Page 7 of With a Cherry On Top

Yes, and since then, Josie has been in and out of rehab more times than I can keep track of. It’s not easy to navigate thelogistics around that, especially if you have a young child and a new career. “Two years is not that long.”

“What’s TOP?” Logan presses.

“Noth—”

“It’s jerk-off capital, boss,” Kyle explains. “You can join streams and watch girls do—well, basicallyanything. Or you can have one-on-ones. Personal calls. Those are...” He rolls his eyes suggestively. “Fuck me.”

“Seriously? You do this shit?” Logan asks. I’m not sure who the question is for, but I shake my head.

“Hell yeah,” Kyle chirps. “Remember last year, when I had chickenpox? I couldn’t leave the house for a month. Trust me, TOP saved my life.” He points at the laptop. “Need help setting up an account?”

“No. I just got a gift card for it, and?—”

Kyle sits at the living room table, laptop open in front of him, card still clutched in his hand.

“Why am I not surprised you would do something like that,” Logan says with a glare my way before turning to the dollhouse.

I open my mouth, then close it. Though Logan and I officially cleared the air over what happened with Josie around the time I asked for a divorce, we’ve made no progress since. He won’t admit it, won’t even let me broach the topic, but he still holds a grudge after all these years.

I get it. I’m his brother. I slept with his girlfriend. But for some reason, I naively thought that once he moved on from Josie, things would be okay between us too. Lately though I worry that’ll never be the case, no matter how much I try.

“You’re a father, Aaron,” he spews. “To a littlegirl. The porn industry is a sexist, abusive, and?—”

“Oh, lighten up,” Kyle says as he begins tapping keys on my laptop. “It’s not porn—it’s camming. Trust me, these women make more than you or I ever will selling vegetables. Notto mention they have all the control.” He nods at me, then, “Username?”

“No username, Kyle.”

“Chef, uh . . .728.”

I don’t even want to ask what the numbers represent. “Look, my brother has a point, and?—”

“No, he doesn’t.” He types something. “Are you straight?”

I huff out a breath. What kind of question is that? “You’ve met my wife.”

“Ex-wife.”

“Whatev—”

“And youcouldbe bi.”

“You’ve known me since you were five, Kyle. I think you’d know if I were bisexual.”

Logan asks about the screwdriver again, and once I point him to the walk-in closet, he disappears.

“So there are men on the platform?” I ask, walking closer.

“There’s everything. Trans, drag queens, couples. Proper porn stars and influencers. You have masochists, subs and doms, and any kink you could possibly be looking for.” He points at the screen. “See? You select what you like here.”

Beneath a circle meant to host a profile pic, there is a series of categories that can be selected.

Orgy,cum play,threesomes. And the list goes on.

“And all of this is strictly online?”

“Uh-huh. Creators upload videos, and the algorithm will only show you shit you’re into. Either you join a public live stream, or have a one-on-one with a girl.”

Yeah, this feels like way too much commitment.