick off his
shoes, and collapse into bed.

On the Dotted Line

10

Chapter 2

Paul stumbled into work the next morning only five

minutes late, even though he'd hit the snooze button
twice and then discovered that his car wouldn't start. He
only lived about a mile from work, so he'd half walked,
half run there. Being late meant that he didn't have time
to wrestle a cup of coffee out of the machine in the
lunch room, and by lunchtime he could barely keep his
eyes open and there was a headache nagging at him,
throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bastian -- his name was really

Sebastian, but he didn't like Seb as a nickname so he'd
settled firmly on Bastian at the age of twelve and
refused to respond to anyone who didn't use it -- asked
finally.

"Mm. Late night." The store was deader than an

actual dead thing.

"Oh yeah? Anything good?" Bastian blinked at him

hopefully. It wasn't a new look; he'd been flirting with
Paul for more than two years, once Paul had let slip that
he was gay.

He wasn't about to go into the whole Gabrielle thing.

It wasn't something anyone knew about, and he intended
to keep it that way as long as he could. It was one of
those situations that he knew people would ask dozens
of questions about, and he wasn't ready to answer them.
"Not really. I just couldn't sleep."

That must have sounded like an invitation to Bastian.

"Aw, poor thing. Next time that happens, you just give

me a call and I'll come right over. I know how to tire
you out."

"I'll keep that in mind." Paul tried to be nice to

Bastian, because he knew the guy meant well, and was
pretty sure that underneath the persona Bastian was just
lonely. Like Paul, he didn't have a family.

The day felt long; Paul forgot that he was down to the

end of his clean laundry, which was pretty limited to
begin with, until he got home. The laundromat was five
blocks away, and he didn't have the energy to fight with

On the Dotted Line

11

his car, so he had to walk. The laundry basket was
heavy. He felt self-conscious walking along the
sidewalk carrying it, aware that the worn jeans he'd put
on were a little too threadbare to be decent.

He been broke so long that it felt normal. He'd grown

up with plenty of money -- maybe not a lot, but enough
that he'd never really wanted for anything. It hadn't been
until his senior year of college, when his parents had
been in an accident that had, eventually, killed them
both, that he'd learned what it was like to have to do
without.

Digging into the one pocket without a hole in it, Paul

plugged the quarters he'd been hoarding into the
washing machines and started them up. He was almost
out of detergent. He didn't really have enough for two
loads, so he'd have to split what he had between the two

and hope the stuff got clean enough. He layered the
clothes into the machines carefully, darks in one and
lights in the other. Even with the discount he got at the
store, keeping himself in clothes was a challenge; he
couldn't afford to let a black sock slip in with the whites.

A girl who might have been fifteen or sixteen inched

toward him tentatively. "Hi," she said. "Um, do you
have any extra money? I don't have enough for the
dryer."

He had two extra quarters in his pocket, but he knew

they meant the difference between him being able to do
laundry next time or being reduced to hand-washing

stuff in the bathtub that wasn't big enough to take a bath
in. "No, sorry," he said. "I only brought enough for what
I'm doing." He felt guilty, though, when she moved
away to ask someone else.

It wasn't until he went to move the light load to the

dryer that he discovered the wadded-up business card
Dr. Fraser had given him the night before. It was
practically glued together; he tucked it into his hand,
protected by his thumb, and finished putting the dryable
stuff into the dryer, then sat down to carefully pry it
open. Luckily, he could still read it.

On the Dotted Line

12

Paul took out his cell phone -- hopefully he had

enough minutes left, it had been a while since he'd
added any -- and input Cameron's number into the
memory. He threw away the card, then sat and indulged
in some pleasant daydreams about a possible first date
while he waited for his clothes to dry. The date included,
of course, dinner at a nice restaurant, where Cameron
urged him to order whatever he wanted, plus dessert.

At home again, he hung up his dress shirts, which

had been carefully removed from the dryer while still
damp. One of them was starting to look a little
threadbare and would probably have to be replaced in
the next few months, an expense he couldn't afford. He'd
have to, though. He'd keep an eye out at work for any
shirts that were imperfect or had been returned; maybe
he'd come across one that would be okay.

His stomach growled loudly. The dinner-date

daydream had distracted him from the fact that he'd only
had an apple for breakfast and no lunch at all, but now
his body was rebelling, and his hands shook as he made
up his dinner, which consisted of a packet of beef-
flavored ramen noodles with a handful of frozen peas
thrown in. His mother had drilled the importance of
green vegetables into him when he was just a kid, and
even now it didn't feel right not to have something green
along with his meal, even if it was just some peas or
green beans.

Paul ate the noodles quickly as soon as they were

cooked, then licked the bottom of the bowl. It wasn't
enough food, but he'd found that something like ramen
or soup gave him the sensation of a full stomach, for a
little while, at least. The next night he'd get a big dinner,
because he was babysitting for James and Alison while

they went out to a movie, and Alison always left
something good for him. He could hold out until then.
Plus it was payday, and he could go to the grocery store
on Saturday. And figure out what to do about his car,
but he was trying to avoid thinking about that for now.

He took a quick shower -- the hot water could be iffy

in the evenings and there was nothing he hated more

On the Dotted Line

13

than being suddenly surprised by the spray turning cold
-- and went to bed, cell phone in hand. He couldn't
decide whether to call Cameron or not. While he was
still thinking it over, the phone rang. He dropped it, then
picked it up and flipped it open.

"Hello?"
"Hey," Alison's voice said. "So, did he call?"
"No. I didn't give him my number." Paul slid down in

the bed, covers riding up to his armpits. "How's Gabby?"

"Fine. Totally normal. I can't believe we took her into

the emergency room in the middle of the night for
nothing." Alison didn't really sound embarrassed,
though. "Do you have his number?"

"Yes."
"Well, are you going to call him?" It was kind of

sweet how Alison wanted him to find someone.

"I don't know."
"Paul!" Alison sounded scandalized. "You have to

call him! He was so nice. And a doctor."

"That doesn't mean he'd make a good boyfriend,"

Paul pointed out.

"It can't hurt," Alison said. "Call him. Seriously. So

hey, are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, of course." It seemed weird to say that he was

counting on it, but he didn't really want them to know
how much he looked forward to spending a couple of
hours at a house that actually had food in it, so he
focused on the time-with-Gabby aspect. He really did

love hanging out with her. "What time do you want me
there? Oh, shit." He'd just remembered his non-working
car.

"What?"
God, he hated to have to admit that he didn't have the

money to get the car looked at. "Um, my car's in the
shop. I don't know if it'll be ready by tomorrow.
Something about the starter? I don't know." He was sure
Alison knew even less about cars than he did, so that
ought to be safe enough.

"Oh. Well, James can pick you up on his way home

from work. Is a little after six okay?"

On the Dotted Line

14

"Uh-huh." He wouldn't be able to stop at the bank,

but he wouldn't need money anyway if all he was doing
was babysitting. "Tell him I'll wait out front."

"Okay. Thanks, Paul. We really appreciate that you're

willing to watch her sometimes so we can have a couple
of hours on our own."

"Are you kidding? I love spending time with her."
Alison yawned. "Mm, sorry. I'm still recovering from

last night. Did you manage to get any sleep after you got
home?"

"Some. I was thinking about going to bed now,

actually." Which was kind of a funny thing to say,
considering he was already in bed.

"Oh good, you do that. But first, call him."
"Okay, okay. I will. I promise."
"Good," Alison said. In the background, Gabby was

fussing. "Oh, there she goes. Okay, I'll see you
tomorrow night."

They hung up, and immediately Paul started

reconsidering his promise. Maybe he was almost out of
minutes anyway and the phone would cut off in the
middle of his conversation with Cameron, and then
Cameron would think he'd hung up on him, and that
would be the end of any potential anything between
them. Really, he'd be doing the right thing by not
calling, given the circumstances.

But he'd promised, and one of the last things he

wanted to do was break a promise to Alison. So he

closed his eyes, took half a dozen slow, deep breaths in
an attempt to get his heart to stop racing like he was
about to jump into shark-infested waters, and called.

The phone rang six times, and he was on the verge of

either throwing up or hanging up when the other end of
the line clicked. "'Lo?" It could have been Cameron.

"Hi," Paul said, his voice quavering. "Cameron?"
"Yeah?" Cameron sounded like he was on drugs.
Paul felt like the biggest idiot in the world. "Um, hi.

This is Paul. We, um, met the other night. At the ER?"
God, was it stupid to call it that? Like he was trying to
be cool or something?

On the Dotted Line

15

"Hang on a second." There was silence just long

enough that he considered hanging up again, then
Cameron was back, sounding a lot less out of it. "Hey,
Paul. Sorry, I've been working nights and I was just
trying to catch a nap before I had to go back in."

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry. I can call another time, okay?

Just tell me when, so I don't fuck up again." Shit, had he
actually just said that?

Cameron laughed. "No, seriously, it's fine. You didn't

know. I had to get up in twenty minutes anyway, so it's
good. I'm better off not driving half-asleep."

"You think?" Paul rested his arm over his eyes. "Um,

anyway. Hi."

"Hi," Cameron said. "So how was your day?"
Paul ticked off the things that had gone wrong in his

head. Overslept, car wouldn't start, late to work, had to

do laundry instead of relaxing at home... "Good," he
said. "How was yours?"

"Okay. I got off work this morning, then I came

home and crashed for a few hours. Then I did some
errands and mopped the kitchen floor. I'll bet you never
knew a doctor's life was so glamorous."

"No kidding! I thought doctors' houses cleaned

themselves. You know, like in The Jetsons." Paul
averted his eyes from the ceiling above his bed, which
was covered with brownish water stains.

"They had a robot maid," Cameron pointed out.
"Oh, right. Rosie. What was up with that? I mean, I

thought robots were supposed to have names like
Mechanismo and Voltron."

"Ah, but then there's Bender," Cameron said. "I think

when it comes to robots, all name bets are off."

Paul smiled. "Wait, we're betting? I didn't agree to

that."

"Well, if you agree to it, I have less chance of

winning by means of stealth and trickery."

"No, because if I don't agree to it, then we're not

betting, so you can't win or lose." Paul could hear
Cameron moving around on the other end of the line.
"Hey, if you need to go so you can get ready for work..."

On the Dotted Line

16

"Are you kidding?" Cameron said. "I'd rather talk to

you. Besides, I can get ready at the same time."

"Okay." Only now Paul was out of stuff to say.

"Um..."

"So are you free tomorrow night? We could go out

for drinks or something, if you wanted to. If you're not --
free, I mean -- that's cool, only I'd like to see you again
and my work schedule can be kind of screwed up. I have
tomorrow night off, and then I switch to days for a
while. But the first few of those I'll only be half awake,
since I'm used to sleeping during the day now, so --"

"Yes," Paul said. "Um, yes, I'm free, and I'd like to go

out. Oh, shit." He'd forgotten all about Gabby. "God, no,
I have to babysit. I'm watching Gabby so my friends can
go out to the movies. Maybe after? If it's not too late."

"Sure. I'm used to late nights anyway. Can I pick you

up?"

Oh, good, that would solve the no-car problem, not

that it would have been a surprise if Cameron had
assumed he didn't even have a car. Plenty of people in
the city didn't. "That'd be great. Do you think you could
swing by their place?"

"Of course. Just give me their address. Is this your

cell you're on?"

"Yeah. Okay, do you have a pen?"
Cameron laughed. "See, that's how I know you've

never been to my place, or you wouldn't ask that
question. I have a lot of pens. It's kind of a thing with
me. Okay, lay it on me."

Paul recited James and Alison's address dutifully.

"Their movie starts at seven something, so they'll

probably be back by nine thirty or ten. Should I call you
when they get back?"

"If you want," Cameron said agreeably. "Or I'll just

plan to be there around ten, if I don't hear from you
before then?"

"That sounds good."
It sounded great, actually, and it was putting Paul in a

mood he hadn't been in for a long time, one where he

On the Dotted Line

17

was hopeful that he might have met someone he'd
clicked with. He hung up the phone feeling almost good.

On the Dotted Line

18

Chapter 3

Paul woke up immediately when the alarm went off

and for once felt no need to hit the snooze button. He
took a quick shower and found himself wondering what
Cameron would think of his apartment. Although Paul
was fairly good about cleaning, the building was years
past due for renovations. The tub and toilet were a
strange shade of blue-gray, and the sink was yellow and
surrounded by what had to be the cheapest and ugliest
countertop in existence. The grout near the end of the
tub was crumbling, so Paul was careful to keep the
shower curtain pulled to minimize any water that would
come in contact with it. He had weird nightmares
sometimes about the supports weakening and the tub
falling through to the floor below and taking him along

for the ride.

His blue towel -- he had two towels, one blue and one

green -- was practically see-through, it was so worn. He
kept meaning to pick up a new one, but there always
seemed to be other things that were more important.
Sooner or later he'd be drying his hair and the thing
would just fall apart in his hands.

There wasn't much for breakfast. He smeared a layer

of peanut butter on a piece of cheap white bread and
smushed a second slice on top. He ate his sandwich
standing at the window, careful not to get anything on
his shirt, then put on his work shoes and checked his
reflection in the bathroom mirror. He was too skinny, a
combination of not enough to eat and the fact that his
metabolism was super fast; he could remember when
he'd been able to eat two large pizzas by himself and
suspected that time wasn't yet gone. Not that he was
likely to have the opportunity.

He was definitely looking forward to going out with

Cameron tonight, though. Looking forward to, terrified

of. Both. Thinking about being alone with Cameron
made his stomach do little flip-flops.

"Hey," Bastian said when Paul got to work. "Well,

you're looking nice."

On the Dotted Line

19

Paul was wearing the same clothes he always wore.

"I am?"

"Mmmhmm." Bastian lifted an eyebrow and studied

him. "You have a secret."

"What makes you say that?"
"Ha! I knew it! What, don't look at me like that, I get

things right occasionally." Bastion looked offended, and
Paul didn't know him well enough to be sure it was put
on or for real.

"Wait, what? I don't know what's happening here."
Bastian paused, then gestured at Paul's throat. "Your

tie is -- can I fix it?" He stepped closer, and Paul lifted
his chin. This felt weird. "You met someone," Bastian
guessed, adjusting Paul's tie.

"Yes." Paul swallowed.
Stepping back, Bastian surveyed him. "Much better.

Is he nice?"

"Yeah. He's really nice."
"Handsome?"
"Very."
"Employed?"
Paul laughed. "Yes. He's a doctor."
"Oh, a doctor. Good for you, boy." Bastian fluttered

his eyelids and patted Paul's shoulder. "Don't let him get
away."

"Wouldn't that require actually having him first?"

Paul wasn't sure how he felt about this conversation,
maybe a mix of pleased and embarrassed. "We haven't

even gone out yet. He might not like me. I might not like
him."

"If he's a doctor, you just better set your mind on

learning to like him." Bastian rolled his eyes. "No,
honey, don't listen to me. You do whatever's right for
you. It's not like I've got my life all figured out. Besides,
if things don't work out with this doctor, that means I'll
be able to make my move." He smoothed the front of
Paul's shirt over his chest lingeringly.

"You're such a flirt," Paul told him, and Bastian

sighed.

On the Dotted Line

20

"Don't I know it. Too bad it never gets me anywhere.

Oh, did you see these new Hugo Boss shirts? They're
fantastic." Bastian was off into another of his fashion-
related spins, which Paul soaked up and committed to
memory, because even if he didn't love his job, he was
determined to be good at it.

Besides, listening to Bastian was better than worrying

about how his date with Cameron might go.

***

It was twenty minutes after six when James pulled up

in front of Aegis to pick Paul up. He lifted a hand in
greeting to Paul, who'd been leaning against the brick
exterior of the building. "Hey, how's it going?" James
asked as Paul got in.

"Are you kidding? It's Friday, and I cashed my

paycheck." Paul could feel himself grinning widely. He
hadn't anticipated being able to get out of work and to
the bank on his break, but time had worked in his favor
and he was feeling good about his day.

"Sorry I wasn't earlier," James said. "We took a client

out for a couple of drinks after we finished signing
papers, and it was kind of hard to get away."

"I wondered." Paul clipped the lap belt and leaned

back as they pulled away from the curb.

"Why I was late?"
"No, why you smelled like cigarette smoke. You

reek."

"Thanks." James grimaced. He'd quit smoking when

Alison had found out she was pregnant, on her

insistence, and he'd complained to Paul about missing it
dozens of times since.

"I didn't know there was anywhere left you could

smoke. Isn't it banned?" Paul had never taken up the
habit, not even during his college years when he'd spent
more than his fair share of time in bars and clubs and it
had seemed like everyone around him was lighting up.

"Yeah, mostly, but there are still a few places with

patios. They can't ban you from smoking outside."

On the Dotted Line

21

James grinned at him. "Well, sooner or later they
might."

"Good thing you quit. It must make business stuff

like that a lot easier to deal with."

James made a non-committal sound and stepped on

the gas as the light in front of them turned green. "So
your car's in the shop again?"

"Yeah." It was only a little lie, Paul told himself,

because it would be in the shop once he figured out how
to pay for the repairs. Maybe he could get a new credit
card. "Something about the starter, I don't know."

"You know I can look at it if you want me to."
"Nah, that's okay. Thanks, though." James thought he

knew a lot more about how cars worked than he actually
did, and the one time he'd replaced the brake pads on
Paul's car, an actual mechanic had had to re-do the job

three days later, so Paul wasn't being difficult by
refusing.

Alison met them at the front door, a drooling,

unhappy-looking Gabby in her arms. "Oh good," Alison
said, thrusting the baby at James, who handed off his
briefcase to Paul. "She's been miserable today. I think
she's teething again." The baby had two teeth already,
the front bottom ones, but there were still many more to
come. "Maybe we should stay home."

"No," Paul said. "You should go. She'll be okay." He

took the whimpering Gabby from James and jiggled her
up and down expertly. She made one more little pitiful
sound, then something that sounded suspiciously like a
giggle. "There, see?"

"You're a godsend. Seriously." Alison leaned in and

kissed his cheek. "That frozen teething ring thing is in
the ice tray in the freezer. I'm just going to run up and
change."

"We're going to a movie! You don't need to change!"

James called after her as she ran up the stairs, then
shook his head. "Women."

"Don't look at me," Paul said. He'd known he was

gay since his sophomore year of high school, when he'd
realized that he was in love with his best friend.

On the Dotted Line

22

Unfortunately, James had been madly in love with a
blonde, blue eyed cheerleader who liked to wear short
skirts and shiny, pink lip gloss. Fortunately, Paul had
managed to hide his feelings for James successfully all
through high school and college, and he'd closed the
door on the possibility of things ever being different the
night before James and Alison's wedding.

That was what he told himself, at least.
Alison was back within five minutes, looking

basically the same as she had before she'd gone upstairs,
although Paul knew better than to say so. "There's a
plate for you in the fridge," she said, tilting her head to
the side as she slipped an earring in. "Pot roast from last
night, with roasted potatoes. And green beans. And
there's ice cream in the freezer. If you love me, you'll eat
it and save my thighs from the unsightly addition."

"Um," Paul said.
She eyed him suspiciously. "Don't tell me it's too

late."

He joggled Gabby onto his other shoulder and shook

his head. "God, no. How stupid do you think I am?"
Alison smacked his arm -- not hard enough to hurt --
and stuck her tongue out at him. "No, I just... I don't
need a ride home, after."

"Is someone picking you up?" Alison had already

moved to the counter and was looking through her
purse. She paused as if she'd only just realized what
she'd asked. "Wait, someone's picking you up? You

have a date!"

"Not a date," Paul said, although really it was hard to

think of it as anything else. "We're just going out for
drinks."

"And in what universe is that not a date?" Alison

grinned at James as he joined them in the front hall.
"Paul has a date!"

"It's not a date," Paul said.
"Good," James said approvingly. "I never get why

you don't date more. There have to be thousands of
available guys in the city."

On the Dotted Line

23

"It's with that doctor from the emergency room, isn't

it," Alison asked. "Fraser, right? What's his first name?"

"Cameron," Paul said, feeling helpless. "And it's just

drinks."

"Drinks are a date if he's paying," Alison said, and

glanced at her watch. "Oh my God, we're late. Did I
forget anything? Um, the expressed milk is in the fridge
--"

"Just like always, and I know where the diapers are,

and I have your cell phone numbers," Paul said, because
they'd done this plenty of times before. "We'll be fine,
and you'll be back in less than three hours, so just go.
Have a good time."

"We will," Alison said, kissing his cheek. "Thanks."

She kissed Gabby, too, and Paul stood in the doorway
and lifted Gabby's hand in a wave as they got into the

car.

Gabby's bedtime was eight o'clock, so Paul had to get

in as much baby snuggle-time in less than an hour as he
could. He read her a couple of board books -- she just
sat there kicking her feet -- and then got down on the
floor with her and made silly faces to try to get her to
laugh. Fifteen minutes before eight, he warmed the
bottle of expressed milk Alison had left and took it
upstairs with them. He changed Gabby's diaper and put
her into her fuzzy, green sleeper. Sitting in the gliding
rocking chair, he fed her from the bottle. At first, her
little mouth worked determinedly at the nipple, but then
her eyes started to drift closed, and her mouth became
lax.

When she was asleep, he eased her down into her

crib, being sure that she was on her back like the books
said. He turned on the baby monitor and crept
downstairs.

The smell of meat and gravy filled the kitchen as he

microwaved the plate of food Alison had left for him.

His stomach contracted painfully, and he had to force
himself to wait until the timer beeped. Then he sat at the
small kitchen table and shoveled it in, big bites of potato
and tender beef and gravy. He saved the green beans for

On the Dotted Line

24

last, eating them one at a time. They weren't as good
microwaved as they must have been the night before,
but they still tasted incredible to him.

He couldn't even think about the ice cream, which

was crazy considering that afternoon he'd been so
hungry the leather belts at Aegis had started looking
good, but his stomach felt stretched. Paul sat in the
living room and watched TV for a while; he'd had to
disconnect his cable almost a year ago, so being able to
surf the channels felt like a rare luxury.

At one point, Gabby cried a little bit, but when he ran

upstairs to check on her, she was asleep. She'd rolled
over onto her belly and gotten her knees under her, so
her padded bottom was sticking up in the air. Even
though he didn't want to wake her up, Paul couldn't
resist rubbing her back gently. "I love you," he

whispered.

She was the only person he'd said that to in years.
James and Alison got home a little before ten. "How

was it?" Paul asked, as he stepped back so they could
come inside.

"It was good," Alison said. "Did she go down okay?"

James helped her out of her coat and hung it up.

"Fine." There was the sound of a car pulling into the

driveway, and Paul's heart skipped a beat. Somehow,
he'd managed not to think too much about his rapidly-

approaching not-date, but now Cameron was right
outside and he hadn't so much as glanced at himself in a
mirror and, okay, he was starting to hyperventilate a
little bit.

"Is that him? Good timing." Alison approved. "Paul?

Are you okay?"

"Yes," Paul squeaked. He took a deep breath and let

it out slowly. "Okay. I'm just a little nervous."

"Don't be," Alison said. "You'll have fun. Right,

honey?"

"Right," James said, rolling his eyes. He clapped Paul

on the shoulder in support. "Thanks, guy."

"You're welcome." Paul turned to Alison,

straightening his shirt. "Do I look okay?"

On the Dotted Line

25

She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair,

which was probably in need of a cut. It was a good thing
he looked better with it long than short. "You look
great," she said. "Go on. And call me." And, good friend
that she was, she shoved him out onto the front porch
and shut the door behind him.

Cameron was just getting out of his car; he stopped

as Paul came down the steps. "Hi. I guess I'm not too
early?" He gestured at James' car.

"No, they just got home. Um..."
"What?" Cameron smiled tentatively, like he wasn't

sure if he should. "Don't tell me you changed your
mind?"

"No! God, no. I'm just... well. Nervous. I... don't date

a lot." God! He'd called it a date, which was the one
thing he'd been trying to deny it was. "Um, or go out for

drinks. You know."

Cameron came around the driver's side door without

closing it. "It's a date. I thought it was, anyway, when I
asked you. I just thought -- it's less pressure, to start out
with drinks. In case you decide you can't stand me once
my many character flaws start revealing themselves."

"Or if you do." Paul couldn't take his eyes off

Cameron. He had one of those perfectly masculine
faces, with a strong jaw that went along with the
straight, white teeth that showed every time he smiled.
Which he was doing now.

"You want to go? I was thinking about the Black

Rose. Have you been there? They've got food and stuff,

and it's not too loud."

Paul blinked, forcing himself to actually listen to

what that incredibly appealing mouth was saying. "Sure,
that sounds good."

"Cool." Cameron walked around the front of the car

and opened the passenger side door for Paul, who was
so shocked at this turn of events that he wasn't sure what
to do. "Hasn't anyone ever held a door for you?"

"Um. Not exactly." He walked toward Cameron, who

turned toward him, not getting out of his way, and
stopped when they were face to face.

On the Dotted Line

26

"This is a date," Cameron said softly. "I kind of

thought maybe I'd try courting you. If that's okay?"

Paul swallowed and nodded, putting his hand on the

top of the car door. Cameron put his own hand down on
top of it. "Yeah," Paul said. "That's okay."

"Good." Cameron leaned forward and brushed his

lips over Paul's. It was barely a kiss, but it made Paul's
stomach flutter anyway. "Now get in."

"Okay." He was still kind of freaked out, though, as

they pulled out of the driveway and onto the street. His
eyes focused on the dashboard, and a realization slowly
sunk in. "This is a really nice car."

"Thanks. I've had it about six months. My last one

was a hand-me-down from my dad. I mean, I liked it,
but it wasn't really me." Cameron seemed to warm up to
the subject, and the rest of the drive was spent talking

about cars, even though Paul didn't know much about
the subject. "You can drive it if you want, after."
Cameron said, as he maneuvered the car into a spot
along the street. "If you drive?"

"Yeah, I do. My car's in the shop getting a tune-up."

God, why did he do that? Bad enough to lie and say it
was already in the shop. Even worse to pretend it was
anything like this sleek, new car.

He'd managed to set it aside by the time they were

inside. Cameron grabbed a small table near the wall
away from the big screen TV that was playing a Major

League baseball game. "What do you want to drink?"

"A beer? Whatever's on tap." Paul had been a big

drinker for the first couple of years after he'd turned
twenty-one, but these days it just didn't do much for
him, not that he could have afforded it anyway.

"I'll be right back."
Paul watched Cameron walk to the bar and lean over

it to talk to the bartender, a doe-eyed girl who was
wearing a low-cut top and what looked like a very good
push-up bra. Cameron's beautifully cut slacks pulled
tight across his ass, and Paul let himself look as much as
he liked while he could. He was almost disappointed --

On the Dotted Line

27

only for a few seconds, though -- when Cameron turned
and came back to the table with two glasses.

"Here we go." Cameron handed him a glass of beer

and sat down next to him, not across, which was nice.
"I'd suggest we toast to something, but I can never think
of anything that doesn't sound either corny or lame."

"I know what you mean." Paul wasn't convinced

Cameron, who seemed plenty suave to him, was being
entirely truthful, but then, it would have been
hypocritical to complain.

"Anyway, I don't even know your last name,"

Cameron said.

"LeBlanc."
"French?"
"French Canadian. On my paternal grandfather's

side." Paul sipped at his beer, reminding himself that it

wouldn't take much to get him buzzed even though he'd
eaten the biggest meal he'd had in a week just a couple
of hours ago.

Cameron nodded. "So your dad, then. Does he speak

French?"

"No." He hadn't. "Um, he's dead."
"Oh, jeez. I'm so sorry." Cameron obviously wanted

to ask how -- people always wanted to ask, and usually
they did -- so Paul just jumped in with it.

"He and my mom were in a car accident. She was

killed instantly, but he... well. It took longer." Wow,

way to go. This was the best first-date conversation
ever.

"Paul. God. We don't have to talk about it, okay?"

Cameron looked so worried that Paul felt like he should
reassure him.

"It's fine," he said. "It was a few years ago."
Cameron leaned closer and reached for Paul's hand.

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-two," Paul said. "And I was in college. It's

not like I was just a kid or anything."

"Seriously? I wouldn't have guessed you were that

old now."

On the Dotted Line

28

Paul flushed. "I know I look young, but I'm twenty-

six."

"I'm thirty-four," Cameron said, forestalling the

inevitable. He was still holding Paul's hand. "Even
though you weren't a kid, it must have been hard. Losing
both your parents like that. I can't even imagine. What
about brothers and sisters?"

"No, it's just me. What about you? Are you and your

parents close?" Paul asked. He kind of hoped to veer the
conversation away from himself.

"Not really, but we're good. They were so happy I'd

decided on pre-med they hardly cared when I told them I
was gay. And I have a sister; she's five years younger
than me. She lives in New York working for some
fashion photographer."

"Cool. So you like working in the ER? Is it really

lame for me to call it that? It sounds kind of, I don't
know, overly dramatic. Or like I watch too much TV."

"Do you watch too much TV?" Cameron grinned.

"No, it's not lame, and, yes, I like working there." He
launched into some complicated explanation of how he'd
gone from thinking he'd be a pediatrician to ending up in
the ER. Paul listened, rapt, until he discovered his beer
was gone. "You look tired," Cameron said finally.

"Yeah, I guess I am. Still haven't caught up after the

other night."

"How's Gabby? I should have asked earlier."
"She's fine. Teething."
"Poor kid. It seems unfair that it has to be so painful.

Seems like they should be able to get through their first
year without that, you know?"

Paul hadn't ever thought about it that way. "But

there's all kinds of stuff. Shots. Um, circumcision."

