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Chapter Seven

Bradley

M onday morning. Gray light pushed in through the cheap plastic blinds above my bed, making the cracked white paint on the hostel walls look even more depressing than usual.

I was still under the blanket, propped against the wall with my phone balanced on my stomach, thumb scrolling and heart racing like I was doing something illegal.

Which, technically, I wasn’t. But it still felt like I was snooping on people who wouldn’t want me snooping. I’d spent the entire weekend with one big, messy thought loop running through my head: Will they hire me? Followed by: Do I even want them to?

The answer kept shifting.

Saturday afternoon, I was 100% convinced I couldn’t go through with it. Me? In porn? It sounded like a dirty joke. Like one of those dreams where you show up to school naked.

Then Sunday night hit, and I’d lain awake doing math in my head. Rent. Food. Jack had thrown out that number like it was nothing—what a guy could make for just swinging his dick around on camera. I kept replaying that conversation like I was studying for a test.

So now it was Monday, and here I was… deep in an online rabbit's hole called Boys On Film.

The site wasn’t exactly subtle. The home page had this big neon script font like a late-night dive bar sign: “Where Fantasy Becomes Reality.” I tapped through to the model profiles, and that’s when the real gut-punch hit.

Jack and Liam. Together.

There they were in full color, in bed, all limbs and smiles and skin.

The still frame showed Jack on top, grinning like a wolf, Liam half-laughing beneath him with this flushed, radiant face that looked.

.. weirdly soft? I blinked at it for a good ten seconds, trying to process that this wasn’t Photoshop or some elaborate prank.

They looked like they were actually enjoying it.

I backed out of that tab like it was about to catch fire and tapped to another one.

Laura.

Standing in front of a black backdrop in full dominatrix gear. Leather corset, thigh-high boots, a riding crop in one hand and a whip coiled in the other like she was about to lead a cavalry charge.

I blinked again.

Laura??

She’d been the voice of reason back in the day. Glasses and ponytail. The girl who loaned me her psych notes when I was flunking out of Intro to Sociology. Now here she was looking like she ate bad boys for breakfast and washed them down with whiskey.

It didn’t compute.

I guess I’d always thought of Jack and Liam, and Laura too, as... normal. Like me. People who did laundry on Sundays and bought two-for-one frozen pizzas and spent more time worrying about student loans than sexual liberation.

But apparently I didn’t know them at all.

And then there was that other guy.

Nico.

Just thinking his name made something twist low in my stomach, and not in a way I liked. I’d barely spoken to him, but he was stuck in my head. Maybe because he was... intense? Or too confident? Or the way he looked at me like I was a puzzle he already knew how to solve?

Whatever it was, it unsettled me.

I wasn’t exactly what you’d call a sexual person. My parents were the kind who treated sex like Voldemort. That-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named. We didn’t talk or joke about it. I was a sophomore in college before I realized most people weren’t going to hell for having sexual urges.

And me? I could count all my sexual partners on one hand.

A door creaked open at the far end of the room, yanking me out of my spiral.

One of the guys from my dorm shuffled in, Jonah or Jory or something like that.

He smelled like weed and stale booze. Wearing the same clothes he’d left in Friday night.

His jeans looked like they’d been through a war, and his sweater had a mystery stain I didn’t want to solve.

Without even glancing my way, he climbed into the top bunk across from mine, shoes still on, and passed out face-first into his pillow.

Within thirty seconds, he was snoring loud enough to rattle the metal frame.

Great. Just the cherry on my existential crisis sundae.

My phone buzzed against my stomach so hard I nearly threw it across the room.

“Jesus!” I scrambled to grab it before it slid off my lap.

Liam.

I froze for half a second, staring at his name like it might morph into something else. Then I answered.

“H-Hey,” I said, voice cracking like I was thirteen again.

“Morning, sunshine.” Liam’s voice sounded way too chipper for this hour on a Monday. “You busy?”

I glanced at the snoring corpse across the room. “Not exactly.”

