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  I leave without saying a word to her, go home, and immediately take a shower to wash the feel of his lips off my cock which takes a lot of soap and basically leaves me with a raw dick.

  I’m lying on the couch watching reruns of Full House when Heather walks in. She’s in running clothes and covered in sweat. I’m confused and a little worried because Heather is basically allergic to exercise.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

  She leans against the wall and tries to catch her breath. “Running.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m out of shape,” she says, snatching a half empty bottle of Diet Coke from the counter.

  “And Diet Coke is such a good way to rehydrate yourself after a long run?”

  She sucks most of the soda back. “Yep.”

  “Okay…” I turn my direction back to the TV.

  When she plops down on the couch next to me, she’s still panting, and she reeks of outside and sweat. “God, Heather,” I push her leg, “Don’t get that smell on the couch.”

  “Shut up.” She scoots to the edge of the couch and collapses on the floor. “So, what kind of shit did you get to watch today?”

  Smiling, I glance down at her. “Oh, just Tyler getting his cock sucked by a guy.”

  She chokes on her drink. “What?”

  “Yep.” I can’t help but laugh as I recall the look of absolute fear that overtook his face when Benson was crawling toward him on the bed. “Evidently, he’d rather have a guy suck his cock than have me suck a guy’s cock.”

  “Wait. What? Why would you suck a guy’s cock? Look, I just ran two miles and my body thinks it’s dying. Did I miss something?”

  “Everyone is sick, and the girl that was supposed to shoot with Tyler didn’t show up, so basically he shelled out a ridiculous amount of money and wasn’t gonna get a shoot out of it.”

  “Okay, where do you come into this?”

  “He asked me to do a shoot—”

  “Fuck no he did not. Please tell me you didn’t.” A look of panic creeps over her face.

  I narrow my gaze. “No, I didn’t, but when Hud suggested it Tyler freaked and told me I couldn’t which made me go all feminist-you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do and then I said I would do it, and Tyler said he’d let Benson suck his dick.”

  “Whoa!” Heather holds her hands up and shakes her head. “What are you guys? Thirteen? Jesus, you two are crazy. You can’t go sucking a dick just because someone told you not to.”

  “I know. He just makes me angry as shit.”

  She launches the empty soda bottle across the room, and it lands in the middle of the kitchen. “Close to the trashcan?” she asks.

  “Nope.”

  “Damn. Well, you know what? It’s kinda romantic in a really fucked up, disturbing way. He sacrificed his cock to keep you from being with another dude.”

  Shaking my head, I nudge her with my foot. “Yeah, really romantic, Heather.”

  “Maybe he’s not scum…just a little dirty whore or something.”

  I glare at her. “Don’t start liking him just because you are fucking his roommate.”

  “But wouldn’t that be so cute. Two besties dating besties?”

  “No, it wouldn’t.”

  My phone dings with a text.

  Would you be able to go to NYC for a day at the end of the week? I’ll pay you overtime. I need an assistant at a signing.

  Sure.

  Thanks, chicken. I’ll give you details tomorrow. xx

  “Was that him?” Heather asks.

  “No, nosy.”

  She pushes up from the floor and groans. “I’m going to take a shower, probably masturbate a little, then we should order take-out and watch a movie.”

  “You know what? Normal friends could just say let’s order food and watch a movie. Normal friends don’t inform you of their masturbation schedule.”

  Heather holds up her middle finger as she walks toward the hall. “You love it, and you know it.”

  Shaking my head, I laugh. Heather is definitely one of a kind. That is for sure.

  So, maybe I should have asked who I would assisting because of course it’s him.

  A six-hour flight. Six hours where I was forced to sit next to him. Listening to him breathe and snore in his sleep. I shove the door to the hotel room open and drag my luggage in behind me. It smells like a moldy cellar in here. The carpet has numerous stains. The bedspreads look like something out of Miami Vice. “Wow, Hud, way to splurge on a hotel.” He stops at the foot of the bed, and I walk around him. “Fuck, is that blood?”