"I can honestly say I'm not sorry I don't remember

that," Cameron said. "Do you want another beer? Or I
could get us something to eat?" He reached for one of
the little bar menus that was tucked between the wall
and the napkin holder.

"Sure," Paul said. He wasn't one to turn down free

food, and if he was going to have another drink, it'd be a

On the Dotted Line

29

good idea to have something other than beer in his
stomach.

Cameron was looking at the menu. "Buffalo wings? I

don't know if you like spicy stuff. Mozzarella sticks?"

"I like spicy," Paul said. "I like everything. Well,

except for anchovies and mushrooms."

"You don't like mushrooms?"
"Nope. There's just something about them. I think it's

the texture."

"I'll remember that," Cameron said. "Hang on, I'll be

right back."

They had buffalo wings and mozzarella sticks and

another beer each.

"You really do look tired." Cameron was eying him

thoughtfully. "Not that I'm not having a great time, but
maybe we should call it a night?"

"You'd think you took care of people for a living,"

Paul said, smiling. "Yeah, I guess." He wasn't that tired,
but he was also used to going to bed before now, and he
knew that with the beer he'd probably be crashing in half
an hour, even if he wasn't drunk.

In the car, Cameron gestured up the street. "I live

right up there, on Mason Ave."

"Oh, can I see?" Paul immediately realized how that

sounded. "Um, I mean --"

"Sure," Cameron said. "Don't worry, I won't take that

as a come-on."

"I didn't mean it as one," Paul said. His cheeks were

burning. "I mean, not that I wouldn't. Come on to you."

"Well, that's a relief."
They pulled into the parking garage between two

apartment buildings and rode the elevator up to
Cameron's apartment. He unlocked his door, then
stepped back to let Paul go inside first.

The apartment was nice. It looked like a guy's

apartment. There weren't a lot of pictures on the walls or
knick-knacks sitting around. There were mugs on most
of the flat surfaces Paul could see, though, each one
stuck full of pens. "You weren't kidding," Paul said.

On the Dotted Line

30

"About the pens? No, not so much. Feel free to look

around."

Paul did, with Cameron following him. The kitchen

was small but neat. Actually, that was a pretty accurate
description of the whole apartment, if you were willing
to overlook the whole pen situation. Pausing in the
hallway outside what had to be the bedroom, where
there was a small table holding a lamp and two more
mugs full of pens, Paul ran his fingertip along the rim of
one mug.

"There's probably some joke there," he said. "You

know, about what the pens represent?"

Cameron raised his eyebrows. "Let me show you the

bedroom."

Now that was an invitation; Paul knew it even though

he hadn't had that many of them over the years. Oh, he'd

had a dozen or so partners, sure, but never in the real
sense of the word. They'd mostly been one-night stands,
or on a few occasions two or three night stands. It was a
way to get off, it felt good, but it hadn't ever been
anything more than that.

Somehow, he thought this might be, and it scared the

hell out of him.

They were in the bedroom by then, his eyes already

taking in what there was to see. The bed was made, the
brown comforter pulled up neatly, and there was another
collection of pen-mugs on the bedside table. Cameron

turned him so they were facing each other, one hand on
Paul's hip. In good lighting, up close, Cameron's eyes
were very green.

"Can I kiss you?" Cameron asked.
Paul nodded; his breath caught as Cameron's mouth

met his. It was a slow kiss, like Cameron wanted to take
his time, and when it was over Paul was hard. He licked
his lips -- Cameron's tasted like beer. "Kiss me again?"

Cameron did. Halfway through, he seemed to get

carried away, one hand on Paul's back and the other on
his ass, not that Paul was complaining. God, it felt good
to be touched, to be wanted. "I never do this," Cameron
murmured.

On the Dotted Line

31

"What?" Paul asked. "Kiss people?"
"That, too." Cameron was hard inside his slacks,

pressed up against Paul's own erection. "I don't date. I'm
too busy. And I don't sleep with anyone casually, ever."

Paul pulled back and looked at him. "Ever?

Seriously?"

"I know, I was born in the wrong century." Cameron

sounded faintly embarrassed, but he didn't look away
from Paul's gaze. He kissed Paul again, a little bit
desperately, like he couldn't get enough of him. "Can
this be something more than casual?"

"I don't know," Paul said, moving his mouth to

Cameron's jaw. "Which isn't a no, it's just... I think it
can. I hope it can." Especially if it meant he could get
off, because his dick was incredibly hard and he really,
really wanted to come.

The next thing he knew they were on the bed,

Cameron flat on his back beside Paul with Paul's hand
down his slacks. Cameron's dick was long and slender,
and he groaned into Paul's mouth when Paul's fingers
rubbed against the sensitive spot under the head. They
kissed again and again, until Paul was pretty sure
Cameron's tongue had tasted him as thoroughly as it was
possible to.

"Want to feel you," Cameron murmured.
"I'm not sure what you think you're doing."

Cameron's hand was up underneath Paul's shirt,
thumbnail teasing a nipple.

"I mean naked. Against me."
That sounded good. Paul wriggled out of his clothes

while Cameron did the same, then he felt a wrapped
condom being pressed into his hand.

Cameron grinned. "I'll do yours if you do mine."
Putting a condom on himself was enough of a

challenge. Putting one on someone else was even worse.
He managed. His own erection had softened while he
struggled with Cameron's, but as soon as Cameron
touched him, he got hard again. Cameron's hands were
warm and much bigger than his own.

On the Dotted Line

32

"Can I suck you?" Cameron whispered, and Paul

shivered and nodded.

He couldn't decide if it was awesome or weird, lying

on Cameron's bed with Cameron's lips wrapped around
his cock. Maybe it was both, especially considering
Cameron had said he didn't do this.

He certainly seemed to be doing it, and doing it well,

if the way Paul's toes were curling had anything to say
about it. Not that his toes could talk. If they could have,
they'd probably have been singing an opera -- in his
blissed-out state, it made sense to Paul that his feet
would be a lot more cultured than the rest of him --
because this might well be the best blow job he'd ever
gotten in his life.

Cameron seemed to know just where Paul was most

sensitive, or maybe all guys were most sensitive at that

little ridge right under the head. Either way, it had Paul
gasping and clutching at the covers. "Don't stop. Please."

"I won't," Cameron assured him, licking a line of

warmth along his shaft. "At least, not any time soon."

"Can you -- back where you were…" Paul moaned as

Cameron took him in deep again, lips sliding all the way
down to the base of his shaft where the rolled edge of
the condom was before moving back to the tip of his
erection and teasing that crazy-sensitive spot. "God, yes.
That's so good."

It wasn't long before he was shuddering on the verge

of release, and Cameron didn't make him wonder if he'd
be tormented but not allowed to come. Instead, Cameron
took him in deep, swallowed around the head of his
cock, and Paul whimpered as he came in waves of
pleasure, fingers of his right hand finding their way into
Cameron's hair.

He was still blinking, dazed, when Cameron moved

up to kiss him. Cameron's mouth tasted a little sour --

Paul remembered the latex taste of condoms -- and
Cameron's dick was an insistent pressure against his hip.

"Are you good?" Cameron whispered, and Paul

nodded, his nose tracing the edge of Cameron's jaw.

On the Dotted Line

33

"Mmmhmm. Very good." He cleared his throat

slightly and reached for Cameron's dick. "You want to
be good, too?"

Cameron chuckled in a low, sexy voice. "I'd love to

be good."

Not feeling focused enough to manage a blow job

right then, Paul decided he'd give Cameron the best hand
job of his life. Or at least a good enough one to get him
off, which was mostly the point. It was hard to use both
hands like he wanted to when he was lying down, so he
got up onto his knees and straddled Cameron's thigh.
With one hand wrapped around Cameron's cock and the
other at his balls, looking down at his face, it was easy
to tell when he was getting it right. Cameron's eyelids
first fluttered closed, then open, then closed again as
Paul stroked him. His breathing got quicker, and his

erection got even harder than it had been already, and
then he held his breath and arched, dick throbbing in
Paul's grip, the tip of the condom going milky white
inside.

"That -- that was definitely good," Cameron told him.

"Come down here?"

First Paul disposed of his condom, then lay down

beside Cameron, arm slung across Cameron's chest
companionably. He felt relaxed and happy, and for a
while they both lay there, neither of them saying
anything.

Then, "Were you serious, before?" Paul said. "When

you said you didn't do casual sex?"

"Pretty much," Cameron said. "I've only slept with

two men, and I was in long-term relationships with them
when I did."

"Define 'slept with.'" Paul tilted his head so he could

see Cameron's face.

"I've made out with people, sometimes," Cameron

said. "But it never went any further than that, not until
we had an understanding."

"Why?"
"Well, I guess because I wasn't interested in taking

off my clothes and sharing something like that with

On the Dotted Line

34

someone who might turn around and not call me ever
again. The idea of it's just not appealing." He was
watching Paul carefully. "I take it you don't feel the
same way?"

Paul laughed. It sounded a little too high-pitched,

maybe slightly hysterical. "I don't know. I guess you've
had better luck than me in the long-term relationship
department." Cameron frowned, and he added, "Last I
knew, two's more than zero."

"Never?" Cameron said, shocked. "You're never been

in a relationship?"

"I kind of thought I was, once, but it turned out..."

Paul shook his head; the last thing he wanted to get into
was the way he felt about James. "I was wrong."

"How many people have you had sex with?"
"I don't know, I didn't keep a list," Paul said irritably.

"Twelve? Fourteen? Is that too many? Am I disqualified
now?" He knew he was being kind of unreasonable, but
he couldn't help it.

"No," Cameron said gently. "You're not disqualified."
He felt a rush of relief. He hadn't realized how much

he cared what the answer would be. "Oh. Good." He
sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry. This is
just... complicated, I guess. Maybe there's a reason I
haven't done relationships until now."

Cameron smiled.
"What?"
"You said 'until now'," Cameron pointed out.
"Did I?" Paul played it over in his head. "Yeah, I

guess I did. I mean, if this is too soon, or whatever, to
think about that... I don't even know how this works."

"It works however we want it to." Cameron shrugged.

"I'm not the one running the show. We work it out
together. Do you want to spend the night?"

Paul yawned. "If you don't mind. I think I'd be lucky

if I could figure out how to get dressed again at this
point."

"Wouldn't want you wandering the city naked,"

Cameron said. He rolled away long enough to switch off

On the Dotted Line

35

the light, then got settled again, adjusting the covers. "I
have to go to work in the morning, though."

"That's okay. Me, too. I have to be in at nine."
"That works. I'll take you back to your place."

Cameron kissed him, still tasting like latex.
"Comfortable?"

"Mmmhmm." And just like that, between one breath

and the next, Paul was asleep.

On the Dotted Line

36

Chapter 4

The first thing Paul heard the next morning was the

alarm clock beeping insistently. The mattress shifted
underneath him, and the noise stopped.

"Paul?" Cameron's warm hand settled on his

shoulder. "We've got about an hour until we have to
leave. Do you want to sleep some more or get up?"

"I'll get up." He waited until Cameron had left the

room to open his eyes, and when he did, his gaze
focused on the collection of mugs on the bedside table.
There were three of them, and none of them could have
held a single pen more than it already did. In fact, two
loose pens were tucked into the space between the mugs,
no doubt because there was nowhere else for them to go.

Paul sat up and stretched, then looked at his watch. It

was only a few minutes after eight, but that didn't leave
him much time when he needed to be at the store at nine.
Ten minute drive to his apartment, get changed and
shave, walk to work. He only had about twenty minutes
to get himself awake.

"Come have coffee!" Cameron called from the

kitchen, and Paul pulled on his clothes from the night
before and went to join him. "You do drink coffee,
right?"

"Probably more than I should," Paul said, even

though it wasn't actually true anymore. His old coffee
machine had broken a few weeks before, and since then
he'd been making do with instant (sometimes dissolved
in nothing more than hot tap water) or whatever he
could scavenge at work and the local grocery store.

"Cream and sugar?"
"Yes, please." Paul accepted the mug Cameron

handed to him and wrapped his fingers around it,

savoring the warmth even though the temperature in the
apartment was comfortable.

Cameron was wearing a bathrobe and standing on the

floor in his bare feet. "I'm not much of a breakfast eater,
but I have some frozen waffles and syrup. You should
have something before you go to work."

On the Dotted Line

37

"Okay." Far be it for him to refuse food.
Paul would have been happy to make the waffles

himself, but Cameron was already taking the box from
the freezer and putting waffles into the toaster.

"Wish I didn't have to go to work today," Cameron

said wistfully, setting the bottle of syrup down on the
counter.

"Do you have a long shift?"
"Only six hours." Cameron got out a plate and

utensils as Paul drank half his cup of coffee in one long
series of swallows. "What about you?"

"I get off at three," Paul said. He had money in his

wallet that was destined for the grocery store, and he
planned to restock his cabinets as best he could with
twenty-five dollars. Then maybe next week he could
figure out how to fit car repairs into his budget. "I only

work every other Saturday, so next weekend I'll be off."

He was just starting to worry that that had sounded

like he was hinting for another date when Cameron said,
"I really want to take you out tonight. For dinner.
Somewhere really nice."

"I don't care where we go," Paul said honestly.
"Somewhere really nice," Cameron repeated. "I'll

pick you up."

God, the last thing Paul wanted was for Cameron to

see his decrepit apartment. "Or I could meet you?"

"I thought your car was in the shop?"
"Oh. Right. Well, um, I'll wait outside for you so you

don't have to worry about parking. You can just swing
by and I'll jump in."

The waffles popped up, and Cameron turned to put

them on the plate. "Here, eat these while I go get ready.
Help yourself to more coffee. Just make yourself at
home."

It was, Paul thought as he poured syrup over the

crispy waffles, the kind of place he'd have loved to call
home. Sitting there chewing, he could remember eating
homemade waffles as a kid, the crazy sweetness of the
real maple syrup his mother had insisted on, the
opposing tang of orange juice sipped between bites. His

On the Dotted Line

38

mom had been a nut for vitamin C, and even when Paul
had gone off to college, when she called she'd ask him if
he was taking his multivitamins.

Life was so fragile.
"Hey, do you think before dinner we could swing by

James and Alison's house?" he called. "It'd make me feel
better to check on Gabrielle again."

"Sure." Cameron reappeared, buttoning his shirt. "We

should have plenty of time to do that. As long as you
don't think they'll mind you bringing me along?"

Shoveling the rest of his waffle into his mouth, Paul

shook his head. "Why would they mind?"

***

"Isn't this a conflict of interest or something?" Alison

asked Paul. "I don't think you're supposed to be dating
my daughter's doctor."

"Paul is allowed to date him," James said. "You're the

one who isn't allowed." He put an arm around his wife's
shoulders and kissed her temple.

Cameron gave Alison a sheepish grin. "No chance of

that. Not that you aren't beautiful, you just don't have the
right parts."

"Maybe I do," Alison said. "And you just don't know

it yet."

"Oh my God," Paul said. He would have covered his

ears if his hands had been free, but he had Gabby
balanced on his lap and she really required support
because she didn't seem to realize that gravity existed.
"La la la, this conversation isn't happening. What's
wrong with you people? Do you want to scar this child

for life?"

"She'll need this kind of scarring if she's going to

grow up in this family," James said. "Takes a thick
skin."

"You should have told me that before you asked for

my sperm," Paul told him, sticking out his tongue.

"Don't stick it out unless you intend to use it,"

Cameron said.

On the Dotted Line

39

"And you complain about us scarring the baby?"

Alison flounced over and took Gabby from Paul's lap,
then disappeared into the kitchen. "Anyone want
something to drink?"

As usual, Paul tried to think of whatever had the most

calories. "Milk?"

"Seriously? What is it with you and milk?" Alison

stuck her head back through the doorway. "Are you
sure? We have Coke and stuff."

Milk at least had some nutrition, Paul thought. "Yeah.

I like milk."

"He drank it at my house, too," Cameron assured her.
Alison came back and handed Gabby back to Paul.

"Okay, I need both hands. But no more discussion about
sperm or blow jobs." She gave Paul and Cameron twin
stern looks before going back to the kitchen.

"Yes, Mom." Paul turned Gabby so she could look at

him, then, in a soft talking-to-baby voice, said, "Your
mommy is crazy, did you know that? Yes, she is. She's
coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs."

Gabby gave a high-pitched squeal and curled her fist

into the front of Paul's T-shirt.

"That's right. You have a crazy mommy." Paul

glanced at James, who was grinning good-naturedly. "At
least your daddy is mostly sane."

"Mostly?" Alison came back with Paul's glass of milk

and handed it to him. "Cameron? I could make coffee."

"It's a little late for me," Cameron said. "I'd be up half

the night." It was only a little after four, and Paul
couldn't see anything wrong with the possibility of being
up half the night, but he didn't comment.

"Coke? Apple juice?" Alison was persistent, you had

to give her that.

"No, thanks. We can't stay too much longer anyway.

Our reservation's at five." Cameron had insisted on
making reservations at a well-respected steakhouse, and
Paul was looking forward to the meal. He had one of his
good shirts draped over the back seat of Cameron's car
where it wouldn't get wrinkled or spit up on; he planned
to put it on at the last minute.

On the Dotted Line

40

"Maybe you two should make plans to go out

somewhere at some point. Paul and I could babysit."

"That's sweet of you to offer." It wasn't really much

of an answer.

Gabby scrunched up her face and sneezed.
"Yuck!" Paul said, and rubbed his arm against the leg

of his slacks.

"What are you, five?" Alison asked. "There's a cloth

right there. Cameron, do you think she could be allergic
to something?"

"Anyone can be allergic," Cameron said reasonably,

which wasn't much of an answer, either. "Does she
sneeze a lot?"

"I don't know. What's a lot?" James gestured to Paul,

who cooperatively handed Gabby over to Cameron.

"More than ten times a day?" Cameron held Gabby

up and looked at her face, then laid her down across his
lap and pressed his fingertips gently alongside her nose.
She whined in protest, and he stopped and sat her
upright again. "I think she's fine. Her sinuses aren't
swollen, and she seems to be breathing okay." Gabby
burst into tears and wailed loudly. "Okay, here. She'll be
happier with anybody but me at this point."

James reached out and took his daughter, who

stopped crying but gave a few pitiful sniffles. "It's okay,
sweetie. Shh." Gabby pressed her face to James' chest in
a manner that indicated she thought she was hiding, and
Cameron and Paul exchanged grins.

"She really is cute," Cameron said. "And I say that as

someone who sees a lot of babies."

"And you're sure she's okay?" Alison persisted.
"I really think she is. She might have a touch of

allergies, or a tiny cold, but I don't think it's anything
serious." Cameron glanced at his watch.

"Should we get going?" Paul asked, when Cameron

didn't say anything more.

"Probably. Not that it will matter if we're a few

minutes late."

"Yeah, but you went to all this effort." Paul gulped

his milk hurriedly.

On the Dotted Line

41

"Paul. It wasn't that much effort. All I did was call

and make a reservation. If you'd rather stay here and get
a pizza later, I can call and cancel it. It's not that big a
deal." Cameron patted Paul's knee reassuringly, but from
Paul's point of view, it was a big deal. He hadn't dated
many men who'd been interested in making romantic
gestures, and he wanted Cameron to know that he took
them seriously.

"No -- I want to go." He finished his milk and took

the glass to the kitchen, rinsed it, and put it into the
dishwasher. "Thanks for letting us come over," he said,
kissing Alison's cheek on his way back to the couch. He
bumped his knee into Cameron's, and Cameron stood
up, too. "Sorry. Was that weird?"

"I like you weird," Cameron said, smiling.
"Well, have a good time. Eat dessert for me." Alison

hugged both of them, then took Gabby from James and
winced when the baby grabbed a handful of her hair and
tugged.

Even with his freshly-ironed shirt and his nicest pair

of slacks -- fortunately still clean despite the time spent
with Gabby -- Paul felt awkward going into the
restaurant. It was so much fancier than anywhere he'd
been in years, and even knowing that some of the men
were probably wearing clothes purchased where he
worked didn't make him feel any more comfortable.

"Should we get some wine?" Cameron asked.
"I guess. I won't be able to tell if it's good or not,

though," Paul warned him. His cheeks felt hot, and he
had a weird desire to dash into the bathroom and check
his reflection to make sure he didn't have anything stuck
in his teeth.

"If you don't like wine, that's okay." Cameron looked

at him, and Paul's discomfort must have been written all
over his face because Cameron immediately put down
his menu and moved over into the chair next to Paul's
instead of the one across from him. "You hate it here."

"I don't hate it," Paul said. "I just feel like I don't

belong here. It's so nice." He kept his voice low, not
wanting to draw attention.

On the Dotted Line

42

Cameron took his hand. "It's exactly the kind of nice

you deserve. You belong here just as much as anyone
else."

"These people probably make ten times as much in a

month as I make in a year," Paul whispered.

"What does that have to do with it? It doesn't make

them better than you. Hell, you'll probably appreciate
the meal more than most of them, which might mean
you're better than them."

Paul shook his head, then drew his hand away from

Cameron's as a waiter started to approach their table,
then hesitated and swerved away to ask the people at a
different table a question. "I don't want to make a
scene."

"You're not. Except for the way people look at you

because you're so gorgeous." Cameron straightened up,

though, and looked toward the waiter expectantly. "So,
wine? Or no wine?"

Telling himself with determination that he wasn't

going to keep being such a dweeb, Paul said, "Wine
sounds great."

"Red, or white?"
"Um. White." Paul had an idea in his head that red

wine gave people headaches, and whether it was true or
not, at least it was something to help guide his decision.

"Good evening, gentlemen," the waiter said

smoothly. "I'm Anthony, and I'll be serving you this

evening. Can I start you with a drink?"

"Sure," Cameron said, totally at ease. "Can we have a

bottle of the house white, please?"

"Of course. I'll be right back with that."
"I've heard that the house wine here is good,"

Cameron told him. "So now we just have to cross our
fingers that it wasn't an unhelpful rumor."

"I really don't think I'd be able to tell," Paul said. "I

mean, I don't know if I could tell if it was bad wine --
like, wine that had gone bad -- let alone if I just didn't
like it."

"It's okay either way. If you don't like it, don't drink

it. You can always order something else." It was the

On the Dotted Line

43

kind of thing only someone who didn't worry about
money would think or say, and even though Cameron
had certainly meant it to reassure Paul, to make him feel
more comfortable, it did the opposite.

Trying to set aside how he felt, Paul concentrated on

the menu. "What have you had here?"

"I kind of forget," Cameron said, picking up his own

menu and looking at it. "I think it was some kind of
chicken. Maybe. I don't know. It was good."

"You were too busy figuring out how to get your date

into bed?" Paul suggested, and Cameron frowned.

"My sister was here for her birthday, so no. And I

meant it when I said I don't sleep around."

"I know. I-- sorry. I wasn't thinking. I really suck at

this."

"You're out of your element," Cameron said after a

minute. "I'm the one who's sorry. I should have asked
where you'd like to go for dinner instead of bringing you
here to try to impress you."

There was something vulnerable in the way he'd said

it that got Paul's attention. "You were trying to impress
me?"

Cameron nodded and seemed about to explain, but

just then the waiter came back with the bottle of wine
and went through a little ritual of pouring it and letting
Cameron taste it.

"It's fine, thank you."
"And have you decided what you'd like to order?"

Anthony seemed confident and ready to help. "Can I tell

you about our specials?" He didn't wait for a reply
before launching into his descriptions of baby lamb
chops with garlic and herbs and a steak marsala with
linguine.

It all sounded amazing to Paul, who knew he was

easy to please. He ordered the steak and Cameron
ordered a chicken meal that might or might not have
been the same one he'd had before, and then Anthony
went away and Paul hastily took a few large sips of
wine.

"This is good."

On the Dotted Line

44

"Are we pretending the earlier conversation didn't

happen?" Cameron asked.

"That would be nice." Paul sighed and shook his

head. "No, we're not."

"Good. Then yes, I was trying to impress you. I'm

just as happy eating pizza in front of the TV. Not that I
don't enjoy a nice meal out every now and then."
Cameron sighed, too. "So this is my fault, basically.
Don't blame yourself for not fitting in or whatever,
okay? Would it be better if we just left?"

Paul couldn't help but imagine what the waiter and

everyone else would think if they did. "No. Besides, we
already ordered. Let's stay and try to have a good time.
The food will be good, anyway."

"Very good, if it's still like before," Cameron assured

him. "So be honest about the wine. Well, be honest

about everything, but right now I want to know what
you think of the wine."

Paul took another sip, rolling it around in his mouth

before swallowing. "It's good. A little sweet -- which is
a bonus as far as I'm concerned -- and not too strong. I
usually drink beer."

"I remember."
Anthony came back to the table with a bread basket

and a small plate of butter pats that had been molded
into the shape of hearts. Immediately, Paul felt the urge
to laugh swelling in his chest. He managed to keep it
back until Anthony left the table, then covered his

mouth with his hand to hide the stupid grin stretching it.

"What?" Cameron looked at him questioningly.
Paul snickered. "For real? Are they serious?"
"Please tell me you've seen bread before."
"Butter, too," Paul agreed. "But shaped like hearts?"

He manfully suppressed his laughter, breathing through
his nose, and reached over to slide the basket closer so
he could check out the bread selection. "Whoa. Maybe I
shouldn't complain. This is the kind of bread that needs
fancy butter."

There were thick slices of a crusty peasant bread,

rounds of dark brown bread, something that looked like

On the Dotted Line

45

a fruit and nut bread, with creamy squares with ribbons
of cinnamon folded into it. Paul looked around, used the
tines of his fork to crush one of the butter pats, then
smeared it onto a piece of the fruit nut bread and took a
huge bite.

"God, this is good," he said through the mouthful.

"Even if the butter's ridiculous."

"I can fix that for you," Cameron offered, and

proceeded to squash each pat with a little knife that Paul
only realized then was his butter knife. "There, how's
that?"

"Much better, thanks." Paul swallowed and popped

the second half of his bread slice into his mouth,
chewing. "Mmmm."

Cameron propped an elbow on the table and leaned

his chin on his hand. "I do like watching you eat. You

really enjoy it, don't you."

"Don't you?" Paul wasn't sure how he felt about this

level of scrutiny, so he didn't reach for another piece of
bread despite the temptation. "I thought everyone liked
good food."

"Yeah, but I don't get the same kind of pleasure out

of it. Apparently, I'd rather watch you."

"Well, I'm not here to be your entertainment." Paul

realized how that had sounded far too late to stop it. He
closed his eyes and sighed. "That was rude. I'm sorry."

"No, you're right. You're not." Cameron smiled at

him apologetically. "Something tells me we'd be terrible
dance partners. Both of us fighting to lead."

"I think that would require me knowing how to dance

with a partner in the first place." Paul cast around
desperately for some topic of conversation that would be
less awkward. "Let's talk about vacations. Have you

been anywhere out of the country?" It had been years
since he'd had a real vacation, but it would be nice to
hear about someone else's.

"France, a few years back." Cameron put a slice of

bread on his bread plate and started to butter it. "With
my partner at the time. He was really into France."

"So what, Paris?"

On the Dotted Line

46

"Yeah, and then the south of France, where the

beaches are. Nude beaches." Cameron lifted an eyebrow
and grinned.

"That sounds like fun."
"It was, until Jonas got sunburned in places that are

usually covered by clothes. Spent two days lying on the
bed at the hotel bemoaning his lack of forethought in the
sunblock department." Cameron seemed amused by the
memory.

Giving in to temptation, Paul took a second piece of

bread, going for cinnamon this time. He smeared on
some butter, which in the warmth of the room was
already softening, and took a bite. "Did you see famous
stuff? Like, historical sites? I don't even know what's in
France other than the Eiffel Tower."

"I only know the places we actually went to,"

Cameron said. "The Bastille and Notre Dame. Notre
Dame was cool. Full of tourists, but there was this place
you could light candles, and it felt... I don't know, holy.
Are you religious?"

"Not really." Paul had thought of himself as religious

once, but since his parents had died, the only time he'd
set foot in a church had been for Gabby's christening. He
felt a momentary flash of worry that Cameron was
looking for someone who took religion seriously. "Are
you?"

Cameron shrugged. "I go to church when my

schedule allows it, but it doesn't always and I don't stress
about it."

"How do you reconcile religion and medicine?"
"I guess I don't see where it's a problem," Cameron

said, looking interested by the question. "I can believe in

God and think that people are figuring out science at the
same time."

Paul nodded. "And what about God and the gay

thing?"

"My church -- if you can call it mine, since I

probably only get there ten times a year -- is pretty
diverse. There are plenty of gay members, and there

On the Dotted Line

47

were a couple of gay weddings last year. I wouldn't go
to a church where I didn't feel welcome."

That was when their meals arrived, and although he'd

been starting to enjoy the conversation, Paul was happy
to concentrate on his food for a few minutes. The steak
was in thick slices and coated in a rich, dark sauce over
pasta, with a side of green beans, and it was probably the
best thing Paul had eaten in years. He couldn't keep
from making the occasional soft moan of pleasure as he
chewed.

"Good?" Cameron asked.
"Amazing," Paul said. "Incredible. I can't actually

remember anything I've ever had that was this good."

"So, worth the discomfort of the restaurant?"

Cameron kept his voice low, which Paul appreciated. It
was even nicer to feel understood and respected than

well-fed.

"Absolutely. Let's come again tomorrow." Paul was

joking, but Cameron took him seriously.

"I'd bring you back here as often as you want. And

don't forget that Alison said you've got to have dessert
for her, so try to save a little room."

Paul was barely a third of the way through his plate,

but he couldn't imagine wanting to stop eating any time
soon. He was grateful that this wasn't the kind of fancy
restaurant he'd heard about where you got about three
ounces of food on your plate. "How's yours?" he asked
belatedly.

