“Sorry about that,” he nodded towards the bathroom, “I have a weak gag reflex, even the sound of someone else losing it makes my stomach roll. Blood, spit, and jizz I can do, hurling makes me green. I almost lost my guts in your kitchen sink.”
I scrunched up my nose at that little admission and quickly made my way over to my closet and grabbed the first thing my hands landed on. Decker was gentleman enough to keep his gaze averted as I returned to the bathroom to dress. Great, I thought as I glanced down at my clothes. I had managed to pick up my oldest, rattiest shirt which just happened to have ‘My Heart Belongs to the Back Street Boys’ across the front of it. My heart so did not belong to BSB, but my father had bought me the shirt when I was a teenager with some ridiculous notion that all teenage girls loved them. By the time I reemerged, Decker was sitting down with a plate of bacon and eggs. The fact he had played with my stereo irritated me more than the fact he had helped himself to my food. Any thoughts of irritation died when I noticed the bowl of ice cream sitting in front of an empty chair.
“You remembered?” I was shocked he had remembered.
Decker winked as he took in my shirt with a smirk. “Of course I did. A closet Back Street Boys fan, I knew it.”
Pulling out the chair across from him, I sat down, my stomach already demanding its fill of ice cream, my hangover cure. “The only reason I haven’t tossed the shirt is because my dad gave it to me.”
“Wow, could I be any more insensitive?” He looked downright uncomfortable as he shifted in his chair, avoiding my gaze.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Decker. Just don’t mistake my affection for this shirt as some secret love for a nineties pop group who almost drove me to a musical suicide. My heart has and always will belong to country.”
He managed a sheepish smile before digging into his bacon and eggs. My stomach began to settle as soon as the ice cream hit my tongue. I tried really hard to stop my eyes from lingering on Decker’s bare chest, but it was hopeless, a gun to my head couldn’t have stopped me from staring.
“We should have a rule. If you’re going to stare at mine, I should get to stare at yours,” Decker said with humor in his voice.
I dragged my eyes from his chest. He looked sleep ruffled, but otherwise good. His brown eyes twinkled with mischief and he looked ready to take on the world. I, on the other hand, needed a strong cup of coffee and a slow warm up before I could face the day.
“In your dreams. Maybe you should put a shirt on or something.” He ignored me with an arrogant smirk, typical male.
“So, how do you do it?” I asked, remembering the little revelation about Decker’s profession from the night before. Decker raised a brow in question. “The whole porn thing,” I clarified.
“I thought you said you weren’t a virgin?”
“I don’t mean how do you do it, you douche. I mean, what if the girl is ugly? How do you…you know…get it up?”
“Country, the girls are never ugly. They are all special in their own way. Some have more curves than others, some have clear skin, some don’t, some have big tits, some have little tits. At the end of the day, they all have their own kind of beauty. Fucking beautiful women for money has never been a hardship.” He seemed to hesitate before continuing. “I lost interest in it a while back though; it’s why I started directing instead. I guess sex gets boring after a while. Who would have thought?”
“What about girlfriends? Surely the girls you date aren’t cool with you sleeping with other girls,” I wondered out loud.
“I don’t date.”
I gave him my best ‘the fuck?’ look.
“I tried a couple of times back in the early days, but it didn’t work out. Don’t get me wrong, there are some actors and actresses who seem to make it work. Both are usually in the industry though so they understand that the sex is just that, sex. No emotional attachment. I can’t help but put myself in the woman’s position though. If it were me kissing her goodbye each day while she went off to fuck random guys, I wouldn’t be cool with it. So, it’s easier not to date.”
“How long have you been doing it?” I had so many questions I didn’t know where to start.
“Twelve years,” Decker replied. I did the math in my head. Decker had been working in the porn industry since he was twenty. The last time I had seen him, he was eighteen and strangely enough, fucking everything in sight. I guess he really was born for pornography. Perhaps it was the lingering alcohol in my system, perhaps it was my morning moodiness quadrupled with a hangover, but Decker’s nonchalance towards women and sex created a churning anger deep in my stomach. Here I had been crushing on this man for half my life and he had been out fucking everything with a pulse, getting paid for it. I had wasted so much time pining for something that I clearly did not need in my life.