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Chapter Fourteen

Nico

W hen I walked into the studio, it was like crashing into a deleted scene from Project Runway: Porn Edition.

Lights everywhere. Folding chairs scattered like someone gave up halfway through setting up. Clipboards. Bottled water. And jugs of lube.

And at the center of it all was Bradley, sitting stiffly in a chair looking like he wanted to be anyplace else but here. Laura was beside him, gesturing dramatically at a clipboard and looking five seconds from a full meltdown.

“I’m telling you,” she said, exasperated, “you have to pick more guys. We’re running out of viable options and the Japanese clients were very specific. Twenty men. Not nineteen, not ‘whatever we can scrounge up,’ but twenty.”

Bradley sighed. He looked up, and his eyes landed on me.

His entire face changed. Not a full smile. Not a smirk. Just this quiet little flush that bloomed across his cheeks like someone turned the warmth up in the room.

“Add Nico’s name to the list,” he blurted. “He’s in.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Laura looked at me. Then at Bradley. Then back at me with that dangerous sparkle in her eye, like she’d just found out two coworkers were secretly fucking. “Well now,” she said. “Look who finally showed up.”

“I was in wardrobe,” I said, stepping further into the room. “They were arguing about whether I needed ankle socks. I told them if someone’s looking at my feet in a bukkake scene, we’ve already lost.”

Laura didn’t even blink. “You’re late.”

“And now I’m here,” I replied, spreading my arms dramatically. “Let the fluids fly.”

Bradley choked on air.

“Not now,” Laura said, “tomorrow. Today is just casting.”

“Yeah, I heard. The cocks have been auditioning. Very theater kid energy out there, by the way. One of them tried to convince me he was a method actor.”

Laura groaned. “Was it the one in mesh with the Jesus tattoo on his pelvis?”

“No, that one was praying in the hallway. Loudly.”

Bradley was covering his mouth, shoulders shaking. When he looked up at me again, his eyes were dancing. “You wanna help?”

“Help what?”

“Pick guys,” he said. “If I have to be, you know… center stage tomorrow, I’d rather someone be here who understands the vibe.”

Laura crossed her arms. “You mean someone who won’t flinch when a perfect stranger asks about splash zones?”

“Exactly,” Bradley said.

I shrugged and rolled my eyes. “Sure. I’ll help pick out the guys who’ll dramatically ejaculate on you. That’s just a normal Tuesday for me.”

Laura handed me a clipboard and pointed to the folding chair next to Bradley. I sat down and tried not to read into the fact that our knees were almost touching. Almost.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s keep this train wreck moving.”

She disappeared out into the hallway, calling, “Next!”

Bradley leaned over. “You missed the poetry guy.”

“Oh no,” I said flatly. “Tell me someone didn’t deliver a cum sonnet.”

Bradley’s grin widened. “He rhymed ‘glory’ with ‘ejaculatory.’”

“I take it back. I want him hired.”

“No, you do not.”

Before I could respond, the studio door opened and in walked a guy who looked like he’d just finished DJing a foam party in Ibiza.

Shirtless, tan, chain necklace, sunglasses on top of his head indoors.

He winked at us both, cracked his knuckles, and said, “Name’s Kyler.

That’s Kyler with a Y. My pronouns are pound and me. ”

Bradley made a sound like a dying cat.

“Okay, Kyler with a Y,” I said, flipping to a blank spot on the clipboard. “Got any experience?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I was in Twinks Gone Wild 3 and a deleted scene from Fifty Shades of Gay. Also, I once jerked out a load while skydiving.”

Laura, who had just reappeared with a bottle of water, paused. “Like… in free fall?”

“Yup.”

I leaned over to Bradley. “He might be a danger to himself, but that’s the commitment this shoot needs.”

Bradley blinked. “Sure. Why not?”

Laura called for the next guy.

This one looked… normal. Scary normal. Like, fully dressed, clean-shaven, could’ve worked at a bank if not for the aggressive V-neck. He gave us a little wave.

“Hi! I’m Evan. Pronounced Even but spelled E-V-A-N.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s confusing.”

“I like to keep people on their toes,” he said, winking. “Fun fact, I’m double-jointed, and I’ve been in a bukkake film before.”

Bradley rubbed his temples.

“I like him,” I said, mostly because Bradley looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.

“You would,” he mumbled.