"Delicious. Not what I had last time -- I think that

had cranberries in it -- but just as good. Want to try?"

Cameron slid his plate a couple of inches in Paul's
direction, and Paul couldn't resist stabbing his fork into a
piece of chicken.

"Oh God," he mumbled around the food. "That's

good, too. I think maybe we should consider just living
here."

"I don't think they serve breakfast," Cameron said.

"Actually, I don't even think they serve lunch, but I
guess you could eat leftovers from the night before. You
think a place like this has a microwave?"

On the Dotted Line

48

"Probably not. But it'd be almost as good cold."
Anthony came back to pour them some more wine,

which he did so subtly that Paul hadn't even realized he
was there until he was leaving again. Paul could feel the
warmth from the food and wine soothing him, slowing
down his brain and making him relax.

"This is so nice," he heard himself saying. "Thank

you."

"I take it that means you're going to put out,"

Cameron said, and Paul almost did a spit-take.

He coughed, laughed, then cleared his throat. "You

are evil."

"Not completely. Just practicing."
By the time his plate was clean -- Cameron had

stopped eating five minutes before, although there was
still food left on his plate -- Paul's stomach was so full

that he could barely imagine adding anything to it, but
Cameron requested the dessert menu and insisted that he
was going to have something sweet to finish the meal. It
would have been rude not to order something along with
him. Paul asked for the caramel cheesecake and was
shocked by the size of the slice when it arrived.

"That could feed me for a week," he said, in awe.
"You must have a hell of a metabolism," Cameron

said. "Or you work out a lot."

Paul was too distracted by the bite of creamy dessert

melting on his tongue to answer. "I can't possibly eat all
this."

"We can take it back to my place. If you'll keep at it

with the same attention you're giving it now, I'll let you
smear it all over me and lick it off." Cameron was

smiling when Paul looked up at him.

"You're on," Paul said, determined not to miss a

single opportunity with this incredible man. "Let's get
out of here."

He kept his gaze averted from the bill when it came,

and Cameron must have added a generous tip if
Anthony's thank you meant anything. He didn't know
what his own meal had cost because it hadn't been listed
on the menu, but he'd seen the other prices and knew

On the Dotted Line

49

that the cost dwarfed what he spent on groceries in a
week or maybe even two. He rubbed his stomach in
satisfaction as he eased himself into the car.

Cameron put the white take-home bag onto the back

seat and started the engine. "Oh, hey, did you want to
drive?"

"I don't think I'm capable at the moment," Paul said.
"That wasn't too much wine, was it?"
"Too much everything. But no, I'm not drunk. Just

stuffed."

At Cameron's apartment, they went into the bedroom

and Paul sat on the side of the bed.

"Just gonna take a quick shower," Cameron said.

"Want to join me?"

"I do, but I think I'm going to take a five minute nap

instead," Paul said, and fell slowly sideways onto the

pillows. He moaned. "I'm so full."

"You know what I like to hear in the bedroom."
Cameron disappeared into the bathroom, and the sound
of the shower running was the last thing Paul
consciously heard.

When he woke up, the room was mostly dark, with

just a side table reading lamp on. Beside him, Cameron
was propped up on pillows reading a thick hardcover
book. "Hey, sleeping beauty. You okay?"

Paul yawned hugely and shifted closer so he could

drape an arm over Cameron. "Yeah. Wow, I must have

been really tired. Sorry for being such lousy company."

"No, it was nice. I liked being here with you in my

bed. It felt... domestic." Setting his book aside, Cameron
slid lower. He was only wearing some flannel pajama
pants, so Paul ran a hand across the bare skin of
Cameron's chest, watching his left nipple tighten in
reaction. Cameron's skin was fantastic in this light,
golden and glowing.

"How does that feel?"
"Good. Everything with you feels good. I was so

tempted to wake you up when I came out of the shower,
but you looked so peaceful I didn't have the heart."

On the Dotted Line

50

Cameron kissed him, and Paul's cock, half hard with
sleep, swelled further. "I wondered how heavy a sleeper
you are. If I could have undressed you without waking
you up."

"Maybe," Paul said, somewhat breathless.
"Can I undress you now? I want to see you."
Paul nodded, and moved helpfully as Cameron undid

his shirt and slid it off. Next, Cameron unbuttoned Paul's
slacks and mouthed his way down along Paul's chest,
lips warm and his breath making Paul's skin prickle. By
the time Cameron got the rest of his clothes off, Paul
was fully on board. "Yeah. Inside me."

Cameron wrapped a hand around the back of Paul's

neck and cradled his skull, tilted his head for a deeper
kiss. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes. Want you." He mouthed hungrily at Cameron's

jaw and throat as Cameron fumbled for a condom and
the lube. It was hard not to whimper with impatience
when Cameron insisted on working him open with first
one finger, then two. Sure, it was the right thing to do,
but Paul didn't care about right or cautious. He wanted it
all. "Please."

His eyes widened when Cameron finally pushed into

him, lips parted, lungs starved for air. Jesus, it felt so
good, Cameron's dick stretching him open, slick with
lube.

"Okay?" Cameron stopped deep inside him, gasping

into Paul's ear. "You okay?"

"Uh-huh. God, fuck me." Paul's eager words and the

quick lift of his hips seemed to snap Cameron's control,
and then they were both moving, Cameron driving into
him powerfully. After a minute, Cameron shifted up
onto his knees, draping Paul's legs over his shoulders.
"Oh my God."

It felt so amazing, Cameron's strength and desire

working Paul like some kind of crazy, living sex toy.
Paul was open, vulnerable, utterly exposed, his dick as
hard as it had ever been. Cameron's hands gripped his
lower back just above his ass as Cameron fucked him
with short, quick thrusts, and Paul moaned helplessly.

On the Dotted Line

51

He couldn't do much for Cameron from that position,
but he slid his hands from Cameron's wrists to his
elbows and hung on for the ride, clenching his body
tightly around Cameron and concentrating on how it
felt, taking himself to the edge of orgasm and trembling
there. He only needed a little bit more, just a little more.

Cameron let go with one hand and wrapped it around

Paul's cock instead, and Paul shouted and came, his
body jerking in Cameron's embrace. He barely felt it
when Cameron came, too, though a minute later, when
Paul relaxed bonelessly in the aftermath of orgasm, he
could feel Cameron's softening dick withdrawing from
his body by slow increments. Cameron pulled away,
padded naked to the bathroom where he presumably
disposed of the condom, then returned with a damp cloth
that he used to clean Paul up.

"I can do that," Paul protested, but didn't move.
"Yeah, so can I." Cameron dropped the washcloth to

the floor and crawled back into bed, pulling the covers
up over both of them before kissing Paul slowly. "Are
you good?"

"Very good. Awesome dinner and awesome sex.

How could I be anything else?"

"I was thinking..." Cameron hesitated, and Paul lifted

a hand to touch his face.

"What?"
"I wondered if... you'd like to go to church with me in

the morning. I have tomorrow off for once, and I
thought it would be really nice, if you'd come with me.
But if you don't want to…"

Inside, Paul was thinking he'd do anything for

Cameron, anything Cameron asked of him, but it was a
ridiculously romantic, love-addled thing to think, let

alone say. "No," he said. "I mean, yes. I'd like that."
He'd just sit there and think about something else, and it
would be fine.

On the Dotted Line

52

Chapter 5

As he followed Cameron up the steps to the big

church doors, Paul was painfully aware that an hour
before they'd been naked in the shower together,
moaning and soapy. Which wasn't one of the reasons
he'd walked away from religion, but right at that
moment it sure felt like one.

Cameron paused to shake a couple of people's hands

and introduce Paul to them. Paul shook hands and said
all the right things, he hoped, but underneath that he was
deeply uncomfortable. He wondered if Cameron was
able to sense that somehow, because Cameron guided
him by the elbow to a pew and they sat.

"Is this okay?" Cameron asked.
They were fairly near the back of the room, which

was a relief. It took another ten minutes for everyone to
finish filing in and sit down, while some music played
faintly in the background. There was something more
peaceful about it than Paul had expected, and part of him
was left feeling like he was ten years old again. He
associated church with the smell of Christmas greens,
ivy and poinsettia, for some reason, and he could smell
the memory of them now.

The minister came in through a door at the front of

the room and stood behind the pulpit, and after that
everything became kind of hazy. There was standing and
singing -- with Paul moving his mouth but not really

making any sound -- and then sitting and listening. He
didn't concentrate on the words, just let the mood of it
sort of roll over him. He didn't even have to try not to
fidget. He was aware of the padded bench beneath him,
the curling, strawberry blonde hairs of the woman sitting
in front of them, and the way the music hung in the air,
like it bounced off the walls and ceiling and windows
and then hovered above them.

It wasn't God, but Paul could see how some people

might think it was.

"It's beautiful," he whispered.
Cameron turned and whispered back. "What?"

On the Dotted Line

53

"It's beautiful," Paul said again, reaching for

Cameron's hand. "Thank you."

He didn't think it mattered if God was real, or a

figment of collective people's imagination, or some
attempt to explain the unexplainable. What mattered was
this feeling of acceptance and peace. Paul wasn't sure
he'd ever realized it before, or if maybe deep down he
had and then forgotten. It didn't make him want to pray,
but it was a close thing.

He was sorry when it was over and everyone started

to get up, but now that he knew, he could come back. He
needed this, a place that felt safe.

"So how was it?" Cameron asked. "Not too bad?"
"Not bad at all. Really good, actually." Paul knew

that he was beaming at Cameron, who was grinning
right back at him. "Let's do something great today.

Something else great."

"Like what?"
"Like, I don't know, have a picnic at the Common

and feed ducks and go to the movies. And I'll cook
dinner for you. Um, at your place." He hoped Cameron
wouldn't ask why, because he wasn't ready to go into
detail about the state of his own apartment, let alone
why he was living there.

Just for today, Paul wanted to pretend that everything

was perfect.

Tomorrow, he'd go back to dealing with reality.
"Okay," Cameron said. "Can I introduce you to

Reverend Millan before we go? He's been giving me

looks ever since the service ended, and I know he wants
to know who you are."

"What are you going to tell him?" They were already

filing their way toward the aisle, shuffling along with
everyone else, and even as the pastor was shaking
people's hands as they left, Paul could see the man
glance at them.

"I don't know." Cameron sounded cautious. "What do

you want me to tell him?"

"God, I don't know." Paul bit his lip. "Oops, sorry."

On the Dotted Line

54

"What, for saying God?" They'd shuffled closer to

Reverend Millan than Paul had realized, and it was the
pastor himself who'd overheard.

"I'm really sorry," Paul told him, flushing with

embarrassment. "I wasn't thinking."

"I've said worse plenty of times. My wife could tell

you some stories about my exploits, believe me." The
Reverend shook Cameron's hand. "Nice to see you
again, Cameron."

"You, too. It's been longer than I'd like." Cameron

gestured at Paul. "This is my... friend, Paul."

"I'm really glad I came," Paul told the Reverend,

shaking his hand. "I didn't think I would be."

"Well, we were glad to have you. I hope you'll come

back." Something about the way Reverend Millan met
Paul's gaze made him come across as totally genuine.

"I will." It might have been a rash promise, but it

didn't feel like one.

The sun was shining brightly when they stepped

outside.

"Wow, it got warm."
"Perfect day for a picnic," Cameron agreed. "We can

swing by that little deli and pick up something for
lunch."

They were wearing casual clothes. Paul had

wondered if they should dress up for church, but
Cameron had insisted that it wasn't necessary, and now
Paul was glad he'd gone along with it because it meant
they could enjoy this gorgeous day without interruption.
The deli was crowded with people who probably had the
same idea. They were shoulder to shoulder with
strangers as they waited for their turn to order.

"Hi," Cameron said to the harried woman behind the

counter when they finally reached it. "How are you?"

She smiled and paused. "Busy. But thanks for asking.

You're the first person today to ask me that instead of
just launching into an order. What can I get for you?"

"Can we please have a turkey and havarti and a

pastrami with swiss? And half a pound of the red potato
salad." Cameron turned his head and looked at Paul.

On the Dotted Line

55

"Cheesecake?" He sounded so hopeful that Paul
laughed.

"Yes, sure. Cheesecake is good."
"And two slices of cheesecake. Strawberry and...?"
Paul leaned forward so the woman would be able to

hear him over everyone else. "Chocolate."

"You're one of those chocolate people, aren't you?"
"I hardly know anyone who doesn't like chocolate,"

Paul told him.

"Anything else?" the woman asked, spooning up

potato salad.

"No, I think that's it. Thank you." Cameron smiled at

her. "There's a blanket in the back of my car. We can
take that with us and sit down near the pond."

"If it's not too muddy," Paul agreed. "I used to walk

down there sometimes, when I needed to think, and it

can stay mucky for days after a little bit of rain. I don't
think there's very good drainage there, and wow, isn't
this a romantic subject of conversation?" If he'd been
sitting at a desk, he would have banged his head against
it.

Cameron didn't look anything but slightly amused,

which was better than half a dozen other expressions he
might have been wearing. "Very romantic."

Paul had to let the urge to apologize pass. The reality

was, this was him . He didn't want to create an
expectation that he was someone he really wasn't,

because in the long run that wouldn't benefit either of
them. Even though the thought of scaring Cameron off
now was upsetting, better now than later when Paul had
fallen in love with him.

He could already tell that was a serious possibility.
Once Cameron had paid for the food -- Paul did offer,

but backed off quickly and gratefully when Cameron
insisted, because it would have wiped out his food
budget for the week -- he steeled himself and said, "I
really like you."

"Yeah?" Cameron stopped on the sidewalk and

looked at him, oblivious to the way he was obstructing
the paths of other people who were trying to get

On the Dotted Line

56

somewhere. He seemed surprised.

"You seem surprised," Paul said, because he might as

well run with this being-himself thing. "You didn't think
I liked you?"

"Well, I didn't think you hated me, or at the very least

you wouldn't have bothered with the whole church
thing." Cameron gestured like he'd forgotten he was
holding the paper bag that held their picnic lunch, then
frowned down at it. "I guess I just wasn't expecting you
to say it like that."

"Do you wish I hadn't?" They were both making a

fairly spectacular road block at that moment, and Paul
didn't care.

"No! No, I'm glad you did. Okay? I mean, I like you,

too."

Paul nodded, then said, "Maybe we should move?"

The woman with a double stroller who'd been eying
them impatiently said, "Maybe you should." Cameron
stepped off the curb between the bumpers of two cars to
make room for her to pass by, and she said in a fakey-
fake nice voice, "See, Dylan? That's how people behave
in a civilized society."

They walked to the car without saying anything, but

on more than one occasion Paul glanced at Cameron to
find Cameron glancing at him, too. He thought about
asking to drive, but knew that would remind Cameron
that his car was in the (fictional) shop, and honesty only
went so far. He just wasn't ready to admit how
financially screwed he was, how often his electricity was
flirting with disconnection, how complicated his game
of robbing Peter to pay Power was.

In the park, he did his best to relax. It wasn't too hard,

not with the sun shining and the quacks of ducks
paddling around on the pond. Nearby, some little kids
were throwing sticks into the water, squealing with
excitement at each splash. Paul could imagine Gabby in
their place in a few years, running around on chubby
legs in some adorable outfit that Alison had picked out.

"Cute kids," Cameron said.
"You must really like kids." Paul had devoured the

On the Dotted Line

57

first half of his sandwich and was now eating the second
more slowly.

"Yeah. I think I was the only boy babysitter in my

neighborhood when I was growing up. Though looking
back, I'm kind of surprised I had as much business as I
did. Today, people would worry that I was some kind of
teenaged child molester."

"And I thought my topic of conversation lacked

romance," Paul said, grinning to let Cameron know that
he was joking.

"Sorry." Cameron set aside what was left of his own

sandwich, mostly crust, and lay back on the blanket.
"Wow, look at those clouds."

Paul lay down and looked up at the sky. It was a

perfect blue and dotted with fluffy, white clouds that
were drifting by lazily. "Wow." He might have felt like

closing his eyes and taking a little nap right there, but it
was so beautiful he didn't want to lose the spectacular
view. "Hey, a school bus." He pointed.

"Yeah, and there's a fish." They spent a few minutes

pointing out different shapes in the clouds until Paul's
growing sense of acting like a toddler grew too
overwhelming to ignore.

"That one looks like a condom," he said finally, even

though it didn't.

Cameron laughed. "What?"
"Right there. Can't you see it?"
"I can see that you've lost your mind." Cameron sat

up and reached for the paper bag. "Cheesecake?"

"Sure."
The chocolate cheesecake was delicious, and so was

the strawberry -- it wasn't like Paul was going to refuse
when Cameron offered him a bite.

"The chocolate's better."
"I'll have to take your word for it. Oh, for the days

when I had your metabolism."

Paul wasn't sure how to respond to that. He didn't

want to tell Cameron that there were days he couldn't
afford to eat at all, that his slim build might have
something to do with his metabolism but also had a hell

On the Dotted Line

58

of a lot to do with his caloric intake or lack thereof. He
knew that eventually he'd have to say something about
the soul-crushing level of his debt, but he wasn't ready
to go there yet.

Soon.
Maybe.
He ate the last bite of chocolate cheesecake slowly,

savoring the way the rich creaminess melted on his
tongue.

"I like watching you eat," Cameron said.
Paul wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,

feeling self-conscious. Cameron reached out and
touched the side of his face tenderly, then leaned in and
kissed him.

Cameron's lips were soft and gentle. Paul forced

himself to concentrate on the kiss instead of the

hundreds of thoughts running through his head, on the
warmth of Cameron's mouth and the heat of sunshine on
the top of his ear.

A sound nearby grabbed his attention, and they both

turned their heads to find the source. It was another
woman with a stroller. She was bending down to pick up
a brightly colored plastic rattle that her baby had tossed
into the grass, but she was watching them.

"Sorry," she said. "Just--"
"Get a room?" Paul asked, waiting for the public

condemnation to start.

"No," the woman said. "You're, well, cute together."

Paul had no idea how to respond to that, but Cameron
smiled at her. "Thanks," Cameron said, and tousled
Paul's hair. "He is adorable, isn't he?"

"He is," she agreed. She gave the rattle back to the

baby, who immediately bit it. Stepping behind the
stroller, the woman continued to push it down the path.
"Don't let him get away."

"Don't worry," Cameron said, looking into Paul's

eyes and talking to him, not the woman. "I won't."

On the Dotted Line

59

Chapter 6

There was a noise. Paul didn't know what it was, just

that he was sleeping and that it kept beeping, and why
didn't it stop?

Someone grumbled and nudged him. "Paul. S'at your

phone?"

Oh, right, that's what it was, his phone. Paul opened

his eyes, but the room was dark. Where was his phone?
For that matter, where the hell were his clothes? The
phone rang again, insistent. He wished he could see. "Is
there a light?" he asked.

Cameron made another grumbling sound, and the

mattress shifted. A click and the light came on. The
phone rang again, but Paul could finally see; he leaned
down off the bed and grabbed his pants, which were

lying on the floor, legs still tangled with his underwear.
He pushed the button on the phone and held it to his ear.

"Hello?"
It was Alison on the other end of the line, he could

tell that immediately, but there was another sound, too, a
loud wailing siren that had Paul scrambling to his feet.
He pressed the flat of his hand to his free ear like he
could block out the noise that way and hear her, but it
didn't help.

"... Gabby --ing, and James -- do CPR, but --"

Alison's voice was thick with tears.

"Are you in an ambulance?" Paul asked. He was

trying to untangle his underwear from his pants, because
he needed to get dressed, he needed to get dressed now.

"--es. We're -- Saint Mary's."
"I'm leaving now," Paul said. Cameron was up,

taking the tangle of pants and underwear from Paul's
fumbling hands and separating them. "I'll be right there."
He didn't think Alison was listening to him, if she could
even hear over the siren, but he still said, "It'll be okay,"
before he pushed the button and hung up.

"What is it?" Cameron asked.
"I don't know. It's Gabby, she might-- Alison said

something about CPR--" Paul's voice broke as he

On the Dotted Line

60

yanked on his pants; his hands were clumsy, or maybe
they were shaking. "Oh God."

"Hey, hey." One of Cameron's hands, steady and

warm, wrapped itself around Paul's chin and lifted his
face. "Deep breath, okay? Don't freak out until you
know you have a reason to."

Paul nodded. "Okay."
"Finish getting dressed, and I'll drive you."
His hands were still shaking when Cameron started

the car up, and as soon as he noticed that, he noticed that
his right leg was doing that bouncing thing, too. God,
this was the other night all over again, only then Gabby
had been fine, she'd been fine.

"She's going to be fine now, too," Cameron said,

which was the first indication Paul had that he'd been
talking out loud.

"I don't know why you're being so nice to me," he

said.

"Because I like you?" Cameron suggested. "Hell,

even if I didn't like you, I'd drive you to the hospital
when your friends need you."

It felt like it took forever to get to the hospital. As

they pulled into the entrance, Cameron asked, "Do you
want me to drop you at the door? Will you be okay
finding them on your own?"

There was only a little part of Paul's brain that

wondered what that meant. The rest of his brain was too
confused to make sense of anything, really. He didn't
know how to answer, so he shrugged helplessly and
said, "I don't know."

"It's okay. I'll just park here." Cameron swung the car

abruptly to the right and into the first available space.
"Okay, come on."

The emergency room was crowded but quiet. People

in the waiting area were staring down at their hands,
looking half asleep, which made sense because it was
the middle of the night.

"They brought in an infant, by ambulance," Cameron

said to the woman at the desk, and she nodded.

"Room three."

On the Dotted Line

61

Alison was standing next to the bed, one hand

wrapped around Gabby's foot. Gabby looked freakishly
small lying on the bed like that, and there were doctors
and nurses all around, poking her, but she wasn't still
and blue like Paul had been imagining. She was pale,
maybe, and only wriggling weakly instead of vigorously
the way she usually did, but she was breathing and her
eyes were open.

She was alive.
James, who was standing behind Alison, turned his

head and saw Paul.

"Is she okay?" Paul asked. Doctors were talking to

each other, but he knew most of what they were saying
wouldn't mean anything to him.

"We don't know," James said. "She wasn't breathing.

She was --" He swallowed and shook his head like it

was too much to finish the thought.

Alison blinked and looked at them. Her gaze didn't

seem to be totally in focus, and she swayed on her feet.
Paul stepped closer and grabbed onto her, looking
around wildly for a chair.

"Here," Cameron said, jerking one away from the

wall and propelling Alison back toward it at the same
time. "Here, have her sit."

"I can't," Alison said faintly. "I can't, I have to-- my

baby--"

Paul crouched down in front of her and held her

hand. "She's okay. Gabby's okay, they're taking care of
her."

"Take some deep breaths," Cameron advised. "If you

put your head down--"

"Don't touch me," Alison whispered. She looked up

at Cameron with tears in her eyes. "You said she was
okay. You said there was nothing wrong with her."

Looking taken aback, Cameron said, "She was okay."
"Yeah, right," James said. "Because babies with

nothing wrong with them stop breathing and turn blue
all the time, right? What the hell kind of doctor are
you?" He was furious, trembling.

"I didn't--" Cameron tried, but James snapped at him.

On the Dotted Line

62

"Shut up! We don't want to hear your excuses. Just

get the hell out of here. Get away from my family!"

Paul had never seen James like this; he didn't know

how to react, but his instincts told him to help James, to
protect him. He glanced at Gabby again, pale and weak,
and his heart clenched in his chest. "You'd better go," he
told Cameron, who was hesitating.

"I..." Cameron swallowed and nodded. "Okay." He

looked like he wanted to say something else, but he
didn't. He just turned and walked out, and if it seemed
like some of the light went out of the room when he left,
well, that couldn't be real, could it?

Paul knew better than that.

***

In the morning, when James was asleep in a chair,

head tipped back, snoring, and Alison was dozing, Paul
snuck outside and turned on his cell phone. He never
knew if there was a real reason for keeping cell phones
turned off in the hospital or if it was one of the those
rules that didn't have any basis in fact, but flaunting a
rule wasn't really in his nature regardless.

First he called work and left a vague message

explaining that he'd be late and that he'd call again once
someone was in to let them know what was going on.
He was probably chancing getting fired, but what else
could he do?

Then he tried Cameron's number, but Cameron didn't

pick up. It went to voice mail after a few rings. Paul
waited for the beep, then said, "Um, hi. It's me. Me
Paul." If he hadn't been so tired, the inanity of that
would have made him wince. "Gabby's okay. I mean,
she's stable or whatever, and they haven't been able to
find anything wrong with her yet. I guess... I guess
they're doing a lot of tests." He took a deep breath and

let it out, then went on. "I'm sorry. About everything. I
know this wasn't your fault. Um. Call me. Or I'll call
you, or something."

On the Dotted Line

63

The rest of the day went by in a haze made worse by

lack of sleep. Thank God for caffeine. There were more
tests, and Alison's parents arrived from out of town,
which resulted in a fresh bout of crying from Alison.
James had just gone outside for some fresh air, and
Alison sent Paul to find him.

James was nowhere to be seen when Paul when out

through the doors closest to the elevators, but for some
reason Paul went around the corner and there he was,
with a lit cigarette in his hand. His eyes went slightly
panicked when he saw Paul, and he dropped the
cigarette to the sidewalk and stepped on it, putting it out.

"Since when are you smoking again?" Paul asked.
"It was just one," James said defensively. "I bummed

it off a nurse who was out here. Jesus, Paul, don't look at
me like that. I'm fucking stressed, okay? It was just

one."

"Okay, okay," Paul said. "Fine. Don't freak out.

Alison's parents are here; she wanted me to come get
you."

James started back toward the doors immediately.

"Look, don't say anything to Alison about the smoking."

"I won't," Paul said. He'd been friends with James

forever. It wasn't like he was going to rat on him for one
cigarette.

"Thanks."
The doctor had been dropping hints about releasing

Gabby, but Alison was so anxious over the idea that he

eventually relented and agreed to keep her another night.
"But at this point we don't have any reason to think there
was anything specific that caused this," he went on. "It
was probably an isolated incident."

"But what about last week?" James asked.
Flipping through Gabby's chart, the doctor shook his

head. "Unrelated."

"How can you be so sure?" Alison was practically

wringing her hands.

"Because it's my job." He gave them a tight, smug

smile that kind of made Paul hate him. "We'll continue

On the Dotted Line

64

to monitor her overnight, and assuming everything stays
fine, you can take her home in the morning."

Alison thanked the doctor with more gratitude than

he probably deserved for doing nothing and sighed.
Putting his arm around her shoulders, James kissed her
temple.

"Don't worry," he told her. "Everything's gonna be

fine."

It was like a vigil, sitting around waiting for the hours

to pass. More than anything, Paul wanted to hear
Cameron's voice, but he couldn't seem to slip away long
enough to make a call, and if Cameron was trying to call
him, well, his phone was turned off. He reassured
himself with the thought that his voicemail must be
filling up with messages, went to dinner at the hospital
cafeteria with Alison's parents, brought food back to the

room for James and Alison. He took a turn holding
Gabby while she slept, peaceful, her color normal again,
breathing steady and even.

"Why don't you go home and get some sleep?"

Alison suggested to him finally, but she said it like she
thought she should, not like she really wanted him to go.

"No, it's fine. If you're staying, I'm staying." Paul felt

half transparent, insubstantial, like the stress of the past
twenty hours or so had sapped his solidity.

Alison kissed his cheek. "Well, at least go take a

walk or something. Get yourself a coffee."

"Okay." He could do the first, at least, but not the

second because he only had about thirty cents in his
pocket and no debit card. He'd learned his lesson about
debit cards and living paycheck to paycheck the first
time he'd overdrawn his account. He'd been in the red
for weeks because of all the fees and had had to borrow
money from James just so he could eat. So, no more
debit card for him. It was cash all the way.

Or, like today, no cash at all.
Paul wandered up and down the halls for a while, not

really wanting to go outside where it was now dark. He
ended up getting turned around and sort of lost for a

On the Dotted Line

65

while, and then he crashed into someone who grabbed
onto him and steadied him.

"Hey," Cameron said. "What are you doing down

here? Are you okay?"

"I got lost," Paul said. God, he was so tired. He just

wanted to slump against Cameron and let someone
support his weight. "Is this the ER?"

"Just about. I tried to call you, but I guess your phone

was off. Well, I hoped it was off and that you hadn't
decided to avoid me." Cameron glanced around. "If I
take a break, can I buy you a cup of coffee or
something?"

"Yes, please," Paul said in a small voice.
Ten minutes later, Paul was sitting across from

Cameron in the cafeteria, which was at the rear of the
hospital on the first floor. There were huge windows

along the back of the room, through which Paul could
see dark trees in the little bit of light that fell through the
glass. He had his hands wrapped around a paper cup of
coffee, and there was some kind of Danish thing sitting
on a paper plate in front of him, although he hadn't taken
a bite out of it yet. It looked fresh, and it smelled sweet,
but his stomach was tight with stress instead of hunger
for once, and he couldn't bring himself to eat. Even
sipping the hot coffee seemed like an effort.

"You've been here since last night," Cameron said,

and when Paul frowned at him, he explained, "You're

still wearing the same clothes."

"Oh. Right." Paul looked down at himself. His shirt

was really wrinkled. "Yeah. Alison told me I should go
home tonight, but I don't want to leave them here."

"You could." Cameron was watching him with a

concerned expression. "I'm sure they'd be fine."

"It doesn't seem right," Paul said. Wishing he could

come up with a better explanation, he sighed and rubbed
his forehead.