  Ignoring him, I walk to the window and stare out at the twinkling lights of New York City. Of all the places I would have to travel with Tyler, it would be this fucking city—the place that ripped a fissure through us. Fate is such a sadistic bitch sometimes. Sighing, I snatch the curtains closed.

  “What did the curtains do to you?” he asks.

  I glare over my shoulder at him. “I’m not in a good mood. A cramped flight with a screaming baby and you.”

  “Are you on your period or something because you are a fucking nightmare right now.”

  I glare at him and feel my left eye twitch which makes him start laughing.

  “I love that we’re sharing a room,” I say, walking away from the window. “It’s fan-fucking-tastic.”

  “I mean, what did you expect? It’s Hud. He shoots porn for a living. At least he booked a room with double beds.”

  I take another quick glance around the room. I feel dirty just standing in here. It feels moist in the room—dirty and moist. “This is a shitty hotel,” I say.

  “Yep, pretty sure there have been a few murders go down in here.” He points to the bottom of the mattress. “I mean, does that look like blood to you?”

  My gaze falls to a very suspicious stain on the box springs. “Oh, God, I’m going be sick.”

  “I’m sure they cleaned it…some.” He says, laughing.

  I bend down, unzip my suitcase, and pull out my toiletries bag. When I straighten up, Tyler’s back is to me, and he’s pulling his shirt over his head. My eyes inadvertently skim over his hard muscles, my traitorous body heating. The muscles in his forearm twitch as he unzips his fly. I should turn away, but I’m unable to tear my gaze away. He’s slowly shoving the hips of his jeans down in the same teasing fashion a stripper would. I swallow. My heart rate kicks up a notch. He glances over his shoulder and catches me blatantly gawking at him. “You looking at my ass or that stain?”

  “The stain,” I say walking to the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth, silently scolding myself for being attracted to him. Am I that fucking weak? Jesus! Blue foam is dripping down my chin, and I shake my head at my reflection. A desperate whore. A porn star called me a desperate whore. Fuck him.

  After I rinse my mouth and wash my makeup off, I walk out of the bathroom straight to the other bed. I can feel Tyler staring at me so I reach over and flip the lamp off as I crawl under the comforter.

  We lay in silence. I can’t help but realize how immature and ridiculous this entire thing is, but no matter how hard I try to be mature, I can’t. He picks at me and pushes buttons that make me revert back to a hormonally imbalanced fourteen-year-old on her period.

  “Hey, titch?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I like you without makeup.”

  My breath catches in my throat because that got to me in a way it shouldn’t. It made me remember what we used to be to each other, and damn, I like to ignore that.

  Part of me thinks I’m an idiot—both for wanting him and for not giving into him. We grew up together. I loved him in a way I doubt I will ever love another man, and I know that because I’ve hated him more than I’ve ever hated anyone before. Hate is a product of failed love only when you can’t find it in you to let go. And you know what? I fucking hate him because I love him.

  “Sweet dreams,” he says.

  “Goodnight,” I mumble and close my
eyes even though I doubt I’ll be doing much sleeping.

  Porn star… I mean, after all, it’s just a job, right? Maybe I’m shallow. What the fuck am I thinking, shallow? He screws other women. I can just imagine how that would work out if I actually got involved with him. He’d come home from a day at work and I sure as hell wouldn’t ask him, ‘How was your day, babe?’ Because I wouldn’t want to know. There’s stigma…and, again, he would be fucking other women.

  I glance through the window as the taxi sputters to a stop. There’s a small line of women going in through the door. You have got to be kidding me. Climbing out of the car, I stare up at the swirly silver letters that look more like a club logo than a sex toy shop. The G-Spot. I roll my eyes at the name.

  “Your mom would be so proud. Your first cock signing at a place called The G-Spot.”

  “Look,” Tyler says as he shuts the door to the cab. “What are you gonna do? Be pissed at me the entire week? I said I was sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a desperate whore.” Laughing, he hops onto the curb. “I mean, why the hell would you listen to me? Don’t you remember the shit I used to say to you when we were kids.”

  I glare at him. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Hmm. Maybe the time I told you that Burger Hut put ponies in their meat, and you threw up? Or what about the time I told you putting a piss-soaked washcloth on your face would clear up your acne?”

