Page 58 of The Money Shot
Jack sat stiffly in his chair, his hands clenched into fists. I reached out and gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. He flinched but didn’t pull away.
The nurse glanced between us, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “You two are good. I can tell.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I didn’t have time to ask. The timer on the counter beeped, and the nurse held up the devices. “Negative for both of you. Congrats. But before we wrap up here, I need to ask you a few questions. Do either of you have any other sexual partners?”
Jack’s response was immediate, sharp as a snapped rubber band. “No. We don’t.”
The nurse raised a skeptical eyebrow, his lips pulling into a knowing half-smile. “That’s what they all say. Trust me, boys. Get on PrEP. It’s a once-a-day pill that’ll keep you safe if one of you lovebirds strays. Better to be prepared than to deal with regrets later.”
Jack frowned, his jaw tightening. He let out a slow exhale through his nose, like he was trying to keep his cool. “We’re good. But thanks for the advice.” His tone was clipped, and his body language screamed that he was ready to leave.
The nurse didn’t seem phased. He handed us some pamphlets about sexual health and gave us a quick rundown on follow-up testing schedules before sending us on our way. “Take care of each other. And think about PrEP,” he added with a wink before disappearing into the hallway.
Jack was already halfway to the door, muttering something about needing to get back to work. I jogged to keep up, still clutching the papers he’d given us. Once we were outside, thechilly air hit me, but I barely felt it. Energy buzzed under my skin, and I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. My steps turned into little hops, and before I knew it, I was practically bouncing down the sidewalk.
Jack glanced over at me, his brow furrowing. “You’ve been acting really happy for someone getting tested for STDs.”
I stopped mid-hop and turned to him, unable to hold it in any longer. “Jack! Over a thousand subscribers!” I practically shouted, thrusting my phone in his direction. The number stared back at me like a neon sign. “That’s over fifteen grand! Look at it! Our money problems are vanishing!”
Jack paused, staring at the screen for a moment. A flicker of a smile crossed his face, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. He handed the phone back to me and ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “That’s great news, Liam. Really. But…” He hesitated, his eyes searching mine. “Do you really want to be a professional porn star?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Laura
“Great work, guys,” I muttered as I walked my cameraman and the latest “Victim” to the door. He’d been an easy guy to dominate, responding to every command like I was a queen. But once we were done, an odd sense of sadness filled me, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason.
I closed the door with a soft click, leaning against it for a moment as the muffled sounds of Phil and “Mike” faded down the hallway. The apartment was silent now, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant sirens of the city below. I turned my gaze to the bed in the middle of the living room, its rumpled sheets and twisted restraints a glaring reminder of the work I’d just finished.
This wasn’t what I’d envisioned for myself, back when I still believed in things like white picket fences and happily-ever-afters. Back when I thought Mr. Right was waiting for me just around the corner. I’d spend my days crafting speeches on Capitol Hill, changing the world one piece of legislation at a time, with a sweet, loving husband waiting for me when I got home.
I sighed, crossing the room slowly. Regret wasn’t the right word—I’d seen too much, learned too much to regret the choices I’d made. But there was something hollow in the air tonight, something that made me pause as I passed the bed, kicking off my stilettos and peeling off the purple vinyl mini-dress that clung to me like a second skin. It landed in a heap on the floor, a shiny, crumpled thing that felt as lifeless as I sometimes did at the end of a shoot.
Barefoot and in my slip, I opened the door to my walk-in closet. I avoided the gleaming racks of leather and latex, the neatly arranged stilettos, and instead reached for the farthest corner, where my real wardrobe lived. My fingers brushed past blazers and jeans, skimming over sensible cardigans and work flats, until they hit the cheap plastic of an old garment bag.
I pulled the bag from its hanger, unzipped it, and there it was in all its horrifying glory: the bridesmaid dress. Chartreuse taffeta shimmered under the dim light, a hideous, monstrous creation with puffed sleeves, lace trim, and a bow so enormous it could double as a flotation device. The skirt flared out like a parachute, and the sequins scattered across the bodice caught the light in the most offensive way imaginable.
I carried the dress to the bed—my proper bed in my bedroom, not the one I used for filming in the living room—and sat down with it draped across my lap. My fingers stroked the fabric, catching on the rough taffeta and the scratchy lace. It was objectively hideous. Even the memory of it made me smile and cringe at the same time.
But I loved this dress. I loved it in the way you love something that breaks your heart a little every time you look at it. I loved it because it reminded me of the last time I let my guard down. The last time I followed my heart, not my head.
I chuckled, smoothing a hand over the absurd bow. “I’m probably the only bridesmaid in the world who actually lovesher dress,” I murmured. But it wasn’t because it was beautiful. It wasn’t. God, it wasn’t.
I loved it because it reminded me of Seth. Of that summer. Of the one time in my life when I believed in the fairytale, even if it ended in the most humiliating way possible.
I closed my eyes, still running my fingers over the fabric, and for a moment, I was back at that wedding. Back when I still thought love could be something more than a lie.
The dress sat heavy in my lap, its gaudy taffeta glowing faintly in the soft light of my bedroom. I ran my fingers over the monstrous bow, the lace trim that scratched at my skin that summer day so long ago. The fabric was softened with age, but the memories hadn’t. They hit me as sharply as they always did, and I let them come, pulling me back to the beginning.
I’d met Seth at the rehearsal dinner. He was a groomsman, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, his laughter ringing out above the chatter of the room. He had an effortless charm, the kind that seemed impossible to resist. And God, those emerald green eyes. They’d locked onto mine across the room, and that was it. One look, one crooked smile, and I was done for.
Seth made everything feel easy. Talking to him was like breathing. He’d ask a question and actually listen to the answer, something most men didn’t bother with. By the second day, I was hooked, even though I tried to convince myself I wasn’t. I’d always been practical, cautious even, but with Seth, all of that fell away. He made me believe in something bigger, something real. And when I gave him my virginity, it didn’t feel like a risk. It felt like the only choice I could make.
That night was everything romance novels said it could be. Gentle. Passionate. Perfect. My friends had warned me about awkward first times, the pain, the clumsiness, but with Seth, there was none of that. He made me feel like I was the onlywoman in the world, like he saw all of me and wanted me. For the first time in my life, I felt truly beautiful.
The next few days were a blur. Wedding rehearsals. Parties. Stolen moments in quiet corners. Nights in his hotel room, wrapped up in him like nothing else mattered. I let myself believe in it, in him, in the possibility that maybe this was what love was supposed to be.
And then came the night that shattered it all.