"Is there anything I can do?" Cameron asked. "I

mean, other than stay away, which is what I've been
doing."

On the Dotted Line

66

"Yeah; I'm really sorry about that. I'm sure they'll get

over it once Gabby is home. They were just, you
know..."

Cameron nodded. "Don't worry about it. I

understand."

"I felt bad," Paul told him. "I just... I don't know, I

guess I don't really know what I'm doing." He felt
confused and kind of light-headed.

"Eat that," Cameron said, pointing at the Danish, and

Paul found himself picking it up obediently and taking a
bite. There was some kind of apple stuff inside, little bits
of chopped apple in a thick sauce, and it was flaky and
pretty much the best thing Paul could remember having
tasted.

"It's good," he said around a mouthful.
Smiling, Cameron leaned back in his chair. "I know; I

get them sometimes when I've been working a double
shift. As a reward."

"A reward?" Paul asked.
"Yeah, you know. For having to be here so much."

Cameron sipped at his own coffee and watched as Paul
finished off the Danish. "I mean, don't get me wrong; I
love my job. But sometimes I get this sneaking
suspicion that there's more to life, and I'm missing it."

"Your family?" Paul guessed, hoping it wasn't a

stupid thing to say.

"Maybe. Sure, I'd like to see them more than I do, but

it's not that as much as... you know, wanting someone to

share all this with." He gestured around the cafeteria,
then looked at the people sitting at tables around them.
"Well, maybe not this, specifically."

Paul grinned tiredly. "It's not so bad. Don't get me

wrong, I wouldn't want to eat every meal here."

"No, you really wouldn't." Cameron looked glum.

"Sometimes I do."

The two women at the table next to theirs stood up.

As one of them was walking by, she must have kicked
something that was on the floor, because there was the
skittering sound of something skating across the tile.
She glanced down at it and continued on.

On the Dotted Line

67

Cameron, on the other hand, looked, then bent down

and came up holding a shiny, metallic-looking green
pen. He noted Paul watching him and flushed, not a lot,
just a faint hint of pink to his cheeks. Paul liked it. "I
can't help myself," Cameron said, setting the pen down
on the table near his cup of coffee.

"No, it's cute," Paul assured him.
"I suppose I could collect something more

embarrassing," Cameron said. "I'm not sure what, but
something."

"Dildos?" Paul suggested, then felt his own cheeks

warm as he realized he'd actually spoken the word aloud
instead of just thinking it. "Oh God, forget I said that."

Cameron chuckled a little bit and shook his head. "I

don't think so. But hey, don't worry; I think pretty much
everything you say and do is cute."

"Really?" It made Paul feel good to think that

Cameron seemed to like him so much, especially since
he probably wasn't at his best with all this craziness
going on.

"Really. I think you're adorable." Cameron set his

hand on the table, letting his knuckles rub against Paul's
briefly. In a lower voice, he continued, "And very, very
sexy."

"Oh." Paul's cock stirred, clearly interested in

anything Cameron might have to say in that low, sultry
voice. He swallowed and dared a lightning-quick

squeeze of Cameron's fingers with his own. "I. Um."

Cameron looked suddenly terribly grief-stricken.

"God, Paul. I'm so sorry. You're just so-- I know this
isn't the time."

"No, it's good. Distraction is good." Underneath the

table, Paul pressed his knee to Cameron's. "Seriously.
Don't be sorry. I liked it."

Relieved, Cameron smiled, but just then his beeper

went off. He checked it. "Damn. I have to go. I'll call
you, all right?"

"Okay," Paul said, standing up when Cameron did. "I

should be getting back anyway."

On the Dotted Line

68

He went upstairs to Gabby's room. Alison looked

relieved to see him. "Did you get coffee?" she asked,
and he said, "Yes," and left it at that rather than chance
upsetting her or James.

"How's she doing?" he asked.
"Fine," James said. "The same. They're going to

release her in the morning."

'In the morning' apparently meant some time after

lunch the next day. Paul should have remembered that
that was what hospitals were like; everything took ages
and involved a ton of paperwork. They had to have a
meeting with Gabby's doctor first, in a small room with
half a dozen chairs, as the doctor went over all the signs
to watch for, under what circumstances they should
bring Gabby back to the hospital, and how to minimize
the chances that there would be another, similar

incident.

As he made notes, the doctor asked them questions.

"Now, you know about putting her on her back to
sleep?"

"Yes, of course," Alison said. "Always."
"No loose bedding in the crib, keep the room cool..."

He made a few more notes without looking up at them,
then lifted his face and fixed his gaze on Alison. "You
didn't smoke while you were pregnant with her, did
you?"

"No," Alison said, sounding slightly horrified. "Of

course not! My husband used to smoke, but he quit
when we found out I was pregnant."

"And no one smokes around her now? Babysitters,

grandparents? Maternal smoking and secondhand smoke

exposure are two of the greatest risk factors in SIDS."
The doctor frowned at them.

The secondhand smoke thing wasn't good for anyone,

Paul knew, but he hadn't known there was a connection
between it and SIDs. They were so lucky that they
hadn't lost Gabby to what was officially being called
'unexplained apnea.'

He remembered, suddenly, having smelled the smoke

in James' car the week before.

On the Dotted Line

69

"No, she hasn't been exposed to any smoke at all,"

Alison said, glancing at James, who was looking... well,
guilty was probably the only word for it. "James?"

"What?" James said defensively.
"You haven't... you weren't..." Alison stopped,

seemingly too upset to continue.

Paul hoped that James would be able to forgive him;

he hoped he would be able to forgive James. The
thought of not being able to do so made him feel sick.
"He's been smoking," he blurted out, and Alison's eyes
went from hurt to angry.

"What?" She looked at James and, when he didn't say

anything, back at Paul.

He swallowed, then said, "In the car. And outside."
"Outside the hospital? You fucking bastard!" Alison

stood up and pointed at the door. "Get out of here. And

don't think for one second that you're coming back to the
house."

"But I haven't--" James tried, and she cut him off.
"I don't want to hear your excuses," she snapped.

"You endangered our child's life. She almost died. So
just get out. I can't stand to look at you."

Paul hesitated, then said, gently, as James started for

the door, shoulders slumped, "Ali -- maybe--"

"Don't defend him, Paul," Alison said dully, rubbing

her face. "Just... don't."

The look James shot him before stepping through the

doorway was beseeching.

It almost broke Paul's heart not to go to him, but he

knew who was in the wrong, and it wasn't Alison. So he
stayed.

On the Dotted Line

70

Chapter 7

They took Gabby home later that day; James had,

without saying anything, left Alison's car, with the infant
car seat strapped in back. Paul wondered if James had
called a cab, or if he'd found someone to give him a ride,
or what. Gabrielle fussed as Alison clipped her into the
babyseat, and when Alison straightened up, there were
tears in her eyes.

"Hey," Paul said, hugging her. "Hey, it's okay. It's

going to be okay."

"Just... promise me you won't leave me alone?"

Alison's words were muffled against the front of Paul's
coat. "I couldn't take it right now."

"I promise," Paul told her, and kissed her forehead

when she lifted her face. "Here, give me your keys and

I'll drive."

Alison sat in back with Gabby, fussing over her, as

Paul carefully drove the car to James and Alison's house.
James' car wasn't in the driveway, but neither of them
commented on it as they took Gabby into the house. The
baby seemed to know that they were home and almost
immediately fell asleep in Alison's arms.

"Maybe you should get some sleep, too," Paul

suggested.

"No, I want to watch her."
Paul stood there, not having any idea what to do next.

It occurred to him that he could turn his cell phone on
now, but decided it would seem rude to do it. "I could
make you something to eat?"

"I'm not really hungry," Alison said.
"Maybe not, but you should eat anyway. Scrambled

eggs?"

Alison agreed, and Paul went into the kitchen.

Luckily, there were a dozen eggs in the fridge. He found
the butter and some whole wheat bread for toast and
scrambled four eggs with some cheese. Cutting the toast
into triangles, he arranged the food on two plates and
carried them into the living room only to find that

On the Dotted Line

71

Alison had fallen asleep sitting up, her head tilted to one
side.

Paul set the plates down, sat on the coffee table

across from Alison, and touched her arm gently. "Hey,
sleeping beauty."

She opened her eyes and yawned, then looked

startled and guilty as she came fully awake. "Oh, God.
Gabby?" The baby was still sleeping peacefully and only
stirred when Alison shifted her grip.

"Let me hold her," Paul said, determined not to take

no for an answer. He gathered Gabby into his arms and
gestured at the plates with his chin. "Eat," he told
Alison.

"Okay, okay, bossy," Alison said. She managed to

find a smile somewhere.

"Bossy is a cow's name," Paul said. He picked up his

own fork and shoveled some egg onto it, careful not to
drop any on the sleeping baby as he lifted it to his
mouth.

"Oh, excuse me. I didn't realize you were such an

expert on livestock." Alison sounded so much better that
it gave Paul hope. "Do you have a history of farmwork
I'm unaware of?"

Paul shook his head and pushed a triangle of toast

into his mouth, chewing. Ah, food. "Nope, no farmwork.

I can't even remember the last time I saw a horse. In a
parade on TV, maybe."

"Just wait 'til this little girl hits her pony phase,"

Alison said, reaching over to brush her fingers lightly
across Gabby's ruffled hair. "You'll be so sick of
horses."

"How do you know she's going to have a pony

phase?"

"Well, I don't know. But most of the little girls I've

known did, including myself." Alison ate some eggs,
then went on, "I had pony rides at my eighth birthday
party. I was so mad when the white one took a dump on
the lawn."

"It hadn't occurred to you that they pooped?" Paul

asked, smiling.

On the Dotted Line

72

"My little plastic ones never did," Alison explained.

"James always says--" But she stopped, looking stricken.
"Fuck. What am I going to do?"

Sighing, Paul said, "You're going to finish your

breakfast, and then you're going to go get some sleep.
Don't worry. We'll deal with it."

Alison was tired enough that after she finished eating

she agreed to go to bed for a while, as long as Paul
promised not to set Gabby down for a second. "And if
she seems off at all, wake me up and call 9-1-1. Or call
9-1-1 first."

"I will," Paul assured her. "Now go. You'll feel a lot

better once you've gotten some sleep."

"I hope you're right." Alison pressed a tender kiss to

Gabby's forehead and went upstairs to the bedroom.

An hour later, Paul was bored out of his mind. There

was only so much he could do while holding a baby
cradled in one arm. He'd only been able to find one
magazine of any interest, and it happened to be one he'd
read in the tiny breakroom at work a few weeks before.
The one thing that had been briefly entertaining was
taking a piss, and that was only because re-fastening the
button on his pants one-handed was a challenge.

He finally remembered his cell phone and had just

fumbled it out of his pocket to turn it on when Alison's

house phone rang. He dropped the cell on the floor in his
haste to get to the other phone before its ringing woke
Alison.

"Hello?" he said, keeping his voice low.
It was Alison's mother. "Oh, is that Paul?"
"Yeah, hi, Mrs. Weaver. We're back. From the

hospital, I mean. Everything's fine. Gabby's fine. She's
right here sleeping. Um, Alison's sleeping, too."

"Well, that's good. I'm sure she needs it after all she's

been through." Mrs. Weaver, whose first name was
Penny, sounded relieved. "Is James there?"

"Um." Paul didn't let himself hesitate for long -- that

would seem too suspicious -- but he knew it wasn't his
place to let slip what had happened between James and
Alison. Besides, he was hoping that Alison would

On the Dotted Line

73

forgive James and everything would go back to normal,
ideally as quickly as possible, but definitely before Paul
had to try to explain any of it to Alison's parents. "No,
he had to go out to the store for some things."

"All right. Could you tell Alison that I called and

have her call me when she gets up?"

"Of course," Paul said. "Bye."
He hung up, turned, and stepped solidly on his cell

phone, which made an ominous cracking sound.

"Shit."
Lowering himself cautiously to one knee, he picked it

up, then went over to sit on the couch. When he flipped
the phone open, it split into two halves, the hinges
parting. The screen was cracked, and the phone no
longer seemed capable of powering up no matter how
stubbornly he pushed the button. Damn it.

He'd never written Cameron's number down

anywhere.

Maybe he could leave Cameron a message at the

hospital. Paul went down the hallway to the office and
woke up James' computer, opened the browser, and
found the main number to the hospital. There was
another extension of the house phone in the office, so he
picked it up and dialed. He had to navigate a seemingly
endless automated menu system before he got to a sub-
menu that let him try to find Cameron's voice mail by
typing in his last name, which he barely remembered.
Fraser, like the TV show, only spelled different. He was

then dumped into what might have been Cameron's
voice mail -- the message was in a computer generated
voice, so it was hard to be sure -- where he left a
message explaining that his cell was dead but that he'd
be in touch as soon as he could figure out a way.

What that way would be, Paul had no idea. He could

probably find Cameron's home number, assuming he
had one, but his own home phone had been disconnected
ages ago -- he could hardly afford one phone bill, let
alone two -- and now his cell was dead. He couldn't
afford to replace it, and it wasn't like he could leave

On the Dotted Line

74

James and Alison's number and ask them to pass on a
message.

His thoughts were interrupted by Gabby, who

squirmed in his arms and started to fuss. "Well, hi there,
sweetie. I was wondering when you might wake up." He
had to admit, if only to himself, that it was a relief to
have her awake again.

Gabby gave a small, protesting wail, and he shifted

her up to his shoulder and patted her bottom
experimentally.

"You need a clean diaper, princess."
He crept upstairs to the nursery, shushing Gabby so

she wouldn't wake Alison, and took off the soiled
diaper, stuffing it into the diaper bin or whatever the
thing was called. Then he wiped Gabby clean, sprinkled
her with powder, and taped on a fresh diaper.

"There we go. Is that better?"
Kicking her legs, Gabby gurgled at him.
"Okay. Let's go downstairs and get you a bottle."
The phone rang again, and he had to force himself to

walk slowly instead of hurry. He grabbed it in the office
because it was closest.

"Paul. Hi." It was James' voice. "Look, don't hang up

on me without telling me how Gabby is, please." He
sounded desperate.

"I won't," Paul said. "I would never do that." No

matter what James had done, he obviously loved his
daughter and deserved to know that she was okay.
"Gabby's fine. They released her right around the time
they said they would, and Alison and I brought her

home. She was napping for a while, but now she's
awake. I was just going to get her a bottle."

"Where's Alison?"
"She's lying down, trying to get some rest. Where are

you?"

James cleared his throat. "At Starbucks. I-- I didn't

know where to go. Is Alison... she's still mad?"

"Yeah, probably. But don't freak out too much. Give

her a little time and she'll forgive you."

On the Dotted Line

75

"I didn't mean to do it." James' voice was breaking. "I

wanted to quit, I swear. It's just so hard."

"I know," Paul said, and heard the creak of the stairs

as Alison came down them. More softly, he said, "I'll
call you later, okay?"

Alison was in the doorway. "Is that James?"
"Um," Paul said.
"Give it to me." Alison came into the room and took

the phone from his hand before he could protest. "What
do you want?" A pause while she listened to James'
reply. "Well, maybe you should have thought about that
before you smoked around my daughter." Another
pause. "No! Not unless you can take care of her like a
father should. So maybe you shouldn't call again until
you're ready to do that."

In Paul's arms, Gabby started to cry.

"Goodbye, James," Alison said coldly, and hung up.

She turned to Paul and took Gabby from him. "I don't
want you talking to him," she told Paul.

For a few seconds he just stood there, shocked, as she

walked from the room. "You don't get to make that
decision." He followed her into the kitchen, where she
was getting herself a glass of water.

"I have to protect Gabrielle," Alison told him, sitting

down at the kitchen table and unbuttoning the top of her
blouse in preparation of breastfeeding Gabby. "If James
doesn't take the risk of smoking around the baby
seriously, especially after what happened, he doesn't

deserve to be part of her life."

Paul sat down across from her, averting his eyes as

she bared her breast and got Gabby latched on. "He
made a mistake," he said gently, trying to sound like he
was on her side, because he mostly was. "You know he's
sorry. You're going to end your marriage because of one
mistake?"

"It's not that simple." Alison detached Gabby's

chubby fist from her blouse and held it instead. "I don't
know. I don't know how I'm going to be able to look at
him and not see the man who almost killed my baby."

On the Dotted Line

76

A frustrated sound escaped Paul before he could stop

it. "You don't have any way to know that James'
smoking was connected to what happened to Gabby. If
he'd been smoking two packs a day in Gabby's presence,
then I might not think you were overreacting."

"Oh, so now I'm overreacting?" Alison stiffened, and

Gabby pulled away and started to cry. "Shh, hush, baby,
it's okay. Mommy's sorry. Mommy's so sorry." She
managed to get Gabby calmed down and nursing again.
"I'm not overreacting, Paul."

"Okay, okay. But I was serious when I said you don't

know it was James' fault." He remembered something
suddenly. "Oh, shit. I forgot to tell you your mom called.
You're supposed to call her back."

"Okay. I will." But Alison was gazing down at her

daughter in an apparent daze, unable to tear her eyes

away.

***

Paul figured he was going to be stuck at Alison's that

night, but as it turned out, her parents came over --
which required a whole explanation about why James
wasn't there -- and her mother offered to spend the night,
letting Paul off the hook. Of course, he didn't have a
way to get home, so Alison's father had to give him a
ride. It was with a fantastic sense of relief that Paul
unlocked his front door and went into his apartment; all
he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep and sleep and
sleep.

He took a very quick shower, pulled on a pair of

flannel pants, and went barefoot to the kitchen for
something to eat. While he was feeling depression creep
over him, surveying the bare state of his cupboards,
there was a knock at his door. Frowning, he went to
answer it, not realizing that he was only half dressed
until he was already opening the door.

James stood in the hallway, holding a pizza box and a

paper bag and smelling distinctly of liquor and cigarette
smoke. "Hey," he said. "Want some dinner?"

On the Dotted Line

77

"Not if you've been smoking," Paul said, because it

seemed like he had to take a stand against that if nothing
else.

Making his eyes go wide, James shook his head. "No,

no smoking. I mean, I'm sure I reek of it. I've been
across the street for the past couple of hours, waiting for
you to come home."

Across the street there was a bar where you could

also play pool; the place always reeked of smoke. It
made sense, and Paul wanted to believe him. "Okay.
Yeah, come in."

James did, stumbling a little as he crossed the

threshold. "Sorry. I think I had a few too many."

"You think? Your breath is like a distillery." Paul

took the pizza from him -- it was still warm -- and
dropped it down on the small table next to his ratty

couch. "What's in the bag?"

"Beer," James admitted sheepishly. "You want one?"
Paul considered it; what if Alison called and needed

him? It was obvious James wasn't going to be much use
in case of an emergency. "Yeah, okay. But just one."

James drank an entire beer without saying anything,

then took two bites of his slice of pizza before dropping
it back down onto the lid of the pizza box. "What the
fuck am I going to do?"

"Well, you could stop drinking, for one," Paul told

him.

"Fuck you," James said, without heat. "I'm an adult. I

can drink if I want to."

"You are an adult," Paul agreed. "You're also a

father."

"Not according to my wife." James sounded bitter.

"Hell, for all I know she's going to go down to the
courthouse tomorrow and file for divorce."

For a few seconds, Paul was going to say that Alison

couldn't do that tomorrow because tomorrow was
Sunday. Then he thought about it some more and
realized that today was Sunday. Thank goodness,
because he'd completely forgotten about work since the
hasty call he'd made to to tell his boss that he was

On the Dotted Line

78

having a 'family emergency' and would touch base on
Monday when he knew more. Instead, he said, "Your
name is on Gabby's birth certificate. Yours, not mine.
You're her father. No one can take that away from you,
not even Alison."

James was staring down at his hands; when he looked

up at Paul, his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I
fucked up. God, I fucked everything up."

"Hey," Paul said, moving closer and patting James'

shoulder. "It'll be okay. Gabby's fine, and you and
Alison are going to work things out."

"What if we don't? What if -- what if she divorces

me? I love her, Paul. I love her so much, and now she
hates me. She's never going to forgive me." James'
throat worked as he fought not to cry.

"She doesn't hate you. She's mad, but she won't be

that way forever."

"What if she is?" James scrubbed his sleeve across

his eyes so roughly that it looked like it hurt, stood up,
and walked over to the window. "I need another drink."

"I'm pretty sure you're not going to be saying that

come morning," Paul told him. "Speaking of which, you
know you're staying here, right? Because there's no way
I'm letting you drive like this."

"You don't want to risk me possibly killing someone

else?" James asked. He pulled a small bottle of what was
probably vodka out from the waistband of his jeans. It
couldn't have been comfortable, either, having it tucked
in there, but maybe he was already drunk enough that
the only pain he was feeling was emotional. "Well, what

I really need is a cigarette, but I tossed my only pack.
What the fuck was I thinking?"

"You were thinking that you want to reconcile with

your wife and that you'd damned well better quit
smoking for good," Paul said.

James shrugged, looking out the window, and took a

long swig from the bottle. "Then I was stupid, because
that's never going to happen."

Paul wanted to ask what James was talking about, the

quitting smoking or the reconciliation, but he sort of

On the Dotted Line

79

thought that it wasn't the right time. "It's going to be
okay," he said instead.

Rolling his eyes, James came back over to the couch.

"You can stop with the platitudes, okay? Let's just sit
here and get drunk and eat our pizza."

"Okay." Paul was certainly willing to eat pizza. He

had two more slices and watched as James ate one and
drained the rest of his bottle of vodka. Maybe in the long
run this would be good. James would get totally drunk,
sleep it off on the couch, wake up with a hangover, and
agree to anything Paul told him to do.

Well, not anything. He knew that from previous

experience that while hungover James was meek and
cooperative, he was still one of the straightest men on
the planet. But it ought to be good enough for a tearful
apology to Alison.

James was starting to lean to one side, and when he

reached out to set his empty bottle on the table, he
missed and it fell to the floor instead. "Shit."

"Don't worry about it." Paul picked it up, put it on the

table, and stood up. "I think I'm gonna get ready for bed.
You should get some sleep, too."

"Yeah," James slurred. "M'tired."
Paul went to brush his teeth, then took a glass of

water, a bottle of ibuprofen, and his only spare blanket
into the living room. James was still sitting up, staring
blankly at the wall. "Hey, lie down."

"How-- how am I supposed to sleep alone?" James

asked bleakly.

"You lie down and close your eyes," Paul told him.

God, if it didn't hurt so much to see James like this, it
would almost be funny. "Here, come on."

He managed to get James lying down on the couch,

then tucked the blanket around him.

"There's a glass of water and some pills right here if

you need them," he said, but it seemed like James was
already asleep.

Exhausted himself, Paul went to bed and fell almost

instantly into a deep, heavy sleep. It felt like he'd been
asleep for hours when he woke up to find James

On the Dotted Line

80

standing next to the bed, but when he glanced at the
clock, it was still before midnight.

"You okay?" he asked, yawning.
He saw that James' shoulders were shaking and bare;

James must have taken off his shirt at some point. "I
can't-- sleep," James said. His voice hitched. "I don't-- I
don't know what to do."

Flipping back the covers, Paul said, "You're

shivering. Get in."

James was still plenty drunk, because he didn't even

hesitate. That made Paul think he probably shouldn't
have suggested it. The last thing he wanted was for
James to decide he'd been taken advantage of later. But
it was just lying in a bed together, not sex. He and James
would never have sex.

"I don't know what to do," James said again, crying.

Despite the fact that neither of them was wearing a

shirt, Paul couldn't just let James lie there and cry
without comforting him. He rolled toward James and
slung an arm around his neck, pulling him close and
hugging him. James was like his brother, he told himself
firmly, even as his dick swelled as a result of being so
close to the man he'd been in love with on one level or
another for years. "Just get some sleep," he said
helplessly, as James' tears wet his shoulder. "In the
morning it'll all be okay."

"You're my best friend," James told him.
"Yeah, I know. You're my best friend, too."
"But you shouldn't be," James said. When he talked,

his lips moved against Paul's bare skin, which didn't
help Paul's erection go down. "You shouldn't be my best

friend. I mean, my wife should be my best friend. She
should understand me."

Paul cleared his throat and tried to ease away from

James a little bit, but James clung onto him
determinedly. "She does understand you."

"Not like you do." James lifted his face and looked at

Paul. "I love you, man."

"I know. I-- I love you, too." Christ, this was so

uncomfortable. There'd been a time Paul would have

On the Dotted Line

81

given anything for James to love him back, but now he
knew that the way James loved him was as a friend and
nothing more.

"You're the only one who really understands me,"

James said, and without any more warning than that,
kissed him.

James' lips were rough and his breath reeked of

liquor, and Paul went from half-hard to hard in less
space than it took to blink. "James," he said, in protest,
but he'd wanted this so long that the urge to roll with it
was stronger than anything else. He could feel James'
nipples, small and tight, brush against his own chest, and
he groaned.

"Tell me you love me," James whispered.
"I love you," Paul responded automatically. James

reached for his cock, fumbled his hand around it through

the thin layer of Paul's pajama pants, and the jolt of
pleasure was like a slap; Paul jerked away from James.
"No. We can't do this."

"Why not?"
Taking a chance, Paul reached down and cupped

James' flaccid cock. "Well, the first reason is because
you don't actually want to, and the second -- but more
important -- is because you've hurt your family enough
for one week."

He pushed himself into a sitting position against the

headboard and waited. Waited for James to say
something, anything, not that he had the faintest idea
what it might be. Finally, he heard a faint snore and
realized that James had fallen asleep or maybe passed
out.

With a sigh, Paul got up with the intention of

sleeping on the couch.

Before he could do more than lie down and pull the

blanket over him, though, there was a soft, tentative
knock at the door. He hesitated, thinking maybe it wasn't
his door, maybe someone was knocking on his
neighbor's door, but there it came again, just as tentative,
so he got up to answer it.

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82

It was Cameron, and he was just turning away, but he

turned back as soon as the door started to open, his face
lighting up. "Hi," he said quietly, like he was afraid of
waking the neighbors. "I didn't know if you were here.
Did I wake you up?"

"No," Paul said. "How did you even know where here

was?"

"Internet," Cameron told him. "I really just wanted to

make sure you were okay, and since I couldn't call you, I
figured I'd come by and see if you were here. I would
have come earlier, but I kind of got stuck at work."

"Yeah, no, that's fine." Paul was so glad to see

Cameron that he didn't care it was almost midnight and
technically he was supposed to go to work in the
morning. "Oh, come in."

"Are you sure?" Cameron asked, even as he stepped

into the apartment.

Paul wished his apartment was nicer, or that he'd at

least tidied up before going to bed. The pizza box was
still on the table, along with the beer bottles and James'
empty vodka bottle. "Yeah, I wasn't sleeping anyway.
Today's been kind of a mess."

"But they released Gabby. I asked. How is she?"
"Fine," Paul said. "Here, do you want to sit down?

Um, do you want a beer? I guess it's warm."

"No, thanks, I'm good."
Paul found himself glancing toward the bedroom, and

Cameron frowned.

"Was I... interrupting something?"
"Not the way you're thinking," Paul said, moving the

blanket to one side and sitting next to him. "James and
Alison had this huge fight because it turns out James
didn't really quit smoking when he said he did, and she
threw him out. And then a couple of hours ago he turned
up here, drunk. I'm hoping once he sleeps it off I can get
the two of them together to work it out."

"That does sound like a messy day," Cameron said

sympathetically. "Well, maybe I should go so you can
get some sleep."

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83

Paul shrugged. "I wasn't doing a very good job of it

before you got here. James was--" He wasn't sure he
should admit to what had just happened. "Uhm, if I tell
you something, will you keep it to yourself?"

"Of course."
"Well, James -- he was really drunk, and I mean,

really. And really upset over the thing with Alison. And
he -- he came onto me."

Cameron didn't seem surprised. "At least he has good

taste."

"For a straight guy," Paul pointed out.
"For any guy. I take it he's never done that before?"
Paul made a face. "Never. I tried to sort of test the

waters, back when I... um, back when I realized I had
feelings for him. Years and years ago. But he just wasn't
interested. Which was totally fair."

"But disappointing."
"Sure, yes. Definitely disappointing. But I got over it.

He was too good a friend not to accept it and move on."

"And you're too good a friend to take advantage of

him," Cameron said.

No matter how much part of him might have wanted

to. "Can you imagine how guilty I would have felt
afterward?"

Cameron nodded but didn't say anything, like he was

waiting for Paul to continue.

"Anyway. I'm more interested in seeing where this

thing -- you and me -- goes." Paul sighed. "I'm glad you

got my message."

"It was nice to hear your voice. What happened to

your phone?"

"I stepped on it." Paul sighed. "I got rid of my land

line a while back, so I'm pretty much out of contact until
I can get a new phone, and I'm kind of broke at the
moment. Um, just until my next paycheck, I mean."

Giving him a concerned look, Cameron sat forward.

"I could loan you some money."

Only if he never wanted to get the money back, Paul

thought. "No, that's okay. I'll figure something out."

"But you've got a sick baby," Cameron said.

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84

"No," Paul said slowly. "James and Alison have a

sick baby." He thought he'd made that pretty clear from
the beginning.

"But they need to be able to get in touch with you if

something happens," Cameron argued. He took out his
wallet and flipped it open. "Come on, let me give you
some money. It doesn't have to be a loan. It's a gift.
Because I want to."

Paul shook his head, feeling stubborn as hell. "No.

Thanks, but no. I'll be okay."

Cameron looked around the apartment disbelievingly.

"This is what you call okay?"

Feeling himself flush hotly, Paul stood up. "There's

nothing wrong with my apartment. It's a roof over my
head. I pay for it. And I don't take handouts."