“Well… good news.” There was a pause, like he wanted me to brace myself. “We loved the footage from Friday. You and Nico? You looked great together. Natural.”

I swallowed hard. Natural?

Liam kept going, tone bright but businesslike. “So yeah, you’re hired.”

For a full second, my brain just… stopped.

Hired.

Me.

In porn.

The words felt like they belonged to somebody else’s life. Then Liam’s voice dropped half a register, like he was switching from friend mode to producer mode.

“Listen… one thing. You’re gonna need to get camera ready before your first actual shoot.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it couldn’t be good.

“Camera ready?” I echoed, trying not to sound like I was already sweating.

“Yeah.” There was a tiny cough on the other end, like he was trying not to laugh. “Can you be at the office by noon? Lola’s gonna, uh... work her magic.”

“Lola?”

“You’ll love her,” he said, which did not sound reassuring. “She’s a legend. Bring clean underwear.”

Before I could ask what the hell that meant, Liam said, “See you soon!” and hung up.

I sat there staring at my phone like it had just betrayed me.

Noon.

That gave me less than three hours to mentally prepare for whatever nightmare “camera ready” involved. I dropped my head back against the wall and let out a long, slow breath. God help me, but this was really happening.

I threw off the blanket and grabbed my dop bag from under the bed, the same faded green one I’d had since high school. It still smelled faintly of old gym lockers and whatever off-brand body wash I’d stuffed in there last.

I grabbed a towel from my shelf, thin, scratchy, hostel-issued, and probably older than I was. Jonah-or-Jory let out a wet snore that sounded like a dying lawn mower as I slid on my flip-flops and headed for the showers.

The hallway smelled like burnt coffee and someone’s failed attempt at microwave ramen. Floorboards creaked under my feet like they were judging every life decision that had brought me here.

I pushed the door open into the communal bathroom and did my best not to gag.

Even the prison bathrooms were cleaner than this.

Pale green tiles cracked in spiderweb patterns.

A flickering fluorescent light overhead that made everything feel vaguely like a crime scene.

One shower had a busted curtain rod dangling at an awkward angle, like it was giving up on life.

I picked the cleanest stall I could find, which was like saying I picked the least disgusting dumpster. Hung my towel over the hook, shoved my flip-flops deeper onto my feet, and turned on the water.

Cold.

Then scalding hot.

Then finally... lukewarm. Sort of.

I stood there under the spray, staring at the peeling wall in front of me while the water dripped down my face and chest.

This was it.

I was really doing this.

A porn star.

I let out a half-laugh, half-choke that sounded more like a dying cat.

Nope, nope, nope.

I pressed my palms flat against the tile and let my forehead rest between them.

What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t cut out for this. I wasn’t Jack. Or Liam. Or Nico, with his cocky smirk and perfect everything. I wasn’t sexy or charming or even… experienced.

I mean, yeah, I’d fooled around with a few guys in school. Fumbled through a handful of awkward hookups that usually ended with one of us apologizing or pretending we had an early morning shift. Hell, me and Liam made out once, but it felt like I was doing it with my brother.

I’d never been in a genuine relationship.

Never been the guy someone looked at and thought, Yeah, I want him.

And now I was supposed to strip down, get hard on command, and look like I was loving it.

.. with lights and cameras and people watching?

A full-body wave of dread washed over me, heavier than the water pounding down on my back.

I couldn’t do this.

I just... couldn’t.

There had to be something else. Some other job out there that didn’t involve me becoming an online punchline.

I’d go over to the Boys On Film office like I promised. I wasn’t a total coward, and I’d face Liam and Jack like an adult. Thank them for the opportunity, tell them I appreciated it... and then let them down.

They’d understand.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

God, I hoped they wouldn’t hate me for it.

I shut off the water, standing there dripping and shivering for a second before forcing myself to grab the towel and dry off.

By the time I headed back to my bunk to change, I had a speech half-formed in my head.

Clear. Polite. Grateful.