“Listen, if you don’t pick fast,” Laura warned, “I’m going to start dragging people off the street and asking if they know what bukkake means.”

“Fine,” Bradley said. “Evan’s in. So is Kyler.”

Laura nodded. “God help us.”

As she left again to grab the next victim—sorry, auditionee—Bradley leaned back in his chair and exhaled hard.

I glanced over. “You okay?”

He looked at me. Really looked. And for a second, his face softened in a way that made my stomach flip.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s just… I didn’t think my new life outside of prison would involve a clipboard and ranking strangers by how comfortable I am getting jizzed on by them.”

“Welcome to showbiz, baby,” I said, bumping my knee against his. “You’re gonna be a star.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “You think?”

“I know.”

Scene 2

After work, the studio emptied out in waves. First the camera guys, then the clipboard crowd. The sun had dipped just far enough to bathe the sidewalk in gold, and everything smelled faintly like sweat, makeup setting spray, and the trail mix Nessa kept yelling was only for talent.

Bradley and I exited through the side door just as Moira and Nessa came busting out the front, mid-conversation and loud enough to be heard in three boroughs.

“I still say he should wear goggles,” Moira was saying. “I’ve been doing some online, um, research, and saw a bukkake shoot go sideways. One guy tripped and took out the entire circle of men like bowling pins.”

“Goggles? Please,” Nessa said, waving a manicured hand. “He should wear a tiara and a raincoat. It’s called branding.”

Bradley’s face turned such a deep shade of red I thought he might just melt into the sidewalk and live there forever.

“G’night, boys!” Nessa called, winking. “Sleep tight and maybe don’t moisturize tonight, Bradley. You’re about to get drenched.”

Bradley gave a weak wave. “Goodnight…”

Moira blew him a kiss. “Can’t wait to see you glow up tomorrow, sugar.”

I waited until they turned the corner, then looked at him. “You okay?”

He was still staring into the distance like he’d just seen his obituary printed on a glittery flyer.

“I was gonna ask if being hungover would help,” he said after a beat. “Like, maybe if I’m barely conscious, I won’t care as much.”

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. “You planning on showing up blackout drunk to your first starring role?”

He shot me a look. “Don’t tempt me.”

Before I could think about it, I slung an arm around his shoulders. It was easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Don’t get drunk,” I said, voice a little lower. “You’ll be fine.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just let out this tiny, grateful sigh that hit me straight in the chest like a dart.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be there. We all will. Worst case, you blink and it’s over, and you’ve got a fat check and a wild story.”

He tilted his head just enough to look at me. We were close—close-close—and his eyes were a little too soft for my comfort level.

“Thanks,” he said. “For, you know… not making fun of me.”

“Oh, I’m definitely making fun of you,” I said. “Just later. When you’re emotionally stable.”

He cracked a smile, and I grinned like a dumbass.

Then, of course, the moment was ruined.

One of the dudes from earlier—Kyler with a Y, because of course it was—came strutting down the sidewalk like a sexed-up golden retriever.

“See you tomorrow, dudes!” he said, flashing finger guns at us both. “Hope you’re ready for the money shot! Woo!”

He disappeared into the evening, still making explosion noises.

Bradley groaned and buried his face in his hands. “God help me.”

I watched Kyler go.

And hated him for a full second.

Like, not even a rational hate. Just this surge of heat in my chest, like I wanted to kick his ass into traffic and tell him he wasn’t allowed near Bradley ever again.

Which was… insane.

Because this was porn. And it wasn’t like Bradley was my boyfriend.

Still, the thought of that guy standing in a circle tomorrow, getting off while looking at Bradley…

Nope. I shut the thought down so fast I nearly gave myself a migraine.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Bradley finally looked up from his hands. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I said too fast. “Just thinking about dinner. I might get tacos.”

“Cool. I might, uh, eat… nothing. Not sure if I can keep anything down.”

“Let me know if you want company,” I said, surprising even myself.

Bradley raised an eyebrow. “For tacos or for dying of shame?”

“Both,” I said. “I multitask.”

And there it was again. That weird, electric beat of a moment. Like maybe this was a joke… or maybe it wasn’t.

I stepped back, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bradley.”

He gave me that crooked, tired smile again. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

I turned and walked off into the evening before I could do something stupid.

Like asking Bradley if I was allowed to be jealous.