"But--" Cameron started to argue, then apparently

thought better of it and stopped. "Okay, I'm sorry. I just
wanted to help."

It was hard not to be offended, but Paul decided to

try. "I don't need help; I'm fine on my own."

"I get that," Cameron said. "But -- don't get mad --

you shouldn't have to be on your own. You don't have to
be."

"Maybe I do," Paul said, not sure how he felt about

that. "Maybe... maybe it's been too long, and I don't
know how to be any other way."

Cameron stood up and looked at him for what felt

like a really long time, then said, "I hope that's not true.

It doesn't sound like much of a life."

"It's my life," Paul said. "I don't need your approval.

You don't get to pass judgment."

"I'm not. I wouldn't," Cameron said. "I just... I like

you, and I think it'd be nice if you were happy. I'm sure
James and Alison want that for you, too. They don't
want you to be alone and struggling."

"That doesn't mean there's anything they can do about

it," Paul said. Besides, they didn't know, and he really
wanted to keep it that way.

Cameron sighed. "No, but maybe there's something I

could do." He shook his head. "I should go. Just... think

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85

about it. Don't write me off too quickly." Before Paul
could really react, Cameron stepped in close and kissed
him, a swift brush of lips. "Good night."

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86

Chapter 8

Too bad Cameron's parting words didn't end up being

descriptive of the night Paul actually had. Instead of
eight hours of peaceful sleep, he had two hours,
followed by an hour of kneeling in the bathroom next to
James as his friend threw up repeatedly. By the time
James was able to get his feet under him and stagger
back to the bedroom, Paul was exhausted enough that he
collapsed on the bed with James.

Late morning, he woke to sun streaming in through

the cracked windowpane. He knew it had to be almost
eleven, which meant he was hours late for work. Shit.
He rolled over and saw James, still snoring, lying on the
other side of the bed. Shit, again. He groaned softly,
wanting nothing more in that moment than to go back to

sleep for another twelve hours or so, and James opened
his eyes.

"Shit," James said, half a minute later.
"My thoughts exactly." The previous night's events

filtered back, and Paul put his hand over his eyes briefly.
"Let's make an agreement."

James turned onto his back and shut his eyes again.

"Okay. What?"

"Let's not talk about last night. Ever."
"Sounds good to me." James rubbed his forehead.

"Fuck. I'm so hungover."

"I'm not surprised. You probably drank enough to kill

a man twice your size."

"And then puked it up again," James agreed. "But I

thought we weren't talking about last night."

"Oh, right. I forgot." Paul thought for a moment. "I'd

offer you coffee, but I don't think I have any."

James moaned softly. "I'll buy you breakfast if you

promise not to drink coffee in my presence."

The thought of starting the day without coffee was

depressing; the thought of going to work without coffee
was impossible. Of course, for all Paul knew, he didn't
have a job anymore. "Okay," he agreed, since food was

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87

better than nothing, and they both got up and went in
search of clothes.

***

"Tea, please," Paul said to the waitress, because if he

couldn't have coffee, tea would at least have some
caffeine in it.

James ordered water, and the waitress went away.

"What's supposed to be good when you're hungover?"

"I don't know." Paul blinked blearily and studied the

menu. "Um, something greasy, maybe. Eggs and fried
potatoes?"

"And toast," James decided, leaning back and digging

his cell phone out of his pocket before sliding it across
the table at Paul. "Here, call Alison for me and see how

Gabby's doing. I want the number six, white toast, extra
sausage." He slid out of the booth, looking more than a
little green around the gills, and headed for the bathroom
at the back of the diner.

Paul dialed, wondering if Alison would even pick up

if she saw the call was coming from James' cell phone.
She did, though, so he quickly said, "It's Paul."

"You're on James' phone," she said flatly.
"Well, yeah; mine's busted, remember? How's

Gabby?"

"She seems fine. She slept a lot last night, and she's

sleeping again now, but she's probably recovering from
everything she went through at the hospital."

"I'm sure that's it," Paul said, because it seemed like

Alison wanted reassurance.

There was a pause, then Alison asked, "How's

James?"

"Hung over," Paul told her. "He's a mess, Ali. He's

so, so sorry. All he wants is to come home and make
things up to you. At least talk to him. Please? For me."

"Paul..." She sounded like she might be convinced.
"Please."
Alison sighed. "Okay. But just talk. I'm not making

any promises."

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88

"Good. Good. Thanks. I'll have him come over in a

while. Do you want me to come, too?"

"Yeah, that'd be good. Thanks, Paul. Thanks for

watching out for him."

He hung up just as the waitress brought their tea and

water. "Were you ready to order, or did you want to wait
for your friend?" she asked.

"No, we're ready. He'd like a number six with white

toast and extra sausage." Paul had to hope that was right,
although, with any luck, if it wasn't James wouldn't
remember or notice. "And I'll have a Spanish omelet
with an English muffin instead of toast. Can I do that?
And a side of home fries. Thank you."

James barely made it back before their food arrived.

When he did come back, he was pale, but the first thing
he asked was, "How's Gabby?"

"She's okay. Catching up on her sleep, Alison says."
The waitress brought their plates to the table and set

them down. "Can I get you anything else?"

"We're good," James said.
"Alison says you can come by and talk. Just talk. She

says she's not making any promises..." Paul wasn't sure
if he should try to be encouraging or if it wasn't fair to
get James' hopes up, but James' eyes lit up -- an
interesting look when combined with the dark circles
under them -- and he shoveled a bite of food into his
mouth.

"Well, come on," James said around a mouthful of

scrambled egg. "Eat up. I want to get over there as soon
as possible. Sooner." He looked around for their
waitress. "Do you think we can get this to go?"

***

Paul's heart was beating just a little too quickly as

James pulled into the driveway and shut off the car. He
knew James was probably ten times more nervous than
he was, but it was hard to focus on that when he was
selfishly worried about how them splitting up
permanently would affect him. Would he somehow end

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89

up financially responsible for Gabrielle? Not that he
wouldn't be willing to do what he could for her and
Alison; it was just that he could barely support himself,
let alone a baby and his best friend's ex-wife.

Okay, his worries were running away with him.
Still, as they went up to the front door, he couldn't

stop wondering what would happen with James if he and
Alison divorced. James had come on to him last night,
and for the first time Paul saw a glimmer of hope there.
The ironic thing was that he suspected it was probably
too late for them. His own infatuation with James,
powerful as it had been, had mellowed over the years,
and currently he was pretty sure he was falling for
Cameron. But his feelings for James had taken up such a
huge part of his life. There were so few things about him
that James didn't know.

At the front door, James hesitated, keys in hand. "I

guess I should knock, huh."

"Yeah, I think."
James knocked, and a minute later Alison threw open

the door, saying, "God, what did you forget now?" She
saw James and Paul standing there, flushed, and said,
"Sorry. I thought you were my parents coming back
again. They had to leave three times before they finally
left for good. But my mom has to work this afternoon,
and so they had to -- sorry again. I'm talking too much.
Are you coming in?"

They did.
"Where's Gabby?" James asked, but saw her right

away. She was in her little battery-operated swing,

which was rocking her back and forth, out of rhythm
with the nursery rhyme that was playing.

"Why don't I hang out with her for a while so you

guys can talk?" Paul suggested, and James and Alison
gave him matching grateful looks.

"Maybe outside? On the porch?" James said to

Alison. "Or is it too cold?" It wasn't that cold, really, but
they probably wanted privacy.

"Or I could take Gabby upstairs," Paul said.

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90

Alison smiled. "Would you? Thanks. That would be

great." To James, she added, "In the office? Do you need
to check your email?" That was good. She was being
conciliatory.

"I hadn't even thought about it," James said, sounding

surprised. "All I've been thinking about is you and
Gabby."

They walked toward the office, and Paul shut off the

swing and eased Gabby out of it and up onto his
shoulder. She blew a spit bubble and waved her arm,
narrowly missing his face. "Whoa there," he told her, as
he started up the stairs. "Easy, now. It's all fun and
games until someone loses an eye."

Gabby made a sound that was suspiciously like a

giggle. In her nursery, which Paul had helped James
paint when Alison was pregnant, he checked her diaper,

which was dry, then propped her up in a corner of the
small sofa and sat with her, holding up a stuffed bird
with weird plastic rings for arms and talking for it in a
goofy voice.

"Hello there, Ms. Gabrielle. I'm Mr. Bird. Do you

like to be... tickled?" He dove the bird toward Gabby's
belly and poked her with it a few times, and she burst
into laughter, her eyes squinting up. "I think you do! I
think you like being... tickled!"

The thing with babies was, you could do the same

thing about a hundred times in a row without them
getting sick of it. Paul finally had to vary the game just
to keep himself from dying of boredom. The fact that he
couldn't hear anything from downstairs was making him
kind of nervous. Did it mean they were just fighting
really quietly? Or were they working things out?

"They'd better be," he told Gabby, in the same silly

voice. "Or we'll have to go down there and whip their
asses into shape. Uh-oh! Did I just say 'ass' to the little
baby? That's no good!" In his normal voice, he said,
"Let's just keep this to ourselves, okay?"

Gabby beamed at him, grabbed the stuffed bird with

both hands, and crammed it into her mouth, chewing on
it avidly.

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91

"Good girl."
When at least half an hour had passed with no word

from downstairs, Paul checked Gabby's diaper again,
found it slightly damp, and changed her. It helped kill
another two minutes' time. He even considered changing
her outfit -- he could blame it on the drool spot on her
chest easily enough -- but decided that would be
ridiculous and that it wasn't fair to add to the laundry
Alison had to do just because he was neurotic. Picking
Gabby up, along with the stuffed bird, he crept down the
stairs. One of them creaked under his weight, and he
froze, listening, but he couldn't hear anything from the
office and had no idea if they'd heard him either.

The office door was open, but the placement of it in

the room meant he couldn't see in without being right in
the doorway. He couldn't hear anything. Was them not

talking a bad sign?

"Oh God!" he blurted out, as he paused in the

doorway and caught sight of Alison and James, who
were making out like teenagers, James' T-shirt rucked
up in back and Alison's hand on his bare skin. They
gasped and stopped, looking at him, flushed like guilty
teenagers. "Sorry! I just -- I wanted to know what was --
only I didn't want to know this! I mean, um." Paul
swallowed and tried again. "Can I take it this means
you're back together?"

"We were never not together!" Alison said, shocked.

"We were having a disagreement. That's all."

It had seemed like a hell of a lot more than that to

Paul, but maybe his neuroses went deeper than he'd
realized. "Okay," he said. "Then, if you can take a break
from the gross display of physical affection, I think your
daughter wants the boob."

Gabby verified this by dropping the bird to the floor

and blowing a wet raspberry.

"Okay, give her here," Alison said, sounding relaxed

and happy, and that and the way James was looking at
her made Paul's chest ache suddenly. He thought maybe
he was jealous, but it wasn't that he was jealous of

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92

Alison because she had James. He was jealous of both
of them, for having each other.

He could imagine, just in that brief moment, what it

would feel like to have that for himself, and it was such
a powerful feeling that he barely noticed as Alison took
Gabby from him and sat down in the desk chair, which
James had helpfully turned around for her.

"Are you okay?" he heard Alison asking.
"Yeah," he said. "I mean. I think so. Can I use your

phone?"

Alison nodded and looked at James, obviously telling

him something with her eyes. "Of course." As James
pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it over,
she added, "Tell Cameron I say hi."

Flustered -- had he always been so transparent? --

Paul fled to the front porch, repeating Cameron's cell

number in his head and dialing with fingers that
trembled with excitement. Or maybe it was something
else. Something different.

Something new.
Luckily, Cameron answered on the second ring.
"Hi," Paul said. "It's me. Paul. I want-- I wanted to

tell you that I think you were right, last night. What you
said. Could we-- could we meet somewhere for coffee or
something? I can come to the hospital, if you're
working."

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93

Chapter 9

Three hours later -- damn an ER doctor's schedule,

anyway -- Paul was waiting anxiously at the food court
at the mall. The choice of meeting place had been
Cameron's, but at least it meant Paul had something to
look at while he was freaking out. Sadly, he wasn't in
the right mood to appreciate eye-candy, and his gaze
flickered uninterestedly over a guy he normally would
have stared at in favor of watching for Cameron.

"Hey," someone said from behind him, and he turned

to see Cameron standing there.

Paul got to his feet so fast that he almost knocked

over his chair. He had to catch it with one desperate
hand and right it, knowing that he probably looked like a
complete idiot. Not the impression he wanted to make.

"Hi," he said. "Thanks for coming. I really appreciate
it."

"I didn't do it because I wanted to do you a favor,"

Cameron said. God, he looked good; when he smiled, it
went right into his eyes, something big and warm
shining out at Paul like the sun.

He realized he was supposed to respond to this in

some way. "You didn't? Then... why did you?"

Cameron's smile softened slightly, but didn't go

away. "Because I'm crazy about you," he said simply. "If
you give me a chance to be around you, there's no way
I'm going to pass it up."

That was the kind of thing Paul had never expected to

hear in his lifetime. Not directed toward him. He was
just a regular guy. A regular guy barely managing to

keep his head above water. There wasn't anything
special about him.

"You look like you're going to fall over," Cameron

said. "Do you want to sit down? How about that
coffee?"

"I don't know if I really want anything," Paul said.

His stomach was tied up in knots, and he might have
been hyperventilating.

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94

"Seriously, sit down." Cameron pushed him into a

chair and sat, too. "Take some deep breaths. Have you
been running a fever?"

"God, I hope not," Paul said, as Cameron pressed a

hand to his forehead. "I was with the baby all morning."

Cameron shook his head. "No, you're okay. Have you

been dizzy?"

"No," Paul said, a little more loudly than he'd

intended. "No, listen, I'm fine. I think it's you."

"Me?" Cameron looked bemused. "I hope you're not

allergic to me."

"That's not what I meant. I think I'm falling in love

with you."

"Then I'm not sure love agrees with you," Cameron

said gently, touching Paul's hand. "No, I'm kidding. Are
you sure that's all it is?"

"All?" Paul felt slightly wild, like he wanted to spin

in circles or do something similarly crazy. Grab onto
Cameron and kiss him right here in the middle of the
mall, not caring who might be watching. "All? That's
'all' it is? What do you mean 'all'? How can you just say
'all' like that, like it doesn't matter?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Cameron said. "It just

seems like you should be, well, happier about it."

"I am happy." Paul looked at him, confused. "I think.

I just-- I don't know what to do with it. I've never-- I

don't know how to do this."

Cameron took his hand and held it. "That's okay," he

said. "I do. Come on. Let's go get ice cream."

"Ice cream?" Paul repeated. He let Cameron pull him

to his feet.

"Isn't ice cream supposed to make everything better?"

They walked over to the place that sold handmade ice
cream and stood, looking up at the board. "What do you
like?" Cameron eyed him speculatively and guessed.
"Chocolate?"

"I'm not that boring." Paul felt dazed and didn't

realize until after he'd spoken that Cameron liked the
more standard flavors, and he'd possibly just called
Cameron boring. "I think Pink Bubble Gum."

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95

Cameron didn't look annoyed, though, or insulted.

"Then Pink Bubble Gum it is. Waffle cone?" He ordered
for both of them, and then somehow they were walking
along with the flow of human traffic, licking their ice
cream. "Is Gabby all right?"

"Yeah, she's great. Alison and James say hi, by the

way. I think they're over the whole blaming you thing."

"I figured they would be sooner or later. It's pretty

common; I wasn't worried about it." Cameron put a hand
on the small of Paul's back and steered him around a
couple with a stroller and a tiny toddler staggering along
on unsteady feet. "You said 'they'. Does that mean they
worked things out?"

"In a matter of speaking." Paul licked his ice cream

again and tucked the nugget of gum he'd freed into his
cheek. It made him feel like a little kid again, or maybe

like a chipmunk. "They're still so in love. I think if
James ever smokes another cigarette, Alison's going to
kill him, but..."

"Whatever happened with Gabby, it probably didn't

have anything to do with James smoking the occasional
cigarette," Cameron said. He had coffee ice cream. "Did
her doctor order a lot of tests? Maybe they'll turn up
some kind of metabolic disorder."

"I don't know," Paul admitted. "Probably. It's all kind

of blur." Like this, he thought but didn't add.

"Well, I'm happy to look at her records and let them

know if I have any other ideas," Cameron said.

They paused at a pet store window to look at some

puppies. "Wow, they're so cute." Paul wiggled his
fingers near the glass and a little cocker spaniel stood up
on its hind legs, tail wagging furiously. "I always
wanted a dog."

"You can't have one at your apartment?" Cameron

asked tactfully.

"I don't know." Paul slurped a few more bits of gum

into his mouth and tucked them in his cheek with the
other ones he was collecting. "I never asked. But it
wouldn't be fair to a dog. I work a lot of hours, and my

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96

place is so small..." Deciding to bite the bullet, he forged
ahead. "Plus I can't afford one."

"That could change," Cameron said.
Starting to walk again, they came across a cell phone

company's sales booth, where the sales people were
aggressively calling out to everyone who passed by.

"I could buy you a phone," Cameron offered. Paul

stopped and turned toward him, and their eyes met.
"Please. I really want to. Let me?"

It was stupid, Paul knew, to refuse. He needed a

phone, and he wouldn't be able to afford to replace his
broken one for at least a month, if not more. "Okay," he
said. "Okay. That'd be great. Thank you."

He tried to force himself to feel less like an idiot as

Cameron let him choose a phone and they filled out the
paperwork. Cameron added the phone to his own plan,

and Paul didn't argue. They were even able to transfer
his old cell phone number to the new phone, which was
great.

"Thank you," he said again, for about the hundredth

time probably, as they walked away from the booth.

"It's my pleasure," Cameron said. "Do you want to

get rid of that?"

He was referring to the wad of sticky napkins in

Paul's hand. Paul had tossed the last inch and a half of
soggy waffle cone into the nearest bin earlier and had

been trying to scrub his hands clean ever since, without
much success. He nodded, and they veered toward the
trash bin Cameron pointed to. He flipped the napkins in
through the round opening on top, licked his sticky
fingers, then finally swapped the wad of gum out of his
cheek and started to chew it. And promptly bit the edge
of his tongue so hard he saw stars.

Cameron could obviously tell that something had

happened, because he walked Paul out of the way of
traffic. "Are you okay?"

"Bit my tongue," Paul said, garbled. He could taste

blood, sharp and salty, and even though he knew it was
gross, he spat the wad of barely-chewed gum into his
hand. It was bloody. "Ow. Fuck, that hurts."

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97

"You're really bleeding," Cameron said, sounding

concerned. "Wait here. I'll be right back." And he was,
too, with a handful of clean napkins. "Give me that." He
took the gum, wrapped it in one napkin, and pressed the
rest into Paul's hand. "Spit into those. If you swallow the
blood, it'll make you feel sick."

"This is so gross," Paul said thickly. "Sorry."
"Believe me, I've seen much worse. A thousand times

worse." Cameron smiled. "Here, let me see."

Paul stuck out his tongue obligingly, doing his best

not to drool.

"It's not too bad," Cameron reassured him. "It'll heal

right up. Do you want a cold drink or something? Maybe
that would help."

"I guess," Paul said doubtfully. It was funny how

being right there while James threw up repeatedly hadn't

bothered him at all, but the taste of blood in his mouth
was making him queasy.

Cameron bought him a Coke; it hurt to drink it

through the straw, so Paul pried the lid off and drank it
like that instead, the ice bumping into his upper lip
every time he took a sip. "Better?" Cameron asked, as
Paul paused near the entrance of the Apple store.

"Yeah. Thanks." Paul looked wistfully at the laptops

like he always did. Which was one of the reasons he
hardly ever came to the mall. It reminded him of all the
things he wished he could have. Not that it would
matter, since even if a laptop dropped out of the sky he
wouldn't have been able to afford internet access.

"You want to go in and look around?" Cameron

asked.

Paul shook his head. "Let's get out of here." The

weight of his life, of everything that had happened since
the night of his parents' car accident, felt overwhelming,
like it was crushing him. And along came Cameron,

who offered him the light at the end of this impossibly
dark tunnel, and he knew that was fucked up. Cameron
wasn't some savior, he was just a man. A nice man, a
kind man. A sexy man. But he wasn't perfect.

Paul would have to remember that.

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98

"Where do you want to go?" Cameron waited.
"Home," Paul said, and then clarified, "Can we go to

your place? Take me to your place."

***

At Cameron's apartment, Paul felt quieter. He

tried to imagine himself as part of Cameron's world.
Boyfriend to a doctor, friends with Cameron's friends,
no longer just flitting around the outside of Alison and
James' relationship and now family, and it was a good
feeling.

He watched Cameron take off his jacket and hang it

up. In short sleeves, the muscles in Cameron's upper
arms were on display. They looked great.

"Do you work out?" Paul asked.
"Not like a crazy person," Cameron said. "Sorry, did

that sound defensive? Some of the guys at the hospital

give me a hard time. You know, gay man spends too
much time at the gym, that kind of thing."

Paul smiled, feeling himself relax. "How does a crazy

person work out?"

"Oh. Well. Three hours a day, obsessed with how

much he can benchpress. Stuff like that. I'm totally
reasonable about it. Four hours a week. Five, max. Do
you want something to eat?" Cameron gestured toward
the kitchen.

"We just had ice cream."
"Something real. Like a sandwich or something."
Shrugging, Paul said, "Only if you're going to have

something." He wasn't really hungry after the ice cream
and the huge Coke.

"I guess maybe later. Want to sit down?" They did,

and Cameron asked, "What about you? Do you work

out?"

"Not really. I run, sometimes, at that park over on the

east side?" At least, he had until his running shoes,
which were really just a cheap pair of sneakers, had
started to fall apart. "I'm kind of fucked," he heard
himself saying, as if someone else was speaking.

After a brief silence, Cameron said, "What do you

mean?"

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99

"You know," Paul said. "Fucked. Screwed. Devoid of

a reasonable future."

"That's not an explanation," Cameron said, and now

he sounded irritated. "Stop being vague and tell me what
you're talking about."

"I'm in debt," Paul said. The words, out loud,

suddenly set free, took their weight with them. "I'm in so
far over my head that I can't see a way out. I'm barely
surviving. I'm just lucky my boss has been
understanding about Gabby being sick or I'd be even
more screwed."

"Thank God," Cameron said in a rush, and Paul

looked at him, shocked at this reaction to something
never before spoken of. "Sorry, sorry. I just meant -- I
thought you were going to say you're HIV positive."

"Oh. Yeah, okay, that makes sense. Nope, not

positive. Incredibly careful, actually." Shocked again,
Paul added, "You think I'd have slept with you without
telling you that?"

Cameron shook his head. "No. Of course not."
"Anyway. Jesus, that's the last thing I'd need. I don't

even have health insurance."

"You don't?" It was Cameron's turn to look shocked.

"That's ridiculous. Is your job that bad?"

"It's not bad at all," Paul said. "And it's not

ridiculous. You must meet people all the time who aren't

insured."

"Well. Yes," Cameron admitted.
"I mean, sure, I'd rather have a better job, with

benefits, but it's not like I'm actually qualified for
anything more complicated. I had to drop out of college
when my parents had their accident, and I want to go
back when I can figure out how to afford it, but it's not
like I can get a loan. My credit score is about as low as it
can go."

Cameron didn't look horrified, at least, just mildly

worried. "How did you..." It was clear he didn't want to
ask the wrong question, and Paul didn't really want him
to, either.

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100

"Hospital bills. My dad was in the ICU for six weeks

before he died, and even with their insurance covering
eighty percent... I sold their house and put all that
toward the bills, but it wasn't enough. I send two
hundred a month, and the minimum payments on my
credit cards aren't even touching the balance. There's
nothing else I can do."

Frowning, Cameron said, "Of course there's

something you can do. First of all, we need to talk to
your credit card company and see about getting your
interest rate reduced."

"I tried that," Paul said wearily. The whole situation

was exhausting. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"No, of course you're not." Cameron sounded like he

meant it, and Paul found that strangely reassuring.
"You'd have to be smart to have kept it together this

long. What we need is to figure out how to get you back
into school."

"Right, because it's that simple," Paul said, with more

hope than scorn.

"No, it's not simple, but it's possible. And I'll help, all

right?" Cameron moved closer on the couch and touched
Paul's knee. "How's your tongue?"

"It's okay," Paul said.
"Good," Cameron said. "Because I really want to kiss

you. Would that be okay, too?"

Paul nodded mutely and leaned in. Cameron's lips

were dry but soft, and even though he didn't move his
hand on Paul's knee, Paul felt a jolt shoot from his knee
up to his cock. He loved the way Cameron kissed,
thoroughly and thoughtfully. "Take me to bed," he
whispered.

Backing off, Cameron studied his face. "Only if this

is something real. Is it?"

"Yes," Paul said, as serious as he'd ever been in his

life. "It's real."

In Cameron's bedroom, he waited patiently as

Cameron turned on the bedside lamp and pulled down
the covers. There was the distinct but unspoken
agreement between them that if they were going to do

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101

this, they were going to do it right. They took off their
own clothes, not rushing, but dropping them to the floor
instead of folding them. It wasn't until Cameron had
pushed his pants past his hips that Paul moved toward
him and kissed him.

"Sorry," he said, his mouth barely an inch from

Cameron's. "Sorry, I couldn't wait anymore."

"Thank God." Cameron kicked his feet free of his

pants and pushed Paul down onto the bed. "I was
starting to think you had more patience than me and
that," he kissed Paul's bare shoulder, "will not," another
kiss, and a lingering swirl of his tongue to Paul's nipple,
"do."

Paul gasped as Cameron mouthed his belly. "What, I

can't be the patient one?"

"Nope. Not allowed." Exploring, Cameron found a

sensitive spot along the bottom of Paul's ribs that made
him twitch involuntarily. "I think I prefer you impatient.
I want you desperate for it. For me."

"I'm getting there." Paul gave a little whimper as

Cameron brushed gentle fingertips across his balls.
"God!"

"You like that?" Without waiting for an answer,

Cameron slid down and, within what seemed like
seconds, had smoothed a condom onto Paul's dick and
taken it into his mouth.

Moaning, Paul slid his fingers into Cameron's short

hair. He closed his eyes in pleasure, then opened them
again so he could watch Cameron, who looked
incredibly sexy with Paul's cock between his lips. "You

look so good," he said, mesmerized. Cameron shifted,
rounded ass lifting into view before he settled again.
"You have a great ass. God, I want to fuck you."

Startled eyes met his own, and Cameron tried to say

something around Paul's dick before pulling away.
"You? Want to..."

Paul took advantage of Cameron's surprise and

grabbed onto his upper arms, feeling the solid muscle
under his hands, then rolling them so he was looking
down at Cameron, hard dick pressed to Cameron's. "I

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102

want to fuck you," he said again, slowly. "Want to slide
into your gorgeous ass, feel you clench around me..."

Cameron still looked surprised, and uncertain.

"Uhm."

After thinking about it for a few seconds, Paul

blinked. "You've never bottomed?"

"Not exactly," Cameron said, and Paul sighed and

settled himself on one hip beside Cameron.

"What does 'not exactly' mean, exactly?"
"We tried a couple of times. Me and my first lover."

Cameron made a face. "Sorry. I know it's not cool to talk
about former boyfriends and sex with the new
boyfriend; I just don't know how to explain, otherwise."

"It's okay." Paul said encouragingly.
"It just didn't work. And it wasn't that I didn't want to.

But it-- well, it didn't feel good. It hurt, you know?" This

was the first time Paul had really seen Cameron act
insecure; his confidence had slipped. "And then I'd tense
up, and there was no point. After a few times, we quit
trying. It was okay."

Paul stroked a hand along Cameron's back. "Except

for the part where it wasn't."

"Yeah." Cameron sighed.
"Well, it's not like we can't do it the other way

around. We did before." Paul had bottomed plenty of
times, and it wasn't that he didn't enjoy it. He just
preferred to be the one doing the fucking, and he'd
generally had the good luck of hooking up with guys
who preferred to be the ones getting fucked.

Cameron kissed him again, slowly, taking his time.

"Are you sure? Is that okay?"

"It's fine. I'd love for you to fuck me." He reached for

Cameron's dick, which had softened during their
conversation. "Pass me a condom?" Cameron did, and
he unwrapped it, then slid down and brushed his mouth
along Cameron's pelvic bone, kissed Cameron's thighs,
until they were both hard again.

He put the condom on Cameron with a combination

of lips and fingers. The faint taste of latex was so
associated in his mind with sucking dick that Paul was

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103

leaking into the tip of his own condom; when Cameron
groaned, Paul did, too. He loved everything about this.
He loved the way it made him drool, the way his jaw
ached, the slight worry that he might choke if he didn't
time his breathing just right. He knew it was screwed up
that the fear turned him on, but it did; he tried not to
think about that too much.

"I don't think-- uh, you have to stop," Cameron said,

and reached down to tighten his hand at the base of his
cock.

Paul moved back up Cameron's body and kissed him

again. He'd meant it to be just one kiss, but Cameron
held his face gently and turned it into dozens of kisses,
until it felt like Paul's dick couldn't possibly get any
harder. "Want to fuck me now?" he asked, and Cameron
groaned against his jaw and pushed him over onto his

back.

"Like this? Is this okay?" Cameron sounded anxious.
"I thought you were supposed to be the patient one,"

Paul said.

Cameron grinned tightly and reached for some lube.

"Turns out I might have been wrong about that. And I'm
not wrong very often, so I'd advise you to enjoy it while
it lasts."

"I don't think you're as confident as you pretend to--"

Paul sucked in a breath as Cameron pushed a slick
finger inside him. "--be."

