Page 33 of The Money Shot
“He’s… he’s unbelievable,” Moira whispered, fanning herself. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I swallowed, barely able to find my voice. “Honey, me neither.”
Then he did the unthinkable—slid off the briefs, kicking them aside, leaving him completely, completely naked as he laid back on the bed. And there he was, sprawled out like he was posing for a Greek statue, with the most wicked little smile on his face.
But then something caught my eye. I squinted, leaning closer, my heart pounding with a different kind of excitement. Something was familiar here… maybe a little too familiar.
“Wait… hold on.” Pausing the video, I rewound it a few seconds, stopping when he lay back on the bed, looking around at the room like he was waiting for applause. I was suddenly up off the couch, pointing at the screen like a madwoman. “I knew it! That’s Liam! I swear it is!”’
“Huh?”
“Moira, look out my window. Notice the view?”
She glanced outside, a bit tipsy but following my lead. “It’s kinda dark outside, Nessa.”
“For God’s sake Moira, you’ve been here plenty of times during the day.” I pointed back at the screen, then the view again.
“Look at his window! It’s the exact same view,” I said, my eyes going wide with realization. “He lives four floors up from me! It’s gotta be Liam!”
Chapter Nineteen
Liam
After getting off the train with Jack, I strolled to a nearby coffee shop since I hadn’t had time to get my caffeine fix before we left this morning. The coffee shop was buzzing with people, but I was barely aware of it. I stared intently at my FantasyFans dashboard. Forty-seven subscribers. Forty-seven people willing to pay for… well, me. The number was tiny compared to the big creators I’d seen online, but it was growing. That little uptick gave me a rush. But no matter how much I zoomed in on that number, it still wouldn’t pay the rent or fix all my problems.
I leaned back, taking a slow sip of coffee, and let myself sit with it—the fact that I, Liam Murphy, had made five videos. Five videos of myself doing things I’d never in a million years thought I’d be showing strangers. Every time I posted, I felt that pit of nerves, like I was crossing some line that I couldn’t uncross. If my parents ever caught wind of this… yeah, I’d just drop dead. Instant, self-inflicted heart attack, courtesy of family shame.
Still, here I was. I couldn’t just sit back and wait for the numbers to magically climb. I was new to this whole adult-content business, and I knew it’d take more than a few “hello, world” posts to make a real go of it. So I opened up my contactsand scrolled down to Laura’s number. She’d been on my mind since I got started on this, a real pro with a following I could only dream about. If anyone could teach me the ropes, it was her. I tapped out a message.
Hey, got a sec?
Moments later, her response pinged back.
Hey Liam! How’s business?
I laughed under my breath. That was Laura—straight to the point. I typed back:
Growing, but not nearly fast enough. Can we meet up to chat?
She started typing right away, and a second later her reply flashed on the screen:
Sure! Free this afternoon?
I felt that pulse of relief. Just knowing I’d have someone to talk to who got this world—who didn’t see it as a joke or a shameful secret—made the whole thing feel easier. I typed out a quick reply.
Yes. Give me the time and place and I’ll be there.
The address Laura sent me had to be wrong. I stared up at the imposing brick building, its neat Gothic arches and painted signreading Sisters of Charity Convent. This was definitely not what I expected when I asked her to help me with my FantasyFans business.
I stood awkwardly on the sidewalk, clutching my phone. Seriously, a convent? Reflexively, I crossed myself—a habit I hadn’t kicked, despite ditching the faith years ago. It didn’t make me feel better.
I rechecked our messages.
Meet me at 6301 Riverdale Ave. There’s a pub nearby and we can grab a beer and chat.
Yep. I was in the right place. And still absolutely baffled.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and I froze, half-hoping I’d imagined it. But no, there she was: Laura, striding out with her usual confidence, a black garment bag slung over her shoulder. And beside her—because of course there was a twist—a nun.