Porn Star

I’ll lose everything.

But that won’t happen, I tell myself. I’ve got it all figured out now.

“So,” I start clumsily. “I, um. I’ve been doing some thinking since yesterday. And part of it was about how smart you are, how logical and careful you are. And I’m not naturally that way, I guess. I’m more of a ‘chips all in’ kind of guy, more of a lover than a thinker. And I’m…”

Devi is staring at me, and I realize I’m babbling. I cast around for the clearest way to say what I want to say.

“I think we should stop mixing our love life and our careers.”

Her lips part. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“I think we shouldn’t be boyfriend and girlfriend on the camera. I think we should just act like two performers. And then have our personal life completely separate. And that way it won’t be like it was when I fucked Bambi yesterday—because I know that hurt you, and because it hurt you, it hurt me too. We’ll be able to keep working, keep making porn with other people with zero weirdness, which is what we both want. Right?”

There’s no answer. Even her dark gold eyes are still and frozen.

“Devi, right?” I repeat.

Still no answer. My pulse starts to thud in my neck as the silence stretches out, and then I feel my stomach begin to twist as I realize that maybe all of the assumptions I’ve taken for granted about Devi and me, and what we both want, have been very, very wrong.





20





I stare at him, silent. There are things to say—lots of things—but I’m not sure where to begin when I’m not even sure to whom I’m talking at the moment.

The Logan who greeted me today, who fucked me with his clothes still on because he was so eager to be inside me, who whispered I love you as I came—that Logan is not the Logan who had sex with me on camera for the bulk of the last two hours. I don’t know this version of Logan. He’s cold and clinical, and though he was still able to make my body respond to his every whim, he is not the man I’m in love with.

And this bullshit about adding more couples to Star-Crossed?

Hell no.

I mean, this show has been one of the special things we’ve shared, the thing that has just been ours. And he wants to open that up to others?

I don’t understand.

I’m not sure I want to understand.

I gather my clothes as I gather my thoughts, mulling over everything he’s said, trying to figure out how I feel and what to say.

My lack of response seems to make Logan sweat. “Let me back up.” He stands over me as I start to dress. “I think I understand why you left the set yesterday and I know how to fix it.”

“By being an icy, distant asshole?” My tone has bite, but I manage to keep the volume level.

He laughs awkwardly. “No, no. I should have explained beforehand. I’m sure I came off that way because you didn’t get where I was coming from. See, I realized I haven’t thought about us in the right way. I'm learning that from you—you are so good at using your head. And I always do this, I always jump in heart first.”

I pull my T-shirt on, then turn to face him. “I still don’t get where you’re coming from, Logan.”

“I’m saying I was wrong to try to make it real. The show, I mean. I know it will be good art, but it was bad for us.”

I stop, one leg in my skirt, the other in mid-air. My heart thunders in my ears, and there’s a bitter taste in my mouth. “You regret that our relationship is real?” He can’t mean that, can he? Because if he does…

“No. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I regret that I let the real parts cross over into the work parts and now, of course, the lines are blurred. I didn’t see that this would be a problem, but I get it now. Right now, you think when I’m touching someone else that it’s the same as when I’m touching you. Because of the camera. But it’s different, and the way to prove that to you is to take away the camera from the real us. Then you’ll be able to see what’s the job and what’s not.”

I step the rest of the way into my skirt and pull it up to my waist, suddenly needing very much to be dressed. “So, in other words, anything that happens with the camera on us would be just for the job?”

“Exactly. They’ll be like the scenes I have with any other woman. We should even be formal about it and go through the do’s and don’ts each time. I’ll wear a condom like the law requires. Just like every other shoot. Then you’ll be the only woman I’m with when the camera’s off.”

He isn’t saying anything that terrible. Not really. It’s logical. It makes sense. He’s thinking about the business in much the way I always have.

Still.

It sounds terrible. It feels terrible, and, while I’m not quite sure how to refute him, I know I don’t agree.

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