"No?"
"No." Paul shoved at Cameron until he was the one

on his back, then straddled him. "How about like this?
You want to fuck me like this? Want to watch me fuck
myself on your cock?"

Cameron groaned again. "Do you always talk like

this?"

"Does it turn you on?" Paul asked, knowing the

answer.

"Yes. I didn't think it would, but..." Cameron's eyes

closed when Paul reached over his hip and closed his
hand around Cameron's dick, feeling to make sure the
condom was still in place. "God, Paul."

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104

Leaning down, Paul kissed Cameron and, with one

slow movement, took him inside. No matter how long it
had been since he'd had a cock in his ass, days or years,
he'd never forget the stretch and burn or the breath-
stealing feeling of fullness. He panted, open mouthed,
nostrils flaring. Cameron's hands settled on his hips,
thumbs brushing over his skin soothingly.

"All right?" Cameron asked.
"Yeah. Just give me a second." He was caught in the

sensation that moving in either direction was going to
rip him apart, which was making him tense up even
more.

"Relax," Cameron told him. "Take all the time you

need."

"Okay, you were right about one thing," Paul said,

trying not to grit his teeth. "You definitely win the

award for Most Patient." If it had been him, he wasn't
sure he'd have been able to hold still instead of thrusting.
Which, now that he thought about it, made it a good
thing he wasn't the one fucking Cameron. If they
decided to try that, he'd have to be careful, because there
was no way he wanted to chance hurting this beautiful
man.

Cameron was biting his lower lip; Paul discovered

that he'd relaxed and gave a tentative shift of his hips,
then, when it didn't hurt, a more assured one, and they
both moaned softly. "Don't--" Cameron said, gasping.

"Don't do anything you shouldn't. Don't hurt yourself."

"I'm not," Paul said. He reached for Cameron's hands

and pushed them down against the mattress even with
Cameron's head, interlacing their fingers. "I won't. It
feels good. You feel good. Amazing." Lifting himself
until only the head of Cameron's dick was inside him, he
paused for a few seconds, shuddering, before dropping
back down into the cradle of Cameron's hips. Oh hey,
look at that -- Cameron had bent his knees and planted
his feet on the mattress. "God, yes. Fuck me."

"I'm not just fucking you," Cameron said.

Disentangling their fingers, he placed a hand on Paul's
chest over his heart. "I'm making love to you, Paul. This

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105

isn't just some fun, meaningless fuck. It's real,
remember?"

Paul felt a lump form in his throat and had to blink

sudden tears from his eyes. "I remember. It's real."

"Then kiss me."
He did, the position as he did so trapping his own

cock between them. Cameron wrapped an arm around
Paul's waist and thrust up into him, and Paul cried out.
The change in angle was so good it was overwhelming.
With the added pressure on his cock, which was damp at
the head inside the condom he was still wearing, he
couldn't do anything but rest his forehead against
Cameron's shoulder as Cameron found a rhythm,
thrusting into him again and again.

"You feel that?" he heard Cameron asking him. "Do

you?"

Paul didn't know what it was he was supposed to be

feeling, other than fantastic sexual pleasure, but he was
so close to coming that he couldn't say anything at all.
When he opened his mouth to try, the only thing that
came out was a series of startled moans, and then his
balls contracted and his dick was pulsing, his body
tightening around Cameron's cock. He felt Cameron
moving, pushing into him faster now.

"God!" Cameron almost shouted it as he came,

sliding a hand down to clutch at Paul's ass, shuddering.
After the throbbing of his cock stopped, he gave a few

more slow, lazy thrusts, and Paul somehow found the
strength to lift his head and press his mouth to
Cameron's in something like gratitude.

"God, that was so good," he said.
"I'm glad." Cameron ran his fingers up and down

along Paul's spine. "We need to feed you up; you're too
skinny."

"If I gain weight, I'll have to buy new clothes," Paul

said regretfully, even though that wasn't a serious worry.

Cameron smiled indulgently. "Or you can just stay

here in bed with me and you won't need any clothes."

"Yeah, okay," Paul said. "I'll just spend the rest of my

life in your bed. That sounds good." He lifted himself,

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106

wincing a little as Cameron's cock slid from his ass, and
took off his own condom and dropped it into the trash
can next to the bed while Cameron got rid of his, too.
Then he draped himself over Cameron again, head
pillowed on Cameron's upper arm.

"I have an accountant," Cameron said after a few

minutes of comfortable silence had passed. "Well,
technically he's my parents' accountant, but he does my
taxes and stuff. Maybe he could recommend someone to
help us figure out your financial situation."

Paul propped his head on his hand and looked at

Cameron. "Okay. But I'm going to be the one to pay
him. I appreciate you wanting to help, and I'm screwed
enough that I'm going to accept it, but I just want the
help. I don't want you to save me."

"Okay. I get what you're saying."

"Good." Paul laid back down and sighed, feeling

strangely happy.

Until his stomach growled.
"What was it you said about food?"

On the Dotted Line

107

Chapter 10

"I don't know if this is a good idea," Alison said,

hesitating at the front door.

Paul, holding a delighted Gabby who didn't have eyes

for anyone in the room but Cameron, refrained from
rolling his eyes. "You've said that about a hundred times
already."

"I know, but--" Looking conflicted, Alison came over

and kissed Gabby's head.

"She's going to be fine," James said. "Now come on.

We have reservations for seven, and if we're late they're
going to give our table to someone else."

"Okay, okay." Alison checked her tiny purse again

for her cell phone. "And you'll call if anything happens.
Anything, I mean it."

"Anything concerning," Paul clarified. In his arms,

Gabby waved her arms excitedly and squealed loud
enough to break glass. "Jeez, Gabby, cool it."

"Here, let me take her," Cameron said.
"Good," Paul told him. "You're the one getting her all

worked up."

"She's having fun." Cameron gathered her up and

made another crazy face, and she squealed again and
grabbed a handful of his hair. "You guys have a good
time," he told James and Alison. "We'll take good care
of her, we promise."

"We know you will," Alison said, smiling. In the

three months since Gabby's hospitalization, Alison and

James had gotten used to having Cameron around, the
five of them getting together on a regular basis. Paul
was pretty sure that some kind of apology to Cameron
had gone on behind the scenes, but he couldn't be sure
because Cameron had never admitted to it.

But this was the first time Alison had been able to

leave Gabby, so it was a big deal. It had taken at least a
week of concerted effort on James' and Paul's parts to
get her to even consider the idea, and finally James had
made reservations at the hottest new restaurant in the

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108

city in the hopes that it would be tempting enough to get
Alison out of the house.

"Okay, we're going now," James said, a little too

loudly, and Alison smacked him with her purse and
stepped out onto the porch.

"We'll be back by nine," she called, as James shut the

door.

Paul grinned at Cameron. "I bet she'll call twice and

be home by eight-thirty."

"No way I'm taking that bet," Cameron said. To

Gabby he added, "What about you, little girl? Do you
want a snack? Do you want some banana puffs?"

"Those things are gross," Paul said, trailing along

after Cameron as he took Gabby into the kitchen and got
her settled in her high chair.

"How do you know?" Cameron asked. He took the

container of puffs out of the cupboard, opened it, and
put one on Gabby's tray. Gabby reached for it
immediately, closed her fist around it, and stuffed it into
her mouth.

Paul pulled a cloth towel from the drawer where

Alison kept them neatly folded and used it to wipe drool
from Gabby's chin. "They smell gross."

"They're just banana and, I don't know, rice, or

something." Cameron checked the ingredient listing on
the package. "You eat bananas and rice."

"Not together," Paul said.
"So what you're saying is, you haven't tried one of

these things, but you somehow magically know that
they're gross?" Cameron tossed another puff onto
Gabby's tray; you could only give her one at a time or
she'd cram them all into her mouth at once and choke.

Paul pulled out a chair and sat next to Gabby. "Yes,

that's what I'm saying."

"Well, I didn't realize you possessed such special

abilities." Shooting a wry grin in Paul's direction,
Cameron gave Gabby another puff.

"You didn't? I'm hurt. I possess all kind of special

talents. Most of which can't be discussed in the presence
of children." Playfully, Paul grabbed for the container of

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109

puffs and wrestled it from Cameron's hands. Gabby
watched with an expression that said she wasn't sure if
their tussle was a good thing or a bad thing, then broke
into a toothy grin when Paul tossed a puff into the air
and it landed on the tray in front of her. "Tah dah!"

"Oh, what, were you a Little League player as a kid?"

Cameron asked, teasing.

"Yeah, but I wasn't any good," Paul admitted. "I

could hit okay, but I couldn't catch a ball to save my life.
A glove three times bigger wouldn't have helped. What
about you? I'll bet you would have made a hell of a
football player." He eyed Cameron's wide shoulders
admiringly.

"Paul! You said 'hell' in front of the baby!" Feigning

outrage, Cameron tried to take the puffs container back.
Paul dodged out of reach and threw a handful of puffs at

him, and Gabby burst into laughter. They were both
immediately distracted by it. Her giggles were
infectious, and pretty soon all three of them were
laughing and eating puffs, which were almost as gross as
Paul had imagined.

Half an hour later, Gabby's eyes were blinking shut,

her head lolling against Cameron's neck as they took her
upstairs to her room. It was easy to change her diaper
and put her into her pajamas, mostly asleep like she was,
and then lay her in the crib, turn on the baby monitor,
and creep from the room.

Paul winced as the stairs creaked on the way down,

but there wasn't a peep from the monitor, and before
they reached the living room, they could hear gentle
snores on the other end of the line. "She's so cute,"
Cameron said. "Must be the good genes."

"Not just on my side," Paul pointed out. "Alison

makes pretty babies. Want to watch TV?"

"Sure," Cameron said, but as soon as Paul sat down

next to him he leaned in for a kiss that was a little too
avid to be casual. "Mm. You taste like banana puffs."

Laughing, Paul turned on the TV. "So do you."
They watched the TV for a few minutes; Paul

changed the channel around, looking for something

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110

good before finally settling on a movie he hadn't seen
since he was a kid.

Cameron put an arm around his shoulder and brushed

soft lips against his ear. "We're still staying at my place
tonight, right?"

"Yeah," Paul said, then he blinked. "Wait a minute.

What's going on? That's like the fourth time you asked
me that today."

"It's just-- I was thinking," Cameron said, like he was

trying to talk himself into something. "Maybe tonight...
maybe tonight we could -- you could --" He lowered his
voice even though there was no one but Paul to hear.
"Maybe you could fuck me."

"Ah, yes. That's convincing. We should definitely do

that."

Cameron had been trying to get up the courage to

bottom for weeks, but every time Paul slipped even one
well-lubed finger inside his ass, Cameron froze up, and
there was no way Paul was going to try fucking
someone who was that tense. He wouldn't have done
that to his worst enemy, let along someone he loved.

"I know it hasn't worked out yet," Cameron said. "But

I have a plan, okay? Trust me."

"Okay," Paul said, because what else could he

possibly do?

***

They went back to Cameron's apartment as soon as

James and Alison got home. Cameron's jaw was set in a

determined fashion that Paul was familiar with, but
somehow that didn't make it much easier to get with the
apparent program.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Paul asked.
"What, unlock the front door?" Cameron smiled.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can handle it."

"That's not what I meant," Paul said, as they went

inside. "You know what I meant."

Cameron shut the door, locked it, and pushed Paul

against it and kissed him. "I know what you meant," he

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111

said softly. "And I can handle that, too. I want to. I want
you. I'm crazy in love with you, Paul, and I want to
know what it feels like to have you inside me. I need to
know."

"Okay." As they took off their coats and hung them

up, Paul studied Cameron's face. "I don't see how this is
going to work, though..."

Going over to the bookcase, Cameron took out a

small, wooden box that was tucked between two
hardcover books on the shelf and opened it up. Inside,
rolling around by itself, was a joint.

"You're going to get stoned?" Paul said in disbelief.
"Why not? I, um, asked around. And the guys said if

you want to relax so you can try something new,
smoking a little pot is the way to do it. As long as you
trust your partner, obviously. Which I do. Obviously."

Cameron looked suddenly worried. "You're not morally
opposed, are you? I have the next two days off, and I
should be back to normal by the morning anyway."

"No," Paul reassured him. "I got high a few times

freshman year. It was fun. I haven't thought about it for
a long time, but I don't think it's wrong or anything.
Where did you get it?"

"Off a guy at the hospital. Don't worry, Ed's bought

some from him before and swears it's good stuff."

Paul reached into the box and picked up the joint

gingerly. "Would you know good stuff from bad stuff?"

"Probably not. I haven't smoked any for years, either.

Since before med school, and then it was only because I
was at a party or something. This is the first time I ever
actually bought any." Cameron watched as Paul sniffed
the rolling paper, which smelled about the way he
remembered, then said, "So I thought I'd smoke some,
and then, once I was nice and relaxed, we could give it a
shot."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Paul bit his lip in

apprehension. "I mean, if you don't want to, maybe we
should just skip it, for now at least?"

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112

"See, that's the thing. It isn't that I don't want to. I'm

too tense. I think I just need a little help, take the edge
off."

"Okay. If you're sure." Paul found himself grinning.

"I don't really want to say no." Well, that wasn't strictly
true, because he wasn't willing to do it if he thought
Cameron wasn't ready. But maybe this would work.
Seemed like it was worth a try, at least.

Cameron frowned and went to the kitchen, then came

back with a small bowl. "Ashtray," he explained.
"Bedroom?"

"I thought smoking in bed was, like, the worst thing

you could do."

"Apparently smoking on the sly when you have a

baby at home is the worst thing you can do," Cameron
said, making a face. "What if I promise not to fall asleep

while I'm smoking?"

"You'd better not fall asleep while you're smoking,"

Paul said severely. "I have more interesting plans for
you."

In the bedroom, they pulled down the sheets and got

comfortable on the bed. Cameron had a lighter, which he
flicked and held to the end of the joint. He tried to inhale
and choked so violently that Paul worried he might
throw up.

"Easy there, big guy," he said, patting Cameron's

back.

"Maybe--" Cameron coughed some more, then

cleared his throat. "Maybe I should have borrowed a
bong from somebody. That's how we used to smoke it."

"Just try inhaling with your mouth partially open,"

Paul suggested. "That way you'll get less smoke."

Cameron gave him a dubious look. "Hey, I paid a lot

for this smoke. Anyway, how can I inhale with my

mouth open?"

"Half open. Here, like this." Paul took the joint,

which wasn't lit anymore, from Cameron's fingers and
gestured for Cameron to light it for him. When Cameron
had, Paul clamped his teeth on the damp end of the

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113

rolled paper and drew his lips back around it in a wide,
probably freaky looking grimace, then sucked air in.

He didn't get enough smoke to make him cough,

which was good. He had no intention of getting high.
This might work if only one of them was stoned, but if
both of them were, it would certainly be a disaster.

"There, see? Like that." He gave the still-smoldering

joint back to Cameron and leaned against the headboard,
crossing his ankles. If this was going to take a while, he
might as well get comfortable.

Cameron tried again and this time only coughed a

little bit. "Yeah, okay. That's better." He wrinkled his
nose and took a few more hits before saying, "I forgot
about it tasting kind of bad. Maybe kissing me will be
like kissing an ashtray? Or whatever it is they say."

"Okay, one, I have no idea who 'they' are," Paul told

him. "And two, I don't think anyone kisses ashtrays. I
think it's licking."

Horrified, Cameron gaped at him. "People lick

ashtrays?"

"No, I was talking about the phrase," Paul said. "Like

licking an ashtray. I'm pretty sure no one actually does
that."

"I hope not." Cameron took another drag, the longest

yet, and held it before blowing it out again. "Want some
more?"

"Nope. I want to be clean and sober for this."
"Are you going to take a shower?" Cameron sounded

confused, and--

"You're already stoned!" Paul said, pointing at him.

"Wow, that didn't take long. You're such a lightweight."

"I think that only applies to beer," Cameron said. The

ash at the end of the joint was starting to look pretty
long, so Paul handed him the small bowl. "There's
nothing in here." Cameron peered into the bowl,
frowning.

"It's for the ash." Paul suspected this sex thing wasn't

going to work, not if stoned Cameron couldn't remember
basic things like that. Still, the smile Cameron gave him
was beatific.

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114

Putting the joint into the bowl and setting it on the

bedside table, Cameron turned toward him and smiled.
"I'm getting naked," he announced.

"Yeah, okay. You do that."
Paul watched as Cameron pulled his shirt off over his

head, then fumbled with the fastening on his pants
before kicking those off, too. His cock was hard,
sticking up, shiny at the tip.

"You should get naked, too," Cameron said.
"Sure." But Paul was too distracted by Cameron's

bare skin; he found himself leaning over to run a hand
along Cameron's thigh. The hairs were soft, but prickled
against his palm and fingers, giving him goose bumps.
He slid his hand higher and cupped Cameron's balls.
Cameron gasped and lifted his hips.

"Oh God," Cameron said. "Yes, God, touch me. Paul,

please..."

It occurred to Paul that Cameron would be even more

relaxed if he came a couple of times before they fucked,
so he closed his hand around Cameron's dick and gave a
squeeze. "Does it feel good?"

"Good." Cameron shivered, his nipples tight.

"Amazing. God, it's so intense." He made a startled,
desperate sound in the back of his throat as Paul started
to jerk him off. "I'm gonna come if--"

"I want you to," Paul said. "We have plenty of time.

You can come as much as you want to. Come now."

This last was a request, and Cameron whimpered and
came, fluid striping his belly.

Paul moved his hand more slowly, wringing the last

few shudders from Cameron, then ran his fingertips
through the milky, sticky liquid on Cameron's skin. He
transferred it to Cameron's dick like he was finger
painting, smearing it around on the softening flesh.

"Could I suck you without a condom?" he asked.
Cameron blinked at him. "Um..."
"I probably shouldn't ask, right? Because you're

stoned, I mean. Because maybe you'll say yes when you
otherwise would have said no."

On the Dotted Line

115

Licking his lips, which looked dry, Cameron said,

"It's considered low risk."

"And neither of us has anything that we could pass

on, anyway," Paul said. "But we should probably wait
and talk about it another time. I just thought it would
feel really good." He leaned down and licked Cameron's
nipple. "I want to make you feel good."

"You always make me feel good." Cameron smiled at

him. "You're still dressed. Can I undress you?"

Paul nodded. "Okay."
He lay back and let Cameron do whatever he wanted,

lifting his limbs and otherwise moving as cooperatively
as he could. They got a little sidetracked when Cameron
seemed to find Paul's chest endlessly fascinating and
spent long minutes exploring it with his hands and
mouth. Warm lips and tongue on his nipples turned Paul

on more than he would have guessed -- Cameron was
extremely focused when he put his mind to it -- and Paul
found that his boxers were getting damp where the head
of his cock was pressed against them.

"Your skin tastes so good," Cameron murmured,

licking Paul's shoulder with the flat of his tongue. "Is it
always this good?"

"You'd know better than I would," Paul said. "I think

it's just 'cause you're high."

"I am," Cameron agreed. "I'm reeeeally high." He

giggled. "And I really want to suck you. Can I? Please?"
He was already undoing the front of Paul's pants and
pushing them out of his way, rolling Paul onto his back
and sliding down between his legs. Cameron's mouth
closed around the head of Paul's dick.

"Jesus." Paul closed his eyes; it felt so great to be

sucked without the layer of latex between them that he
could barely believe it. If he wasn't careful about
keeping himself distracted, he would totally come within
a minute. "Cameron. Cam."

"Hm?" Cameron lifted his face; his pupils seemed

wider than usual, and his bottom lip was shiny and wet.
"God, I could do this forever. Can I? I can just do this
forever, right?" He was grinning, which reassured Paul

On the Dotted Line

116

that he was kidding and not being serious. At least he
wasn't that stoned.

"Not forever," Paul said. "Actually, stopping now

would be good. Assuming you still want to try what we
talked about before."

"I do. Definitely. I think I could do anything right

now." Cameron flopped onto the mattress beside Paul
and stretched gloriously, his body laid out like a feast
that no one but Paul was welcome to. Paul felt a surge of
love and lust roll through him and bent to take
Cameron's again-erect cock between his lips.

He licked the head, wetting it, tasting what was really

the essence of Cameron for the first time and finding
that it turned him on even more. Soon -- in ten minutes,
maybe -- he was going to fuck Cameron. The thought of
it made him giddy, and he sucked hard as he pulled

back, letting Cameron's dick pop free before
concentrating on his balls.

Sucking on one, then the other, until Cameron was

moaning, Paul breathed hot across the base of
Cameron's cock and reached for the lube. He slicked one
finger and rubbed it gently over Cameron's hole, teasing
at the sensitive skin without trying to push inside.
Cameron whimpered and writhed, and Paul thought, he
actually wants it.

"Please," Cameron begged, breathless. "Paul, I need--

"

"I know." Paul pressed his fingertip to Cameron's

skin where it drew together and pushed gently until the
tension relaxed and his finger slid inside. "How's that?"

"Good. It feels good." Cameron panted, then inhaled

sharply when Paul rubbed his prostate. "God!"

"Okay, easy. Easy. You're doing great." Paul knew

from experience that if he went back to sucking
Cameron's dick now, Cameron would tense up again,
and he didn't want that. Instead, he got comfortable and
worked his finger slowly in and out of Cameron, adding
more lube when it was needed and waiting until
Cameron's hips were lifting before he slipped a second
finger in beside the first. "How's that?"

On the Dotted Line

117

"Good. Good." Cameron's arm was draped over his

eyes, his lips parted as Paul finger-fucked him. "Jesus. I
can't believe how good that feels."

"I don't want you to get sore," Paul told him. He

stretched out his other hand and pinched Cameron's
nipple lightly, and Cameron's breath caught.

Cameron bit his lip and reached for his cock. As soon

as he touched it, it pulsed in his hand and his ass
tightened around Paul's fingers. "God, this is so intense."

"You want me to stop?"
"No! No, don't. Oh God, I think I'm going to come."
Paul slipped his fingers free of Cameron's body and

pushed Cameron's hand out of the way. "I want you to
come in my mouth," he said. He'd barely gotten his lips
around the head of Cameron's cock before Cameron
cried out and came. It was warm, bitter and sticky on

Paul's tongue, and he swallowed quickly. When he
looked up, Cameron's eyes were closed and he looked
completely relaxed.

"Get up here," Cameron said hoarsely.
Obeying, Paul kissed Cameron, supporting himself

on hands and knees even though what he really wanted
was to rub his own erection against any part of
Cameron's body he could.

"Fuck me." Cameron slid his fingers into Paul's hair

and looked into his eyes. "It's now or never, I think. I
can't imagine being any more relaxed than I am."

"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure." Cameron snagged a condom from

the bedside table and pressed it into Paul's hand. "Come
on. Quick, before I lose my nerve." If his tone had been
anything but what it was -- mellow, amused -- Paul
would have called the whole thing off, but when it came
right down to it, it was hard to imagine living the rest of
his life without getting to be the one doing the fucking at
least sometimes.

On the other hand, it wasn't any easier imagining the

rest of his life without Cameron, and that was scary and
wonderful at the same time.

On the Dotted Line

118

Paul was generous with the lube, to the point where

the head of his dick was so slick it kept sliding off
target, painting clear, shining trails through the fine hairs
on Cameron's ass.

"You're sure you've done this before?" Cameron

asked. He was on his stomach with his head pillowed on
his arms.

"I'm trying not to hurt you," Paul said tersely, then

realized immediately what a stupid thing that was to say.
Reminding Cameron that this could hurt was pretty
much guaranteed to make him tense up. Stupid, stupid.
He never had enough foresight to keep himself out of
trouble, and here he went again.

Only Cameron hadn't tensed up; he was still relaxed

and pliable under Paul's hands. "Maybe you should have
a few tokes," Cameron said mildly. "Calm down. This is

supposed to be fun, remember?"

Paul sighed and let his head drop forward, exhaling.

"I don't want to screw this up."

"You won't. I'm sorry. I promise, no more comments

from the peanut gallery. Well, other than the
encouraging ones, like 'God, yes,' and 'Harder.'"

Laughing nervously, Paul leaned down and kissed the

gorgeous curve of Cameron's ass. "Those are good
comments." Stress had made his erection fade a little bit,
but when he went back to touching Cameron with slow,
leisurely brushes of his fingers and palms, his dick
perked right up again. It wasn't stupid, his dick. "Okay,
here we go. Stop me if you need to."

Cameron muttered something unintelligible because

Paul was pushing inside him. He eased the head of his
cock in so carefully he had to grit his teeth, and still
worried that he wasn't being careful enough, but
Cameron didn't complain.

"Okay?"
"Yeah, it's fine," Cameron said. He sounded like he

meant it, and then he moaned as Paul slid further into
him. There was so much lube that it was a little bit
ridiculous, actually, but it must have been working,

On the Dotted Line

119

because Cameron moaned again and shifted so that Paul
went even deeper. "Oh, God."

Sensation rushed over Paul so unexpectedly that he

gave a quick, sharp thrust of his hips without meaning
to. It felt like he'd been waiting forever for this, and now
it was really happening. Cameron was vise-tight and hot
around his cock. "M'not hurting you?" he managed.

"No." Cameron whimpered, but it didn't sound like

he was in pain. "Oh my God. Oh God. Just go slow."

Slow was good. Slow was about the only thing Paul

could manage right then, because anything other than
slow and careful would mean he'd come in about four
seconds. Even with these cautious, gentle thrusts, he was
riding the fine line of losing control. "Do you have any
idea how amazing you feel?"

"I don't-- how is--" Barely capable of making sense,

Cameron shifted his weight backward slightly, and they
both groaned. "I didn't know. I didn't..."

"Do you want to come?" Paul asked him. "I'm going

to make you come so hard." He slid his hand from
Cameron's hip around to grasp his cock.

"Ahh!" Cameron's ass clenched down around Paul as

he cried out. "God. God!" His spine arched, and he
trembled, Paul's fingers rubbing the ridge just
underneath the head of his dick.

Paul thrust in a little harder, just experimentally, but

as soon as he did it, his restraint, already so tenuous,
snapped, and he found himself driving into Cameron
with sharp jabs. He at least had the presence of mind to
jerk Cameron off. He was pretty sure he started to come
first, but it was a close thing, their orgasms merging
together into one spectacular explosion that left Paul
sobbing in the wake of release.

As soon as he had recovered enough, he eased

himself out of Cameron and fell down onto the bed,
pulling Cameron into his arms. "Are you okay?" When

Cameron didn't respond immediately, he got worried.
"Hey, come on. Talk to me."

On the Dotted Line

120

"I'm fiiine," Cameron said, drawing the word out. He

was smiling. "And still kind of high. You were right,
though."

"I was? About what?"
"I don't think I've ever come that hard in my entire

life." Cameron licked his lips and swallowed. "Wow, my
mouth is dry."

"You want me to get you a drink? Because I can do

that as soon as I can feel my feet again."

Cameron chuckled. "That's okay. I'll get one myself.

Once I can feel my feet again."

They lay there for about ten minutes, recovering, and

then finally Cameron groaned and got up. Paul rolled
over onto his belly and watched Cameron walk toward
the bedroom door. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just a little sore. It won't last long, will it?"

Cameron disappeared into the hallway, presumably
headed for the kitchen, but then Paul heard him running
water in the bathroom.

"Not too. A day, maybe."
By the time Cameron came back to bed, Paul was

dozing, unable to keep his eyes open even though it
wasn't all that late. He roused when Cameron pulled the
covers up over both of them. "So it was good?" he
murmured.

"The best," Cameron said. "But I think I'm going to

need a midnight snack. I feel like I burned about a
million calories."

Paul smiled faintly. "Maybe not quite that many. Of

course, you did come three times."

"No wonder I was so thirsty." Cameron's stomach

rumbled audibly, and Paul chuckled.

"You weren't kidding. Should we get up and order a

pizza or something?"

"Yes," Cameron said, so fervently that Paul laughed

again and sat up to look for his clothes.

"Okay, then, come on."

On the Dotted Line

121

Chapter 11

The first thing Paul saw when he opened his eyes was

Cameron's mouth, and the next thing he did was lean in
and kiss it. Cameron made a soft sound and kissed him
back, shifting forward so that their lower bodies were
touching.

"Good morning," Cameron murmured.
"Morning," Paul said, running a hand down along

Cameron's spine. "Feel okay?"

"Mmmhmm. More than. Think I could convince you

to repeat last night?"

Paul's cock, already half hard with sleep, was more

than happy to be pushed forward against Cameron's
thigh. "Hm," Paul said, like he had to think about it.
"Convince me? I guess so..."

"And what would be the best way to do that?"

Cameron stretched beside him and kissed Paul's lower
lip, tugging at it with his teeth.

"You might be sore," Paul pointed out.
"Might be," Cameron agreed. "But I'm not. I want

you again. Inside me. I want to feel it again."

"You'll regret it later," Paul told him, but slipped a

hand between Cameron's thighs and brushed fingertips
over his sticky-slick hole. "You'll wish we hadn't." God,
though. It was so good just imagining his cock pushing
into Cameron's body.

Cameron whimpered and rocked his hips, begging for

more contact. "Please," he said softly. "Please fuck me."

Still having a hard time believing it was a good idea,

Paul shifted back onto his knees and reached for the
lube. He wetted two fingers and teased at the entrance to
Cameron's body, watching Cameron's face for signs of
pain.

"Here, let me." Cameron ripped open a condom

packet and rolled the condom onto Paul's cock, fumbling
a little. "Don't wait, just hurry."

"Shh. Hang on, almost there..." Paul eased inside the

clench of Cameron's ass, and Cameron gasped. "Okay?
Is it too much?"