  God, he’s always been an asshole.

  The women in line stare and drool when we walk past them. The one in the front has the replica of Tyler’s dick clutched in her hand. I seriously cannot believe this is real life right now.

  Tyler holds the door to the shop open. As soon as I’m inside, I see a banner with a picture of a flesh colored dildo—his very own personal dildo, the name ‘Johnny Depth’ in bright red letters to the side of it.

  “Wow,” I say, reading over the description of his dildo. “Suction cup for pleasure during bath time, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh,” there’s a loud gasp, “My gawd!” A woman darts out from behind some of the shelving. She’s wearing a tight, floral dress and she’s either had a spray tan gone wrong or she’s laid in the tanning bed too much. She looks like Magda from Something About Mary. “Johnny Depth!” She scampers up to him, grabs his chin, pulls him down face level, and kisses both his cheeks. “My, my you are taller than I thought.” Taking a step back, she drags her eyes over him, stopping on his crotch. “I’m such a fan of your work. Such a fan. Probably your number one fan. Actually, I used little Johnny—that’s what I call your cock cast—last night.” She winks as she waggles her eyebrows. “Grrrr.”

  “Oh, well…uh,” Tyler says, slowly taking several steps back. “Glad it’s a good product.”

  “Very good product. And I tell you what,” she bites down on her lip, “if I got ahold of the real thing, it would need a cock cast.”

  Tyler looks mortified. He’s still backing away from her, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fully enjoying this. “Cock cast?” I ask.

  “Yep. I’d ride his cock so hard, it would need a cast by the time I’m done with it.”

  “Oh,” I stifle a laugh, “Wow.”

  There’s a loud bang when Tyler bumps into the table behind him, knocking over a tower of penis molds.

  “Oh, look at me just fawning over you,” she says. “I’m Sue.” She holds her hand out for me to shake. “I think everything he needs is at the table. Pen. Pictures. Water. Dildos.”

  Nodding, I glance at the table and find Tyler attempting to rebuild the wall of cock. “Thanks,” I say.

  “Well, I’ll be back in a little while.” She winks. “Have fun, sugar.”

  Dragging the metal chair out, I glance at him. “Sugar.” I laugh. “You could make the woman’s life if you let her try the real thing out.”

  “Fuck off. That’s sick.”

  “Women get wiser with age; she could probably rock your world.”

  “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  He sits down, pulls the chair to the table and the first middle-aged woman approaches, dildo in hand.

  “You are my favorite,” she says, smiling. “That tongue of yours. Mmph.” She arches her brows.

  “Thanks,” Tyler says.

  “I wanted you to sign this one. Don’t worry, I’ll retire this one and use the backup I’ve got at home from now on.”

  I fight a laugh. I fight it hard. She stares at him like an absolute creeper while he signs the fleshy silicone. She thinks she can fuck him. I can see it in her eyes. After all, he is a porn star…or maybe it’s just that she has watched him fuck so many times, she’s seen him in the most intimate situations a person can have, maybe she feels like she knows him.

  Tyler hands the dildo back to her, stands up for a picture—during which, the woman grabs his ass—and then she walks off.

  As soon as he sits back down, I lean over to him. “You know,” I whisper as the next person walks toward the table. “You just held something that woman has had inside her quivering vagina.”

  He swallows and exhales. “Did you have to say quivering?”

  “Yep. Quivering wet folds.”

  He gags a little, then smiles as the next woman hands him her replica of little Johnny.

  This experience is absolutely priceless. For the next three hours, I watch him sign dildo after dildo, tit after tit. I delight when one of the women gropes him, and that uncomfortable look graces his handsome face. During lunch, I filled a spray bottle up with water and told him I’d squirt the ladies that got out of hand, but as far as I’m concerned, until one of them yanks his jeans down and tries to rape him—it’s not out of hand.

  Everything is absolutely incredible until a guy trots up to the table.

  “Oh, this is gonna be amazing,” I whisper when the guy hands the cock cast to Tyler.

  “Dude,” he says. “Can you sign this for my girlfriend?”