Thanks guys, but I’m just not cut out for this. Best of luck with the company. No hard feelings.

Yeah. That sounded adult. Responsible. Like someone who had boundaries.

I shoved on jeans and a clean t-shirt, stuffed my damp towel back in my bag, and grabbed my phone. It was almost eleven. Plenty of time to get there by noon.

The second I pushed open the front door of the hostel, I wanted to turn around and go right back inside, because there she was.

Riley Vega.

Leaning against the brick wall like she owned the block. Arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping like a countdown clock.

My stomach dropped straight to my shoes.

Shit.

I hadn’t seen her since before the arrest. Back when life had been simpler. You know… just low-level drug dealing and pretending I had it all under control. Now she was here, looking at me like I was already five minutes late for my execution.

She straightened up when she spotted me, black hoodie shifting enough to reveal the tattoo winding up her forearm. There was something about her, like she could either help you move a couch or bury a body, and you’d never be quite sure which until it was too late.

“Morning, Mitchell,” she said, voice cool and syrupy like she was enjoying this a little too much.

I froze mid-step, debating whether to bolt.

Too late.

She was already moving toward me, boots heavy against the sidewalk, her eyes laser-focused.

“Hey, Riley,” I said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “What a surprise. How... how long have you been standing out here?”

“Long enough.” She fell into step beside me like we were two friends out for a casual stroll. Except I was walking fast, and she was keeping up like it was a game.

“I thought we agreed you’d text first?” I said, heart pounding.

“I did.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “Three times. But I figured face-to-face would get the point across better.”

I swallowed hard and kept walking, trying to ignore the burn in my chest and the sweat creeping down my back.

“So, uh... what’s up?” I asked, like I didn’t already know.

She snorted. “What’s up? Really?” She shot me a look. “Bradley. How much money do you think you owe me at this point?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Honestly, I’d stopped keeping track after the fourth loan. Back then, the drug money was moving fast enough that I figured I’d be able to pay her back easy. Then... well... jail happened.

“Ballpark?” she pushed.

“Uh... low four figures?”

She barked out a laugh that made the guy walking past us on a bike glance over.

“Try mid five figures,” she said, grinning without any actual humor in it. “Interest adds up, sweetheart. Especially when your ass disappears for over two years.”

I picked up the pace, hoping she’d get bored and wander off.

She didn’t.

“You’re lucky I’ve been patient,” she said, casually elbowing me like we were old pals sharing an inside joke. “I told myself... ‘Poor Bradley. Locked up. Let him get back on his feet before I start breaking his kneecaps.’ Real humanitarian shit.”

I choked out a nervous laugh. “Thanks for your... compassion.”

We reached the corner, and I started to cross even though the walk signal hadn’t changed yet. Riley grabbed my hoodie, yanking me back just as a delivery truck roared past.

“Oh my God,” she muttered. “If anyone’s putting you in the hospital, it’s gonna be me. Not some idiot with bad brakes.”

I gave her a wide-eyed look. “You’re... sweet.”

She ignored that.

“You got any money coming in soon?” she asked, narrowing her eyes like she could already smell the lie I was about to tell.

I hesitated. My throat went dry.

Technically… maybe.

If I could survive being naked in front of half the internet.

“I’m... working on it,” I said, which was true. Kind of.

Riley gave me a long, assessing stare like she was weighing whether to push harder or let me squirm a little longer.

Finally, she nodded, like she’d decided something.

“Well, tick tock, Mitchell.” She stepped back, almost tripping over the curb in the process, but catching herself at the last second with this annoyed little huff like it was the sidewalk’s fault. “I’m giving you until the end of the month. After that, I stop being nice.”

With that, she spun on her heel, tripped slightly again on the uneven pavement, then stormed off like she hadn’t almost face-planted twice in a row.

I stood there, heart pounding, watching her disappear down the block.

Fuck.

So much for my big dramatic speech about turning down the job.

Looked like I was getting naked on camera after all.