On the Dotted Line

122

"No," Cameron whispered. "Not too much, nothing's

too much." Cameron's cock was hard and flushed, and as
Paul nudged deeper, it gave a slow pulse and a bead of
fluid formed at the tip.

His eyes glued to Cameron's face, Paul thrust forward

until there was nowhere else to go, until he was buried
to the root of his dick. "Tell me if it hurts."

Cameron whimpered but shook his head. "Doesn't."
"How does it feel?" Paul found it hard to believe that

Cameron wasn't too sore for this.

"Good. So good. I just want to do this forever. Never

stop."

Paul withdrew slowly, resisting the urge to fuck

Cameron as hard and fast as he wanted to, because then
it would be over too soon and he wanted it to last.
"You're so gorgeous." He let his gaze linger on

Cameron's small, tight nipples as he thrust in again, then
leaned in to lick one of them.

Cameron cried out softly and raised his hips, taking

Paul deeper and rubbing his erection against Paul's
abdomen at the same time. "God, yes. Like that, need--"

Smiling, Paul shifted his weight back, taking away

Cameron's source of friction. "Soon, okay? Not yet."
When Cameron reached down to stroke his cock, Paul
intercepted the movement and interlaced his fingers with
Cameron's instead, preventing him. "Wait. Just a little
longer."

Cameron clutched at his hand and twisted his lower

body upward as best he could with Paul pinning him
down. "Please, God."

"Shh, no. Not yet." Paul wanted to see how close to

the edge he could drive Cameron just with his cock,
with the careful, steady thrust and some whispered

words. "You like this? Me fucking you?"

"Yes. Didn't think I would, but with you..." Cameron

was trembling.

"I like it, too. Like pushing my cock into you, into

your tight hole. You have no idea how fucking sexy you
are like this. Makes me crazy." Paul was moving a little

On the Dotted Line

123

bit faster now, but he was still in control. He was in
control and it felt amazing, even better than the sex.

He kept up a stream of dirty talk and had no earthly

idea where it was coming from. Something about
Cameron just brought it out in him, apparently, because
he'd never been like this with previous partners.

"Please," Cameron chanted finally. "Please, please..."
"You're so close. Look at your cock, waiting to

explode. You know how it's going to feel for me when
you come? Can you come like this?" Paul thrust more
shallowly, gauging Cameron's reactions.

"I can't." Cameron sounded close to despair after so

long without any direct stimulation of his cock.

"Okay, hang on. I've got you." Paul let go of

Cameron's hand -- his own fingers were half cramped --
and licked his palm, then closed his grip loosely around

Cameron's cock and changed the angle of his thrusts. He
was close to coming, himself -- so fucking close -- but
he knew he could hold out for Cameron's orgasm.

Cameron's cheeks were flushed and his eyes looked

unfocused, like he was concentrating completely on
what he was feeling. He didn't make any sounds to let
Paul know he was starting to come, but Paul knew,
anyway, by the clench of his body and his unsteady
breathing.

"Oh fuck," Paul said ,as Cameron's dick throbbed,

"God, oh God, oh shit." He was coming, too. His fingers
were slick with Cameron's release, and Cameron was so
fucking beautiful. Sometimes everything with Cameron
seemed so amazing that it had to be impossible.

It just wasn't possible for anything in Paul's life to be

this perfect.

He groaned as a last, decadent roll of Cameron's hips

drove another spasm from him, leaving him wrung out
and shuddering.

"Breathing's good," Cameron panted. "Remember to

breathe."

"What are you, a doctor or something?" Paul bit his

lip as he withdrew from Cameron's body. "Jesus, you
aren't going to be able to walk."

On the Dotted Line

124

"S'okay. I'll just stay here forever." Cameron sounded

like he meant it, and Paul grinned and lay down beside
him, peeling off the condom with shaking hands. "Ugh,
I'm all sticky."

"You have a nice shower," Paul reminded him.
"Have you already forgotten the part where I'm

staying here forever?" Cameron turned his head and
looked at Paul. "Forever."

"I'm pretty sure you have to go to work eventually.

Monday, right?"

Cameron glared. "Forever."
"Right," Paul said slowly. "Forever. Gotcha." He

started to inch toward the edge of the mattress, then
broke into giggles when Cameron grabbed onto him.
"Okay, seriously. That was amazing sex, but you're
going to be in a world of hurt later. Or, you know, now."

Shifting experimentally, Cameron winced. "Yeah.

Ow." He curled up and rested his head on Paul's
stomach.

"Do you have anything you can use? Like, in a first

aid kit or something?" Paul rubbed his damp hand on the
sheet, which he figured was already gross, and then
patted Cameron's hair tentatively.

"Probably. But I'm not moving."
"I can go look for it, if you tell me where it is." Not

that Paul really wanted to get up, but he did want to do
what he could to make Cameron more comfortable, and
not just because he hoped there'd be a repeat
performance in the future.

"I don't know. Somewhere." Cameron slid his

sandpaper-rough jaw across Paul's skin as he looked up.

"I'm fine, really."

Paul smiled. "I think you'd say that if your leg was

half hanging off."

"If my leg was half hanging off, I'd hope to be

unconscious." Cameron blinked. "Um, I think in the
bathroom, under the sink."

"You want to be unconscious in the bathroom?" Paul

frowned, and Cameron laughed.

On the Dotted Line

125

"No, that's where the first aid kit is. I don't know

what's in there, though. I guess bring the whole thing."

It was just where Cameron had said it was. Paul

brought it back to the bedroom, trying not to feel too
self-conscious about the fact that he was walking around
Cameron's house naked. It seemed weird to ask to
borrow a bathrobe, but it would have felt weirder to get
dressed after the sex they'd just had. He concentrated on
looking through the first aid supplies for something that
would be soothing.

"What about this? Antibiotic cream plus pain relief?"

He held up the tube so Cameron could see it.

"Worth a shot." Cameron took the cream and

unscrewed the cap. "Don't look so worried. This isn't a
big deal."

"I know, I just don't want you to have... bad

associations."

"You mean associating sex with pain?" Shaking his

head, Cameron squeezed some cream out onto his finger
and applied it while Paul determinedly looked
elsewhere. Not that he had any problems looking at the
area in question, it just seemed different to do it when it
wasn't in a sexual context. "Seriously, don't worry. By
tomorrow I'll forget it even hurt, and then I'll want to do
it again." He reached to set the tube on the bedside table
and knocked one of his containers of pens over. "Damn
it."

"It's cool. I've got it." Paul got up again to pick up the

pens that had scattered across the table and onto the
floor. "So, breakfast in bed?" He'd noted plenty of food

in Cameron's cupboards. Not that he'd gone snooping,
but Cameron had ended up with the munchies the night
before and eaten his way through cookies, potato chips,
and pretzel sticks.

"Mm, maybe. Or we could go out. There's a little

place a couple of blocks away that makes great hash."

"What happened to staying in bed forever?" Paul

asked, setting the mug full of pens back in its place.

Cameron stretched. "Well, you know, when you're

balancing food versus bed, sometimes food has to win.

On the Dotted Line

126

You were right about the shower, though. There has to
be a shower."

"Can it be a two-person shower?" Paul asked

hopefully.

"Only if you help me up," Cameron said, and held out

his hand for Paul to take.

On the Dotted Line

127

Chapter 12

"Hey, do me a favor," Cameron said on the other end

of the line, and Paul, who was juggling a cup of coffee
along with his cell phone and trying to unlock his car
door at the same time, sighed.

"Yeah, okay," Paul said. He was thinking that, after

the long day he'd just had at work, he barely had the
energy to drive home, let along do Cameron a favor. He
got the key into the lock, turned it, and dropped his cup.
"Damn it."

"You okay?" The concern in Cameron's voice made

Paul feel guilty for being irritated.

"Uh-huh. Just -- ugh. It's been one of those days."

Paul kicked the cup under his car and got in. "At least I
know my car's going to start."

Cameron had taken the car to his own mechanic and

paid for it to have all the repairs it had so badly needed,
and since then it had been running better than it had
when Paul had originally started driving it.

"Okay, now I'm sitting down. What did you need?"

Paul wasn't a fan of talking while driving, so he wanted
to get to the point of the conversation. His feet hurt, and
he really wanted to get home. "The favor?"

"Oh, right. I was just going to say could you stop and

get some milk? I used the last of it in my tea this

morning."

Paul managed not to snap that he wouldn't know

about having tea in the morning, since he had to get up
at the crack of dawn to get to work. It wouldn't be fair,
he knew. Besides, Cameron did so much for him. How
the hell could he justify being mad about doing
something in return?

He was still sulking when he pulled into the parking

lot of the convenience store, and having to wait in line
while the two people ahead of him took their sweet time
selecting scratch tickets didn't help matters. If he didn't
need every cent, he could have dropped a five on the
counter and left. Being poor sucked.

On the Dotted Line

128

"I've got your milk," he called out when he went into

Cameron's apartment, but there was no answer. He
paused, listening, and heard the shower running.

In his head, he griped about people having enough

free time to take a shower, but not, apparently, enough
to go and buy their own fucking milk. He shoved the
carton into the fridge and slammed the door with more
force than was necessary, then went and flung himself
down onto the couch and turned on the TV, expecting
Cameron to join him shortly and hoping he could keep
his temper.

Paul waited a lot longer than he should have to check

on Cameron. It wasn't until the third set of commercials
came on that he realized Cameron had been in the
shower a really, really long time. A really long time. He
knew from experience that the hot water tank went cold

after a while, and there was no way Cameron was
standing under anything but freezing water at that point.

Getting up, Paul went to the bathroom door, which

was closed and latched. That was weird. Cameron
usually swung the door shut when he wanted a little
privacy, but Paul couldn't remember the last time the
door had ever been latched.

"Hey, are you drowning in there?" It sounded stupid

out loud. He'd been trying to be funny, maybe to cover

up the fact that he was uncomfortable. "Cam?"

There was no answer.
Paul knocked. "Cameron? You okay?" Still no

answer, so he reached out and tried the door. The handle
turned easily. "Cameron. You're freaking me out."

"I'm fine," Cameron said, but the tone of his voice

didn't do anything to reassure Paul. In fact, it made him
more worried. He'd never heard Cameron sound like that
before.

"You don't sound fine."
"I'll be right--" Cameron's voice cracked, and he had

to try again. "Right out."

"What's wrong?" Paul had already stepped into the

bathroom. He could tell that the shower water had
definitely turned cold.

On the Dotted Line

129

"Nothing." Cameron shut off the shower and reached

out for a towel, keeping the shower curtain between
them.

"Hey." Paul tugged the curtain to one side. "This is

me. I'm bad at this. You've got to help me, here."

Cameron looked at him. "It's fine. I got some bad

news. Work thing. That's all." He shrugged, probably
trying to look casual, but Paul saw with a shock that his
lips were almost blue.

"Come here. No, come on. Out." Paul grabbed a

second towel and wrapped it around Cameron's
shoulders, then propelled him toward the bedroom.
"You're freezing. Why didn't you get out when you ran
out of hot water?"

"Didn't want to." Cameron's teeth were chattering.

Paul couldn't remember if that was a good thing or a bad

thing.

"Here, sit. We've got to get you warmed up." Paul

somehow managed to maneuver Cameron under the bed
covers, then crawled in beside him and held him.
"What's going on?"

Cameron huddled closer, his wet hair soaking Paul's

shirt. "The Harrisons' baby died."

Paul hugged Cameron more tightly. "The one with

leukemia?"

"Yeah."
It was hard to imagine what it would be like to have

Cameron's job. No, to be Cameron and have Cameron's
job. To care so much and to step back into the line of
fire again and again. God, how could he do it? He had
the biggest heart of anyone Paul had ever know.

"Tell me about him," he whispered.
"He-- his name was Joshua." It was the first time

Cameron had shared the little boy's name; he took his
patients' confidentiality very seriously and rarely did
more than speak of them in general terms. "He was...
really sweet. Like, really."

"I knew he had to be, because you talked about him. "

Paul rubbed Cameron's shoulder. "You hardly ever do

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130

that, or follow what happens after someone leaves the
ER."

"Yeah. This kid was special. He had this smile that

went all the way down to his toes, and no matter how
many times we poked and prodded him, no matter what
oncology put him through... he didn't lose that until the
very end."

The tears came then, and Paul did his best to provide

comfort. He'd never seen Cameron cry; it tore him up to
know that Cameron was hurting and there was so little
he could do. Finally, Cameron quieted and just laid there
in his arms, a heavy and once-again-warm weight. There
were several moments when Paul almost said
something, but he thought maybe Cameron had fallen
asleep and hated to wake him.

"How was your day?" Cameron asked, and Paul

grinned despite himself.

"Are you serious? How was my day?" He leaned in

and kissed Cameron's hair. "It was fine. Better than
yours, at least."

"Mine was okay 'til I got the phone call."
"Who called?"
"Cheryl. She wanted to let me know before I went

into work tonight. She didn't want me walking into that
without warning. Which was good. Well. Maybe."
Cameron sighed.

"When was the last time you ate something?" Paul

asked him.

"Breakfast. I've got to go pretty soon, though."
"Then let me heat up some soup before you have to

leave. Having low blood sugar will just make you feel
worse. Believe me, I know." Paul hadn't realized until
just then how much he'd started to let his guard down
with Cameron. It was good for their relationship, but it
kind of freaked him out.

"I can get something at the hospital," Cameron said,

not moving.

"You can, but you won't. You'll get dragged into

something as soon as you walk in the door, and the next

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131

thing you'll know it's been a million years since you
ate."

Cameron snorted. "It's like you know me or

something."

"Funny, that." Paul ran his fingers through the hair at

the back of Cameron's neck, then glanced at the clock.
"Five more minutes, then food."

"Okay." Cameron, responsible to the last, lay

unmoving for almost exactly five minutes. "Okay. I'm
going to change and stuff. You really don't mind heating
up some soup?"

"Of course not."
Paul was still finding spending time at Cameron's

place a novelty. It was almost a shock to open the
refrigerator or a cabinet and find plenty of food there. In
fact, he'd been meaning to do some sorting. One glance

at Cameron's shelves made it clear that the man put
away groceries without rhyme or reason. Maybe he'd do
that after Cameron left for work.

Taking a pot from the dish drainer, Paul set it on the

stove and turned the burner on, then rummaged for a can
of soup. "What do you want?" he called toward the
bedroom. "Chicken and rice, chicken and country
vegetables--"

"As opposed to city vegetables?" Cameron called

back.

"--chicken noodle, cream of chicken?"
"Are you beginning to sense a theme?" Joining him,

Cameron took out one of the big mugs he used instead
of bowls. "Oh, not that one, I think it was in here when I
moved in. It might be from the seventies or something."

"It looks okay to me." Paul was no stranger to dented

cans bought at salvage stores, and not inclined to waste
food, even if he had doubts about its quality. "It's not
rusted or anything."

"I guess chicken and rural vegetables; I have a weird

association with chicken and stars being for when I'm
sick." Cameron took the can of chicken noodle from
Paul's hand and gave him the chosen one to dump into
the pot. "It's got to be expired."

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132

"I didn't see a date on it," Paul protested.
"If there's no expiration date, that probably means it's

from a time before expiration dates." Cameron set the
can down on the counter. "I don't know about you, but
I'm not a fan of botulism."

"Botulism has fans? What do they do, cheer in the

ICU?"

"Wave spore rods instead of pom poms," Cameron

agreed, as Paul stirred the soup and cranked the burner
up a notch. He stepped closer and wrapped an arm
around Paul's waist from behind. When he sighed, his
breath was warm against Paul's neck. "Thanks," he
murmured.

"It's just soup," Paul said, and felt Cameron's teeth

nip his skin.

"That's not what I meant. I meant... thanks for being

here. I really needed you tonight."

Paul couldn't help but wonder if Cameron actually

meant him specifically or just someone in general. It
was hard to believe that there might be anything special
about him. There'd been nights when Cameron had
assured him otherwise, and Paul was trying to accept it,
but it was hard. He didn't know how he'd gotten so
screwed up, but there was no denying it. He had a whole
collection of character defects, and lining them up and
analyzing them was something he didn't know how to
stop doing.

"You've been so good to me," Paul said, feeling like

he should explain.

"Hey." Cameron turned him around and looked at

him seriously. "I've been just as good to you as you
deserve, okay? I'm not a saint, and I'm not nice to you

because I'm doing you some kind of special favor."

"I know," Paul said, in what might have been the

least convincing voice ever.

"Liar," Cameron said fondly, and kissed him. "It's

okay. I'll get you to believe it one of these days."

"You think? I hope so." Paul meant it with all his

heart.

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133

"I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be."

Cameron slid a hand down along Paul's back and cupped
Paul's left ass cheek. "You want me to persuade you?"

Paul could already feel his body responding to

Cameron's touch. "I love when you persuade me. But
right now, I'd love it more if you eat something before
you go to the hospital. You're off tomorrow night, right?
I'll come here straight from work and you can persuade
me as much as you want."

"I'm going to persuade you all night long," Cameron

promised.

"And then, when you get tired, I'll persuade you."

There were mornings Paul could barely drag himself out
of bed because they'd spent hours the night before
having sex, but Cameron was worth it.

Cameron quickly poured himself a mug of soup,

pausing long enough to grab half a dozen crackers on his
way out of the kitchen and then a little longer to kiss
Paul goodbye. "Hang out here as long as you want, even
overnight. Mi casa es su casa. There's a spare key in that
drawer near the door if you need it."

"Okay, thanks."
Once Cameron had left, the condo felt wrong, like

Paul was trespassing even though he'd been explicitly
told he was a welcome guest. He was tempted to just go
home, but Cameron's place was so much nicer that it
seemed stupid to go back to his shitty apartment.

He watched TV for a while, flicking from one

channel to another. There seemed to be a thousand of
them, from public access to pay-per-view porn. If there'd

been a way to check Cameron's viewing habits, Paul
probably would have done it just to assuage his
curiosity.

Remembering that he hadn't had dinner, he went back

to the kitchen and looked at the leftover soup in the pot,
now forming a thin skin as it cooled to room
temperature. It wasn't enough for a real meal, but if he
added the other can still sitting on the counter top to it...

He wasn't patient enough to bring the soup to a boil;

as soon as it was faintly steaming, he poured it into a

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134

bowl and carried it into the living room, where he'd left
the TV on. He found a cooking show that was a
competition to see who could make something edible
from a collection of bizarre and unrelated ingredients
and watched it as he ate his soup, then lay down on the
couch with his arm tucked under his head and fell
asleep.

Paul woke up in the early hours of the morning, stiff

and confused about where he was and why someone was
talking. It took him a little while to figure out it was an
infomercial extolling the wonders of an electric juicer,
but it wasn't until he sat up that his stomach gave a
terrible lurch and he realized something was wrong.

He barely made it to the bathroom in time to throw

up, and once he started, he thought he'd never stop. His
eyes were full of tears and his sinuses burned from the

acid. He retched again and again. The floor was hard
and cold under his knees, and he was shivering.

Finally, he was able to get in a few breaths. He rested

his forehead on his arm and closed his eyes, reaching up
with his other hand to find the lever so he could flush
away the evidence. A tremor shook him, and he
groaned. Somehow he found the strength to get himself
upright so he could lean on the sink and rinse his mouth
out, but the metallic taste of the water just made him
retch again, though nothing came up this time. God, he
was freezing.

Paul's abdominal muscles ached as he stumbled

across the hall to collapse on Cameron's bed. He
grabbed a handful of blankets and pulled them up over
himself and lay there, teeth chattering. His fingers and
toes were like ice, and he couldn't stop shivering. Maybe
he had the flu? Had he picked up some kind of rare,

deadly virus while at the hospital? Was he dying?

He waited to fall asleep or slip into unconsciousness.

At one point another bout of retching struck him and he
could only summon up the energy to lean over the edge
of the bed and vomit onto the floor. There was no way
he could walk as far as the bathroom. He'd have to stay
in bed forever, and he found himself wishing

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135

pathetically that Cameron had done just that like he'd
threatened because then at least he wouldn't be dying
alone.

It was hours before Cameron got home, right around

the same time Paul should have been getting up to get
ready for work. He could hear the sound of Cameron's
key in the lock, the creak of the door opening, and then
he zoned out again until Cameron was standing in the
bedroom doorway.

"You're going to be layyy--" Cameron cut himself

off. "Paul?" He came toward the bed, and Paul couldn't
get out words to warn him about the puke on the floor.
"Did you take something?"

Something? Like, medication to feel better? "No," he

croaked. "I think I'm dying." He sounded pathetic and
hoped Cameron would take him to the hospital. It

wouldn't be cool to die in his boyfriend's bed.

"You've got a fever," Cameron said, touching his

forehead and then both cheeks at once. "Pain in your
abdomen?" He pulled back the covers, and Paul whined
as cooler air hit him. "Here, roll over for me. Good. It's
okay, you're going to be fine."

Paul didn't feel like he was going to be fine; he felt

like he was dying, and he was pretty sure he'd rather be
dead. Cameron was poking at the lower part of his
abdomen. "Stop. God, just let me die in peace."

Cameron ignored him and poked him some more.

"Does this hurt?"

"Everything hurts."
"Paul, concentrate."
"No." It didn't hurt like Cameron meant. "Just sick."
"I'm going to get you something more comfortable to

change into, get you cleaned up." Cameron went away
and then came back, cleaned the puke off the floor, and
wrestled Paul into a pair of boxers and a clean T-shirt
and then a pair of socks. "Okay, curl up."

It was hard to keep track of how long Cameron was

gone for, because Paul kept zoning out. There was a
thermometer under his tongue. A small cup of

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136

something being held to his lips. It tasted gross, like
mint and chalk, but he swallowed it down obediently.

Then Cameron's voice sounding angry. "Paul. Look

at me. Did you eat this?" He was holding the empty can
of soup Paul had opened and had for dinner. The lid was
still attached to it by a sliver of metal, and it was clearly
empty, so what did Cameron think Paul had done with
it?

"Yeah. It was fine."
"Oh, really? So you feel 'fine'?" Cameron slammed

the can down into the trash bin in the corner, and Paul
winced. "I told you to throw it away, didn't I? There
were half a dozen things you could have eaten. Why did
you have to eat something that was bad?"

"It wasn't bad," Paul muttered. He reached blindly for

the pillow next to the one he had his head on and pulled

it on top, blocking out the sight of Cameron's anger and
hopefully muffling the sound of it, too.

"It made you sick," Cameron said.
"We don't know what made me sick." Paul wasn't

sure why he was arguing, and he didn't know if
Cameron could understand him through the pillow. "I
feel awful, and you're yelling at me."

Cameron sighed and sat down next to him, rubbing

his back. After about a minute, he said, "You're right.

I'm sorry. We'll talk about it later. Can I get you
anything?"

Paul shook his head, then shoved the extra pillow

back where it belonged. "Stay with me?"

"Of course."
He dozed for a while, still hoping that he wouldn't be

sick again. Throwing up was bad enough, but throwing
up in front of Cameron would be worse. He might die of
embarrassment later when he remembered that Cameron
had had to clean vomit off the floor. Right then, though,
Paul was waiting to see if he died from whatever the hell
this was.

His stomach kept rolling, clenching, then relaxing

again, and he heard himself whimper. Cameron

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137

smoothed his hair away from his forehead and
murmured, "I know. Poor kid."

Paul wanted to protest being called a kid. He wasn't,

hadn't been for a long time, and even if Cameron was
older than he was, that didn't mean anything. But his
stomach chose that moment to give another lurch, and
he scrambled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom,
where he threw up a few more times. He didn't even
know how he had anything left to throw up; it seemed
like his stomach should have been empty by then.

"Okay, easy," Cameron said. He rubbed Paul's back

and kept his hand there as Paul puked again. "Shh, good.
Don't try to stop it, just let it come."

As if he had any choice in the matter, Paul thought.

God, this was humiliating. He was disgusting. It didn't
make a difference that Cameron was a doctor and had

probably seen worse. A patient wasn't the same as a
boyfriend, and Paul couldn't imagine Cameron ever
wanting to kiss him again.

"Go away," he muttered.
"No, hey, it's fine." Cameron had a great voice, warm

and comforting. "You'll feel better soon."

"Can't you give me something? So I won't throw up?"
"Sorry. It's better to get rid of what's making you

sick. Your body knows what it's doing. I can give you

some fluids if you start to get dehydrated."

Paul sat back on the floor; there was no way he'd be

standing up anytime soon. "This is gross. I'm sorry."

"Shh, stop. It's fine. I'm good at this. You can let me

take care of you." Cameron ran warm water onto a
washcloth, then cleaned Paul's face gently.

"I'm not so good at that."
"Letting people take care of you? Well, sometimes

you have to. You took care of me last night, remember?"

It wasn't so much that Paul had forgotten. "That was

different. You had a reason to be upset."

"And you have a reason to be sick. You can relax. Let

me do this."

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138

Paul realized as Cameron helped him back to bed that

he didn't have a choice. His teeth were chattering again,
and everything hurt. "I've got to -- call my work."

"I'll do it. Is the number in your phone?"
"Yeah. Don't know where my pants are --"
"Stop worrying. I'll take care of it. Just close your

eyes and try to get some sleep."

Paul spent the next few hours alternately freezing and

sweating, but he didn't throw up again, so that was
something. As the bedroom was starting to get dark, the
sky tinged with gold and orange from the setting sun, he
fell asleep and dreamed.

In his dream, he was walking along a street he didn't

recognize. There were cars whizzing past, probably
speeding. They were little more than blurs as they sped
by, but he wasn't worried about that. What was freaky

was that there weren't any people in sight. There had to
be people driving the cars, obviously, but he couldn't see
them, and the sidewalks were empty. He was in a city,
the buildings so tall they blocked out the sky.

He kept walking, getting the feeling that he was

looking for someone. Not anyone in particular, just
reassurance that he wasn't alone.

On his right, there was an alleyway. When he looked

down it, hoping to see a friendly face, it was empty, too.
There were trash barrels and some broken boxes and
loose newspaper, but not a single sign of life, not even a
rat or a pigeon. Still, the alley seemed less intimidating
than the street, so Paul turned down it and kept walking.

He stepped on one of the pieces of newspaper and it

stuck to the bottom of his shoe. When he paused to kick
it off, he realized that a cardboard box tucked partway
behind a dumpster was watching him.

Well, okay, something inside the box was watching

him, but for a second he hadn't been sure. "H-hello?" he

said tentatively.

A hand appeared, outstretched, palm up. The fingers

made a slight gesture, like he was being asked to come
closer, and even though he knew he shouldn't, he found
himself taking a step forward.

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139

"Do-- um, do I know you?" Because this was a

dream, so chances were he knew the people in it, right?
It wouldn't make sense for him to be dreaming about
complete strangers.

The hand made the same gesture. It was a man's

hand, for sure, the knuckles square and the nails short.
There was something familiar about it. Paul leaned
forward, and the man sitting in the cardboard box did,
too, and it was Paul's own face looking back him. A
dirty, bearded face, but otherwise like gazing into a
mirror, and Paul yelped and jerked backward and fell --

Onto the floor with enough force that it knocked the

wind out of him, but at least he was awake.

A light turned on, and Cameron got out of bed and

knelt with him, one arm going around his shoulders.
"Okay, you're okay."

"I was dreaming," Paul said, and turned toward

Cameron and held onto him, shaking.

"Okay," Cameron soothed. "It was just a dream, it's

okay, shh. You're okay."

Paul took a shivery breath and nodded against

Cameron's shoulder. "Yeah. That was-- it was weird. Is--
what time is it?"

"Almost midnight. Think you could try drinking

some water for me?"

He agreed, and Cameron got him back up to sit on

the bed and went to the kitchen, coming back quickly
with a glass of water. Paul sipped at it tentatively,
paying careful attention to how his stomach felt, but
there was no violent protest.

"I think your fever broke." Cameron touched his

forehead, then took the glass from him. "Not too much.
You want to sort of ease back into it after you've been
sick. In the morning you can have some plain toast,
maybe some tea."

"No coffee?" There was no way Paul would have

tried coffee right then, but in the morning...

"You'll probably want to avoid it for a day or two,"

Cameron told him. "The combination of the caffeine and
the acidity are pretty hard on your digestive system. He

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140

was barely dressed, Paul realized, wearing nothing more
than underwear.

"Aren't you cold?"
Cameron glanced down at himself. "A little. You

were throwing off heat like a furnace before, so I didn't
need more than this." He crawled back into bed and
pulled the covers up over both of them. "I think if you
can get a good night's sleep, you'll feel better
tomorrow."

"I'd better," Paul said. "I have to go to work."
"Um, no. No chance. You need at least a day to get

over this, maybe more."

"I don't have benefits," Paul reminded Cameron,

flipping over his pillow and sighing as his cheek hit the
cool fabric. "If I don't work, I don't get paid. And if I
miss too many days, I'll probably get fired."

"Then you'll get a better job that does have benefits."
Paul didn't have the energy to roll his eyes. "I like my

job."

"No, you don't." Cameron sounded convinced that he

was right.

"Yeah, actually, I do. It's fine. It pays the bills."

Okay, so that was a lie, and Cameron knew it just as
well as he did. "Let's just see how I feel in the morning."
He still felt like he'd been run over by a truck, but
maybe another seven hours of sleep would change
things.

"Okay." Cameron touched his shoulder gently. "Here,

flip over."

Paul did as directed, and Cameron hitched closer,

lying up close against Paul's back and holding him.

"Is this okay?"
"Yeah, it's good. You feel good." It was comforting

to be held like this.

Cameron nuzzled the back of his neck. "What was it

about?"

"What?"
"Your dream. It seemed like it kind of freaked you

out."

