He rubs his hands together, a little chilly from the walk. “Yep. I want to keep the workout equipment, ‘cause it’s nice to have, and there might be some scenes I can do once I feel okay having partners again.”
We walk past the divider, and the big bed covered in luxurious linens dominates the space. Professional lighting and camera tripods circle the bed and there are spots of tape on the floor for setting up different shots. He flounces over to the bed and strikes a series of sexy poses, finding the light with every angle.
He’s not doing it to be sexy or inappropriate with me; he’s just proud of his setup. It’s kinda nice.
“This is amazing. It’s exactly like how I imagine the nicer porn studios are set up.”
Not that I've been trolling OnlyFans for large, muscular men who know how to go hard.
Or whatever.
"DB gave me a cut of the operation, and I have a stipend while I live here, so I want to invest in something that’ll last me a long time.”
"That's awesome. I'm glad you'll have the opportunity to do what you want.”
His face brightens and he goes off again, excitedly giving me the details of what he has in mind. I nod in all the right places, but his excitement makes my heart hurt. While I admire his enthusiasm, exhaustion begins to tug me down about fifteen minutes into his explanation. Finally, I reach out to him, too bleary-eyed to stay awake another minute.
“Tell you what, I'd like to hear more about it, but I'm spent. Do you mind… Can we chat more in the morning?”
He stops and stills, and suddenly I see in his eyes the wisdom acquired from a life far too dangerous for someone so young. He tilts his head, examining me.
"Are you okay?"
I decide on honesty. "No. But I will be."
"Okay. I’m sorry for going on…”
“No,” I say, waving off the very idea. “I love that you love what you’re doing. I need more of that in my life. I just haven’t been sleeping well.”
He smiles in a world-weary way that understands too much. “Of course. Let’s get you to bed.”
The weather’s gotten a little chillier, so we walk arm-in-arm back to the house. He follows me to the small guest room and doesn’t even have a chance to close the door before I’m crawling onto the bed. I don’t bother getting under the covers, and I fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.
* * *
"Ronan?"
I blink rapidly, rubbing my eyes, slowly realizing that it’s brighter than usual. I like to get up early in the morning for my yoga practice, but I think I may have missed my window. Fuck it. I’m sad, and I don’t care. This day is officially dedicated to melancholy.
Nah, that ain’t right. It needs to be French to really mean something.
This day is officially dedicated toennui.
“Ronan?” Sam’s voice is soft with uncertainty.
"What time is it?" I ask, still fuzzy with sleep.
Samuel bites his lip. "It's almost one o’clock in the afternoon."
That gets my attention. I attempt to sit bolt upright but only manage a sad slump against the headboard. "What the hell? I never sleep this late."
Sam wraps his arms around his chest and seems…disappointed.
“Ah, geez, Sam. I'm so sorry. You wanted company, and I’ve been the world’s worst houseguest. I…I’m not doing so great, you know?”
“Is it what happened at the Bashes?”
I rub my face, trying to burn through some of the grogginess. “No. I’m…god, I feel like an idiot. I’m sorta heartbroken, is all.”
