“Holland, why would you do that?”
“Uh, because he’s a public figure and always naked. And I wanted to prepare for this movie.”
“So you decided to Google a porn star instead of the actual actors in this movie?” I asked, pointing at the TV.
“Yeah,” she replied with a shrug, then she grinned at me. “Do you know that his most viewed video is called Office Hours? Innocent but so iconic.”
“Please tell me you didn’t watch it…”
“Uhm, hello? Of course I did.”
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Oh my god.”
She laughed hard. “Relax. I didn’t watch the whole thing. I skimmed. For academic purposes.”
“I’m sure.”
“Honestly,” she said, pausing the movie, “he’s got better production quality than most of the indie stuff we watch in class. It’s actually really professional. I mean, if you ignore the moaning.”
I gave her a side-eye glare. “Can we not analyze Callan’s porn career?”
She grinned. “Fine. But you have to admit, it’s genius essay material. You could literally talk about anything. All that stuff Hayes loves.”
“Yeah, I might.”
Truth was, I had no idea how to start. All I knew was that I still had to ask Callan first. I couldn’t just go to set one day and watch while taking notes.
“You’re overthinking it,” she said, sounding less mocking now. “Write it like you’re writing about any other film set. Just, you know, one with more…body contact.”
I nodded and smiled tightly at her. “I’ll need some time to think of how to go on about it all.”
“It’ll be fantastic, Lana. You’re a genius. You make everything sound interesting.”
I let her words sink in as we fell into a comfortable silence. The movie continued to play, and I watched the screen but barely followed the story. My thoughts kept drifting back to Callan. How normal he made everything seem at home, how casually he talked about “shooting days” like they weren’t the most intimate things, and how I’d never really asked him about it. Maybe Holland was right. Maybe therewassomething to learn from that experience.
9
Lana
Holland talked me into watching a second Magic Mike movie, and so I got home way later than intended. It was around eleven-thirty, but just like it always did, the house buzzed with music and voices.
I was too tired to care about that, though. All I wanted was to take a shower and then go to bed. I shut the door and kept my head low, set to head straight upstairs without crossing paths with anyone. My head ached from Holland’s relentless commentary during the movies, and I had a slight sugar overload from all the snacks we ate.
I couldn’t wait to be in my room, but just like any other time I tried to escape without being seen, I was held back by Callan.
Then the door to his filming room opened, and he stepped out wearing a black T-shirt and sweats. Not his usual look, but seeing him clothed was always nicer than having him fully naked in front of me. His buzzed hair looked damp like he’d just showered, but I knew that wasn’t it. It was damp from sweat.
He looked surprised to see me standing in the hall.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked, as if he cared.
“Out,” I said, keeping my voice flat and lacking any emotion.
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, eyes scanning my face, and he just had to look fucking sexy.
Asshole.
It’s not fair.