  Well, this isn’t near as fun.

  Tyler scrawls his name over the cock then hands it back to the guy.

  “Man, tell me, what is it like to fuck Vee-Gina? I mean, damn, she is hot. And that pussy….” he hisses in a breath. “Fucking perfect. That scene out of Secret Pussy, dude. You know, the one where you’re fucking the shit out of her then flip her over and ram it in her ass. Man, you’re my hero. I would pay money to stick my cock in an ass like that. Do you ever want to have sex outside of that shit because those girls are as perfect as they get…”

  The rant of this perv fades into the background. I hate this. Before, all the shit was funny. This—this is not entertaining. All I can see is Tyler balls deep in some girl, and as much as I try to not let it get to me, I can’t help it.

  The guy is going on and on, and the line is backing up.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “But there are other people in line.”

  “Oh,” he says. “Yeah, sorry. Thanks, man.” He wobbles the dildo in the air and trots off.

  Tyler glances at me and smirks before taking the box from the next person in line and signing it.

  Just as the woman goes into a fit about how much she loves him, my phone dings with a text.

  Know you’re busy. But you got the part. Call me when you can. Congrats, Jemma. You deserve this.

  My heart flutters in my chest and I have to go back over the text to make sure I didn’t misread it.

  Another text comes in.

  You start in a week. Already talked to Hud and already have some people looking for an apartment for you.

  I’m in disbelief. A part—a lead role in a Stefan Goldberg TV series. My pulse is going haywire, my cheeks burn from how wide I’m grinning. No more dildos. No more watching people have sex. No more Tyler.

  No more Tyler.

  My smile fades a little as I glance over at him. As much as this situation has sucked, as much as we’ve fought—I’d be lying if I said even when I hated it, I hadn’t enjoyed it. It’s hard to explain, but this is how it has always bee
n with us. From the outside, everyone thinks we hate each other, but deep down inside all that bickering comes from a place of love, and as long as we aren’t ignoring each other, we both know there’s still something there. And even though I know this will never go anywhere, well, I still like knowing it’s there.

  The entire signing, she cracked jokes at me. After the signing, we went our separate ways for dinner because she evidently fucking hates being seen in public with a porn star. She fucked a disease riddle rock star and fucked him on camera, and she’s got a problem being seen with me. She’s a fucking prude.

  I’m scrolling through Facebook when she walks into the hotel room.

  “Enjoy dinner by yourself?” I ask.

  “Who said I had dinner by myself.”

  “Well, my dinner was great, thanks for asking.”

  She stops at the end of the bed and tosses her purse onto the floor. “Uh, yeah, take-out pizza seems divine.” She points at the open box on the dresser.

  “It’s New York City. You’re supposed to get pizza.”

  “Oh, you better watch your physique, Mr. Depth, lose those chiseled abs and your ratings may plummet.”

  I glare out her while she digs through her bag and takes out a ton of shower-shit.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she says.

  “Congratu-fucking-lations.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Stop being a cunt.”

  “Oh, you know that word is a line you do not cross with me,” she says with a slight growl. Fuck that angry voice of hers is damn sexy.

  “Oh, is it? Well, excuse me, prude.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Already have a first class ticket. Porn star and all you know.”

  She groans before slamming the door to the bathroom. When I hear the shower cut on. I glance toward the door, then back at the clock. She takes thirty minute showers. I can get off in five minutes. Having to share a room with her, watching her prance around in those short sleep shorts, having to ignore how hard her nipples are when she wakes up and climbs out of bed to piss. I swear she wears thin shirts on purpose. My balls are fucking heavy as shit right now. I know it’s sick, but I think I’m getting backed up.

  I type in Stone Steele and Elsa on Internet Explorer and up pops the blurred out video. My gaze swings back to the door. The shower’s going full blast. I’ve beat off to this video I don’t know how many times since Jake pulled it up on the TV, and I still haven’t figured out if it’s fucked up that I get off watching my ex get fucked by her ex or not. Really, it’s just that it’s her, and I’ll take her any way I can get her. Yeah, okay, it’s fucked up.