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141

That was an understatement, but Paul appreciated it.

"I don't know. It was weird, like-- dreams are kind of
like that sometimes, you know? They don't always make
sense."

"Yeah."
Paul sighed. "I was in a city, walking. There were a

lot of cars, and they were all going really fast, and then
there was an alley. With a dumpster, and trash blowing
around, and a bunch of cardboard boxes. And there was
this creepy guy, you know, like a homeless guy, and
then he looked up and I realized he was me."

"Probably means something," Cameron offered. His

hand patted Paul's hip.

"Probably. Like, maybe it was a future version of me,

or a possible-future me. What would happen, and I end
up all alone and living in a cardboard box in an alley

somewhere."

"Do you worry about that?" Cameron's voice was

soft, concerned.

"I don't know. Not really." Paul sighed and closed his

eyes. "Maybe a little, sometimes. Life's... complicated,
and I get tired. It feels like I'm always running but never
keeping up. One step forward, two steps back. You
know?"

"You've had a hard few years," Cameron said. "But

things are different now. You aren't alone anymore."

"I wasn't alone before," Paul protested. It was only

partially true. He had Alison and James and Gabby, but
they were their own family. He wasn't really part of that,
even if they were friends, good friends. "But yeah, I
know what you mean."

It ended up being a surprisingly depressing thought to

fall asleep on.

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142

Chapter 13

When Paul woke up, he was alone in Cameron's bed

and late morning sun was peering in around the edges of
the window shade. Elsewhere in the apartment, he could
hear voices -- the muted sound of the television,
probably.

It was hard to get himself out of bed, and he snagged

a soft, fuzzy throw and wrapped it around his shoulders
as he went in search of Cameron.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," Cameron said, smiling at

him from near the stove. "How are you feeling?"

"Late," Paul said; it was after eleven.
"I called your work and explained you were still too

sick to come in." Cameron turned on the burner under
the tea kettle.

"And they were okay with that?" Paul wondered who

Cameron had talked to, but no matter who it had been,
he was pretty sure his job was on the line at that point.

Cameron smiled wryly. "I may have implied that I

was your doctor."

"At this point, I'll take what I can get," Paul said. He

was starting to imagine a life in which he had a better,
different job, but that life was still some ways off, and in
the meantime he really did need a regular paycheck. "I'll
call later and apologize a lot."

"I think it'll be okay. Sit down. I'm going to make you

some hot tea. How do you feel about toast?"

Paul wrinkled his nose. "Nervous."
"We'll try the tea first and see how it goes. Sit."
"Okay, geez." Paul sat at the table, noting again that

there were two more mugs full of pens in the center of it,
acting as a napkin holder to the paper napkins that were
propped between them. "Thanks for last night."

"You already thanked me." Coming over to stand

behind him, Cameron rubbed Paul's shoulders through
the draped blanket. "Are you warm enough? I can turn
the heat up."

"I'm okay. Kind of gross, like, I need a shower."

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143

"Give yourself some time to wake up first. There's no

hurry."

God, Cameron's hands felt good, strong thumbs

digging into the muscles at the top of Paul's back and the
base of his neck. Paul let his head fall forward and
groaned softly. "Mm. Yeah, you could keep doing that."

Cameron laughed. "Yeah? People tweak all kinds of

muscles when they're sick. You could probably use a
real massage."

"Feels real enough to me." Paul was grateful for the

attention. He hadn't realized until Cameron's hands were
on him how sore he was.

Behind them, the kettle started to hiss. Cameron must

have had the water warmed already. He leaned in and
kissed Paul's hair, then moved to the stove. "What kind
of tea do you want? I've got regular black tea, herbal

something with some kind of flowers, and mint. Mint
might be good for your stomach."

"Sure, mint." Not being a big tea drinker, Paul didn't

have a preference, and anything less likely to upset his
system sounded like a wise option.

When they were both sitting at the table with mugs of

tea, Cameron took Paul's hand and said. "Listen, okay? I
want to say some things. And I want you to listen and
not interrupt. Can you do that?"

Paul could feel his eyes go wide. He nodded, his

heart beating more quickly.

"Don't look so worried. It's not anything bad. At least,

I don't think it is." Cameron gave him a smile that was
probably supposed to be reassuring. "You know I like

you, but I need you to know it goes deeper than that.
Even when we met, there was just... something about
you. And I take that seriously. I want to see where it
goes. I want us to be exclusive, so I won't see anyone
but you. I don't want to, and you won't see anyone but
me. And I want to be able to help you figure out your
debt and get it taken care of, not just because I hate that
you're struggling, but because I'm selfish. I want you to
be able to concentrate on me." His fingers tapped lightly
on the base of Paul's thumb. "That was a joke."

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144

Paul grinned uncertainly. "Yeah."
"Anyway... I hate the thought of you going out with

someone else or flirting with anyone. I want you all to
myself. And it's stupid not to come right out and say
that, so I thought I should." Cameron looked worried.
"What do you think?"

"Oh. Can I talk now? I was listening."
"You can talk now. Please."
"Yes," Paul said. "To all of it. I don't want to see

anyone else... did you really think I did?"

"I don't know. You meet people, the same as I do.

You help guys pick out clothes that will look good on
them, probably see them half-dressed sometimes."

Paul shook his head. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I

want to, um. See more of them than I already am." The
kind of guy he was attracted to was kind of limited,

actually. "I just want you."

"And you'll let me help you get your finances under

control?" Cameron held up a hand to forestall protest. "I
don't mean pay your bills, I mean help you find a better
way to deal with them and get out from under. I assume
you're paying some ridiculous interest rates."

"I didn't have a choice at the time," Paul said quietly.

He sipped at his tea, trying to collect his thoughts. "I
don't know, maybe it was stupid of me, but I got it into
my head that owing money to the hospital was immoral,
somehow."

Cameron looked puzzled. "Wait, you paid off the

hospital bills?"

"More like shifted them," Paul said. "To my credit

card. Well, three, actually, because I didn't have enough
available credit on the card I had at the time. And then
my student loans, and there were a couple of car repairs.
I just can't get my head above water." He glanced at
Cameron's face, trying to gauge what Cameron was
thinking. "Wow. Uplifting conversation."

"I'm not worried about that," Cameron said. "I'm

worried about how it's affecting you. This is a lot of
weight to be carrying on your own. What about James
and Alison?"

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145

"What about them?"
Cameron frowned, impatient. "Do they know?"
"God, no." Paul bit his lip, feeling guilty -- not for the

first time -- about keeping something important from the
people who were his best friends. "It's one of those
things... it's embarrassing."

"You should not feel embarrassed about this." Giving

him a stern look, Cameron finished his tea and set the
mug down on the table firmly. "None of it was your
fault, okay?"

"I know, but that doesn't make it better," Paul said. "It

might make it worse. Feeling like I don't have any
control. I know life is like that. I'd be fooling myself if I
pretended I was in control of what happens. But this is
one of those situations that reminds you how powerless
you really are." He could feel the warning prickle of

tears in his eyes and lowered his head to the table,
resting his forehead on his arm.

"Hey. Shh. It's okay." He could hear the worry in

Cameron's voice. "Maybe we should wait to talk about
this 'til you're feeling better."

"I'm tired," Paul said, and then felt the warmth of

Cameron's hand settle on the back of his neck. "I'm fine,
I'm just tired. I'm so..."

"Here. Come here." Cameron slid his chair closer and

wrapped both arms around him, and Paul gratefully
leaned in and let the tears come.

He was so fucked. The debt would take years to pay

off, years and years. No one with any sense would stick
around for that, no matter how nice they were. Even
Cameron. Forcing himself to calm, Paul straightened up
away from Cameron and inhaled slowly through his
nose. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Cameron was studying him.
"Look, I know this is a lot. Too much. So I won't

blame you if you don't want to stick around."

"Paul," Cameron said, and Paul blinked and looked at

him. "Are you hearing what I'm saying?"

"Yes," Paul said in a small voice.

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146

"I want to be with you. The financial stuff, it's not a

deal breaker for me, okay? We'll take care of it. We'll
figure it out, together. So stop talking yourself out of
this and stop trying to talk me out of it." Cameron
grinned. "I think you're stuck with me."

Paul grabbed onto Cameron's sleeve. "No. Not stuck.

God, you have no idea. If you ask me, it's the other way
around, so don't say that. Don't think it."

"Only if you promise to do the same," Cameron said

seriously. "I think we're lucky we found each other; the
last thing we need is to be telling ourselves we don't
deserve each other. I don't believe that, okay?"

Nodding, Paul reached for his mug and sipped some

more tea so that he'd have an excuse not to speak for a
minute. He knew that if he did, his voice would crack,
and if that happened, he'd lose it. It had been hard not to

believe, after his parents were killed, that the universe
had it in for him. When things went so horribly wrong, it
could convince you that you'd done something to
deserve it. The whole 'bad things happening to good
people' was difficult to buy, and he'd been struggling
ever since.

"They'd want to know," Cameron said, and it took

Paul a few seconds to figure out what he was talking
about.

"James and Alison? Yeah, probably. Not telling them

wasn't really about what they'd want." Paul swallowed
and wiped his mouth. "I didn't want them to feel sorry
for me."

"It's normal for people to have sympathy when

something bad happens to someone they care about."

"Just not me," Paul said, and then grimaced. "I know

that sounds stupid. I can cut everyone slack but myself."

"I think they'll be more understanding than you

expect." Cameron had this way of glancing at Paul that
was totally endearing, and he was employing it now.

"You think I should tell them."
"I think you'll be a lot less stressed out once you do.

You won't have to worry anymore about how they'll

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147

react when they find out, for one thing. And they might
have suggestions. They seem like good people."

"They are." Paul rubbed his forehead. "They're the

best. And you're right." He'd somehow managed to
convince himself that he'd be able to get out from under
eventually` and that he'd be able to hide the truth from
everyone until then. But the reality was, he wasn't
making much progress. His payments every month were
keeping him on top of the interest, but not doing much
more than that. "The thought of telling them makes me
sick."

"That might be the food poisoning," Cameron said

with a grin, and Paul found himself smiling, too.

"Jerk."
"Yeah, sometimes. But I'm cute, so you'll forgive

me." Cameron sounded confident. "I'll go with you, if

you want."

"Probably." It would be nice to have some support.

"Thanks. You know?" He met Cameron's understanding
gaze. "Thank you."

"I'm here for you," Cameron said, and patted his

hand. "Whatever you need."

Paul was starting to think that might be true.

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148

Chapter 14

"Is it too late to change my mind?" Paul asked, as

they walked into the museum.

"Yes," Cameron said.
They'd already had this conversation a dozen times at

least, so Paul wasn't sure why he kept asking. It wasn't
that he thought James and Alison were going to freak
out on him. Well, maybe he did think that, a little bit.
He'd spent a lot of time figuring out where and when to
tell them, and finally decided that a neutral location was
where he'd feel most comfortable. At his own apartment
he'd be too aware of the setting, and it didn't seem fair to
drag his problems into Cameron's territory, no matter
how much Cameron assured him it was fine. There was
no way he'd have considered doing it at James and

Alison's house.

In the end, the local fine arts museum had seemed

like a reasonable choice. The entrance fee was minimal,
it provided a calm atmosphere, and no one would be
tempted to raise their voices. Just thinking about it made
Paul feel slightly less tense, and he figured that was a
good sign.

"Paul!" Alison called his name softly, and they both

turned to see her and James coming toward them. "Hi."

"Thanks for coming," Paul said, as Cameron

murmured something about getting tickets for all of
them.

"No problem," James said. "What, did you think we

wouldn't show?"

"I was cutting you some slack in case of a babysitter

emergency," Paul told them.

"Are you kidding? My mom would kill me if I took

away her chance to spend a couple of hours with Gabby
without me leaning over her shoulder at every diaper
change." Alison shrugged out of her pale pink sweater
and draped it over her arm.

"I thought she was getting over the super-protective

phase." Paul raised an eyebrow at James, who shrugged.

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149

"She is. But there's a whole weird mother dynamic

thing that kicks in, where Grandma thinks she knows
everything about taking care of babies and Mom here--"
James put an arm around Alison, "--thinks her way is
better."

"Weird is one word for it," Alison agreed. "Annoying

is another. Don't get me wrong, I know she means well,
and I can see how much she loves Gabby, but it's so
frustrating having her question every little decision I
make."

Cameron rejoined them, and they started to walk into

the first exhibit. The pamphlet Cameron handed to Paul
said that it was an American Impressionism exhibition,
which didn't mean a heck of a lot to Paul.

They all stopped in front of the first painting and

looked at it. There was something soothing about the

style, but Paul jumped when Alison slipped her hand
into his.

"Sorry," she said. "Look, just tell us, okay? I've been

going kind of crazy trying to guess what's going on."

"Even though you already told us what it's not,"

James added.

It hadn't seemed fair to set up something of this

nature without some reassurance, so Paul had made sure
to let them know that it didn't have anything to do with
his health -- he could imagine how Alison would freak
out if she even suspected he might have passed
something on to her or Gabby even though they'd had
the relevant tests done at the time -- or with Gabby's
custody. He'd never want either of them to think for a
second that he was planning to take Gabby away from
them on any level.

"Don't leave us hanging." Alison squeezed his hand,

and Paul looked around a little wildly for a private
corner.

Correctly interpreting Paul's thoughts, Cameron

suggested, "Let's find somewhere to sit."

They had to walk through the next four exhibits

before they found a suitable spot. Paul wanted to have at
least an illusion of privacy, and it was a relief when they

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150

came across a small hallway outside the restrooms
where two benches overlooked the river below through a
set of huge windows.

Paul stood at the windows and looked out. He was

aware of the others behind him, sitting down, and for a
few seconds he was struck by the powerful wish to just
run away. He wanted to leave the building, get on an
airplane, start somewhere new.

Then he turned around and looked at the faces of

people he loved -- two of his best friends and his lover.

"This is stupid," he said. "I'm in debt. Way over my

head. It won't -- you know, affect you guys. It hasn't yet,
anyway, and I don't think that's going to change. But it's
huge, in my life, and Cameron helped me realize that it's
the kind of thing I shouldn't be hiding from you."

James was just watching him. Alison swallowed, then

said, "I... don't know what to say."

"Join the club," Paul said.
She stood up, then sat down again. "Why didn't you

tell us?"

"It's embarrassing," Paul told her. "Barely being able

to pay the bills... it sucks. And I guess I didn't want you
to feel sorry for me or feel like you had to do something
about it."

"Dude," James said. "Of course we want to do

something about it."

"But it's not your responsibility. Just because you're

nice people doesn't mean you have to feed me, or
whatever, you know?" Paul shifted to one side so he

could lean back against the window frame instead of the
glass itself.

"You do stuff for us all the time," Alison said. "For

fuck's sake, you gave us our child. But we aren't allowed
to do anything for you?"

Paul was surprised at the anger behind her voice. "It

wasn't a trade. I wasn't giving you sperm in exchange for
you taking care of me."

"No, you did it because you love us and you wanted

us to be happy. It was a gift, Paul."

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151

"And gifts aren't-- ugh." Paul let his head fall back

against the metal frame. "I just didn't, okay? I don't want
to argue about it, you're not going to convince me I was
wrong and I'm not going to convince you I was right, it's
just what I did. It's bad enough without having to beg for
your forgiveness."

Alison's expression softened, and James stood up and

came over and hugged Paul. It was an awkward hug that
Paul didn't feel comfortable relaxing into, but James
whacked him affectionately on the shoulder a couple of
times and that helped.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," James

said, pulling back.

"I kind of do. I don't know. I wish I'd said something

sooner, I just... didn't know how. And the longer I
waited, the weirder it got."

"So what can we do now? To help?" Alison stood

next to her husband.

"That's the thing," Paul said. "There isn't anything

you can do. I'm taking care of it. I have an appointment
next week with this guy, he specializes in helping people
figure out their finances. Mostly people who haven't
paid their taxes in, like, fifty years, apparently, but
sometimes people like me. I don't want you to worry
about it or feel like you have to do anything. I just
wanted you to know." He glanced at Cameron then back
at his friends. "I guess I'm coming out to you. In a
sense."

It was hard to read James' expression. Paul would

have felt better if he could tell what James was thinking.
"I can't believe we didn't know. All this time... we

should have asked. If you were okay."

"You did," Paul protested. "Dozens of times. But I

didn't know how to tell you, so I glossed over it or
changed the subject or whatever."

"Am I that easy to manipulate?" James didn't seem to

know if it was a serious question or not, which made it
more difficult to know how to answer.

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152

Paul shrugged, buying himself a few seconds to

think. "No. Or maybe yes, but only because I've known
you forever."

"But you're going to be okay?" Alison asked Paul,

but looked at Cameron.

"He will be." Cameron sounded confident. "He would

be no matter what, but this way'll be quicker."

"Is this financial guy someone we can trust?"

Interesting that she'd correctly assumed that it had been
someone Cameron had introduced Paul to.

Cameron nodded. "He's not really a friend, but I've

heard nothing but glowing praise. I've got his card, if
you're interested."

"Sure, yeah. That would be good. You never know

when you might need someone." Alison leaned in to
look at the card as Cameron pulled it out of his wallet.

Even though he was relieved to have gotten

everything out in the open, Paul could feel the weight of
the day's stress on his shoulders. "Can we talk about
something else now, please?" he asked plaintively, and
James patted his shoulder.

"How about that football team?" James offered, and

Paul smiled.

"And what about this weather we've been having?"
"Seen any good porn lately?" James asked. It was the

same joke conversation they'd had a hundred times over
the years and the routine ended there, but his voice must
have been a little louder than he'd intended because a
small group of women turned their heads and gave him a
shocked look. "Sorry," he stage-whispered, grinning at

Paul, and Paul felt the last knot in his chest loosen.

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153

Chapter 15

"Bye! Thank you!" Alison was standing at the front

door waving as the last of the cars pulled out of the
driveway. In her arms, Gabby was waving, too, in a
goofy sort of way; the birthday hat she was wearing had
slipped to one side and it bobbled as she waved.
Shutting the door, Alison turned and leaned against it.
"Oh, thank God that's over."

"Here, let me take her." Cameron, who'd been

collecting random scraps of wrapping paper from the
floor and stuffing them into a trash bag, held out his
hands, and Alison gratefully passed Gabby to him.

"Thanks. Does anyone want coffee?" Alison was still

kind of obsessed with the extremely expensive coffee
machine James had given her for their anniversary about

six weeks before. It made espresso, steamed milk, and
probably, Paul thought, tied your shoes for you.

On the other hand, he could use some caffeine after

having chased a dozen kids around in the yard for three
hours. "Sure, I'll take one."

Cameron crouched down and set Gabby near the toy

they'd given her for her first and therefore much
celebrated birthday. It was a big, plastic, dinosaur-
looking thing that had batteries and a set of brightly
colored balls that rolled down along its back, setting off
roaring sounds. It was entirely likely that Paul liked it
even more than Gabby did, but she babbled and grabbed
onto one of the balls anyway, then smashed it against
the dinosaur's back. "Jeez, Gab, try not to break it on the
first day," Cameron said mildly.

She seemed perfectly content to play, so he went

back to collecting trash while Paul finished creating his
haphazard pile of dirty dishes. There were cake crumbs
on the table and ground into the carpet -- at least it

hadn't been chocolate cake. That would have been
harder to clean up.

James opened the sliding door on the other side of the

room and brought in more dishes that had been scattered
outside on the deck. "Thank God that's over," he said.

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154

In the kitchen, Alison laughed. "That's what I said."
"I thought it was fun," Paul said. A lot of work, but

fun. Luckily there were four of them or they'd have had
to hire people to help, probably.

"It was fun," James agreed. "But I'm still glad it's

over."

"Only until next year," Cameron said. He surveyed

the room and, apparently satisfied with the job he'd
done, tied the top of the trash bag closed.

"I might need the whole year to recover," James said,

grinning.

Paul and James worked amicably at the sink, rinsing

dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. When
James flicked water at him, Paul said, "Hey! Watch it,
there, buddy."

"Aww, did one molecule of water get on you?

Pooooor baby." James widened his eyes at Paul.

"I'll poor baby you," Paul said, scooping water into

his cupped palm and tossing it at James. The water hit
him square in the middle of the chest.

"Hey!"
"If you two boys make a mess in there, it's going to

be your job to clean it up!" Alison called from the living
room, and Paul elbowed James in the side and made a
run for the living room while he still could.

He knelt down beside Cameron and rolled one of the

balls toward Gabby. It came to rest against her foot; she
kicked it and said, "Bah!"

"That's right!" Alison said, delighted. "Ball."
Gabby beamed. "Bah! Bah." Leaning forward to grab

it, she ended up on her hands and knees with a ball
clutched in each fist. She tried to crawl like that, but her
face screwed up and she started to cry. Paul wasn't sure
if it was because it hurt her knuckles or because it was
awkward.

James, having just come in, said, "Aw, what's the

matter, Princess?" He wiped his hands off on his pants,

scooped her up and kissed her cheek.

"She was saying 'ball'," Alison told him.

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155

"Well, that's because she's a smart girl." James folded

himself down onto the floor with the baby in his lap, and
she forgot about the crawling debacle in favor of tapping
the two balls she was holding into each other. "So."

Alison looked at her husband, who nodded. "We

were hoping we could talk."

They hung out all the time and talked all the time, so

it was immediately obvious she meant something more
serious. "Yeah, sure," Paul said, glancing at Cameron.
"What's up?"

"You know how much we love Gabby," Alison

started. "And how grateful we are that you helped us
have her. And we were hoping... well, we'd like it if
Gabby could have a brother or sister. We don't want her
to grow up as an only child. Not that there's anything
wrong with only children," she added hastily. "But if

anything ever happened to us, we'd want our kids to
have each other."

"If anything ever happened to you, we'd make sure

Gabby was okay," Paul said, even though he truly only
viewed Gabby as his best friend's child and not his own
daughter. "But yes. Of course. Um, assuming you're
asking me specifically."

"Yes. No offense to Cameron, who I'm sure would

make beautiful babies." Alison let out a breath like she

was relieved. "That's great. That's so great. Thank you."

James hesitated, then said, "And then -- we were

talking, and we thought -- well, we know you guys are
serious, what with the house and everything."

After several months of struggling to get a hold of his

finances, Paul finally had control of things. His debts
had been consolidated, and he was in the process of
looking for a new job that would pay better, while also
considering going back to school. He hadn't figured out
what kind of degree he actually wanted, but it felt like
he was making progress.

He and Cameron had decided to move in together.

Well, first Cameron had tried to get Paul to move in
with him, but even though Paul loved Cameron's
apartment, he didn't love the idea of moving into it. That

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156

felt too much like being a kept man. In the end, they'd
agreed to rent a small house together for a year, and then
at the end of that time, assuming things between them
continued to be great, they'd talk about buying.

It hadn't been too hard to find a place to rent. It was

about a mile and a half from Alison and James' house,
and was actually half of a duplex, and already wired for
cable and internet. They'd already signed the lease and
were moving in next weekend, a process Paul was kind
of nervous about. Not the moving of his stuff, especially
since half of it was going straight to the curb, but the
part about living with Cameron.

He really, really wanted it to work, so he worried that

it wouldn't.

Cameron reached over and bumped Paul's foot with

his own. "Yeah," he answered for both of them. "Yeah,

we're serious."

"So we thought..." James hesitated again, then went

on. "If you two wanted to have a kid..."

"I could carry it for you," Alison said. "You know,

later. When you're ready."

To say that the offer shocked Paul would have been a

significant understatement. He loved Gabby, and he
loved kids in general. He'd have been happy to donate
enough sperm for Alison and James to have half a dozen
if they wanted -- although two seemed like a more
reasonable number. But he'd stopped believing, even at
his relatively young age, that he'd ever find the man of
his dreams, let alone a man who would love him back.
The thought of raising a child on top of that seemingly
impossible dream left him speechless.

"You don't have to say anything now," Alison

continued, and Paul thought, a bit hysterically, Good,
because that's so not happening. "Just think about it."

There must have been a stunned look on Paul's face;

Cameron smiled and patted his knee like he thought
Paul was in need of comfort. "Thank you," Cameron
said. "We will. It's... a very generous offer."

Paul finally managed to find some words. "It is." His

voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. "What

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157

about... the other thing? I mean, when do you want
to...?"

"Oh." Alison rolled a ball toward Gabby. "We were

thinking maybe in about six months? That way Gabby
will be at least two when the new baby comes along.
Assuming it doesn't take long once we start trying, and
if that timing is okay for you."

"Sure. Yeah, that sounds good." It wasn't like it took

all that much effort on his part. And hey, maybe this
time around he'd have a little help in the jerking off
department.

They hung out for another hour or so, then headed

back to Cameron's apartment, where Paul was sleeping
pretty much every night now. In fact, he was starting to
think he'd end up moving more of his stuff into the new
house from Cameron's than from his own apartment.

The living room was littered with boxes, the shelves half
empty.

"I will be so happy to get settled in our new place,"

Cameron said, kicking off his shoes and throwing
himself down on the couch. "This half-assed, waiting to
move thing sucks."

"Half-assed?" For some reason, Paul had always

liked the sound of that phrase. It was funny. "What
would you do with only half an ass?"

"I don't want to think about it." Cameron reached out,

caught hold of Paul's hand, and dragged him toward the
couch, too, until he fell down onto it and Cameron in a
tangle of limbs.

"Hey!"
"Hm," Cameron said thoughtfully, groping him.

"Maybe I do want to think about it. I sort of like this half
an ass." He gave a squeeze to Paul's left cheek in
illustration.

Paul squirmed, pretending he was trying to get away

when really he just wanted to see how quickly he could
get Cameron hard. "Just that half? What about the other

half?"

"I like the other half, too. And the space in between.

You know, I think I like pretty much all of you."

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158

"Only 'pretty much'?" Paul gave him a scandalized

look. "Okay, okay, fine. I'm ready to hear it. Which parts
of me don't you like?"

Grinning, Cameron said, "Well, let's see. Maybe your

lips."

Paul could tell Cameron was just playing, so he went

along with it. He squirmed again, rubbing against
Cameron's erection, and pouted. "You don't like my
lips?"

"Nope." Cameron leaned in close. "I love them." And

he kissed Paul, sliding a hand up inside his shirt and
holding him. "Your tongue, too." Cameron gave him
another kiss. "Do I need to mention your cock?"

"I don't think so." Paul didn't doubt that Cameron

liked his cock. In fact, when it came to Cameron, he
really didn't have any doubts, and that was so great that

there were moments he felt like his knees were going to
give out underneath him. "I think our lips, my cock and
your ass should get together."

"You always have the best ideas," Cameron told him.
Half an hour later, coming down from some of the

best sex they'd had, which was saying something, they
hadn't managed to leave the living room. At least they'd
managed to take off their clothes. Well, most of them.
Paul turned his head to look at Cameron. "You're still
wearing one sock."

"Sue me," Cameron told him lazily. "What can I say?

Other things seemed more important at the time."

Shifting, Paul reached over and grabbed hold of the

toe of Cameron's sock. It took a couple of tugs to get it
over his heel, and then Paul tossed it onto the floor.

"Feel better?" Cameron asked.
"Yes. Much."
"I never knew you were so anal," Cameron said, and

then, when Paul burst into hysterical laughter, frowned.
"I didn't mean it like that!"

"Sure you did," Paul said, trying to stop giggling. "It's

true! I'm totally anal."

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159

Cameron watched him until he got control of himself,

then kept looking at him fondly without saying
anything.

"What?" Paul finally said.
"I was just thinking how much I love you."

Cameron's hand, which had been resting on Paul's knee,
slid a little lower to curl around his ankle.

"Because I have a bad sense of humor and don't know

when to shut up?"

"Among other things," Cameron said. He traced the

fine bones in Paul's feet. There was something about his
manner that told Paul he wanted to talk, so Paul waited
quietly, giving him time to figure out how to say
whatever it was. Under other circumstances, Paul might
have been nervous, but they'd just had amazing sex and
Cameron had just said he loved him, so there wasn't

anything to worry about. "About what Alison said."

"About me giving them some more sperm?" Paul

asked. "That doesn't bother you, does it? I mean, maybe
I should have checked with you before I agreed to it..."

"No, it's not that. I think it's great that you're willing

and that the three of you are so close that you can give
them that kind of gift. I was talking about her offer to
carry a baby for us."

"Oh. Well, we didn't say yes, we just said we'd think

about it. And it wouldn't be any time soon, anyway." But

if Cameron was bringing it up, that probably meant he
had strong feelings about it one way or the other. "Why?
What were you thinking?"

Cameron was studying his face seriously. "I was

thinking it's a great idea. I'd love to have a baby with
you. Watching you with Gabby -- you'd be an amazing
dad. What do you think?"

"I think--" Paul had a sudden thought that made him

stand up and cross the room to one of Cameron's cups
full of pens. He took it back to the couch and held it in
front of Cameron. "Which one's your favorite?"

"My favorite? I'm supposed to have a favorite?"

Cameron sounded amused.

"One you like, then," Paul urged. "Pick one."

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160

Cameron took the cup from him and tilted it, then

chose a shiny blue gel pen from amongst the others.
"This one."

Paul took the cup from him and set it on the table,

then turned Cameron's hand, palm up. "You want to
know what I think about you and me and a baby?
Having a family? Here's my answer."

He wrote the word "Yes" across Cameron's palm in

glittering blue ink.

The End.

If you liked this book you might like: 911 by Chris

Owen, Family Matters (anthology by Kara Larson, Sean
Michael, Chris Owen and Alexa Snow), Going to the
Chapel (anthology by Jenna Jones, JJ Massa, and Alexa

Snow)

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161