While he heads to the bathroom, I pull my shorts and T-shirt back on, skipping the jockstrap since I’ll shower again after he leaves. Queuing up the video transfer from the DSLR, I send it to my laptop and do the same with the phone footage, then turn off the lights and stash the rigs back in the corner of the living room.
Corey comes out with a sheepish grin on his handsome face. “Thanks for that, babe. You always know how to show a guy a good time.”
I know he means well, but the line feels more like pity than praise. He got off at least.
I force a smile. “Anytime,” I reply as I walk him to the door.
He’s a nice guy, no question. I had planned to ask him out, but after today, the idea falls flat.
“You’ll send me the footage when it’s ready?” he asks.
We’d hashed out the collab terms over text when we were setting this up.
“Of course. I’ve got a backlog to get through first, but I’ll cut it down to just the good parts. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.” I lean in, give him a quick peck on the cheek, and watch him leave.
The door of the spare bedroom creaks open as I let out my two very needy cats, who are eager for attention after being confined. I grab some treats from the kitchen, spend a few minutes playing with them, and then head off to take another shower.
My bedroom is my sanctuary, with a plush king-size bed, soft gray-and-white linens, a reading nook with a cozy chair in the corner, and a spacious en suite bathroom. The girls have claimed the end of the bed as their permanent nesting spot. My favorite part is the large subway-tiled walk-in shower, where I often film myself jerking off for my subscribers.
As the steady stream of water pounds against my skin, a wave of familiar sadness washes over me. It’s been happening more often lately. I’m tired of a life filled with transactional sex, of the loneliness that sneaks in during quiet moments, and of responding tocomments and messages from strangers instead of holding someone at night.
I’ve dated on and off. Five years ago, I managed six months with a guy who had a nine-to-five. At first, he thought my lifestyle was exciting and hot, but eventually the novelty wore off, and so did we. And while I liked him, I could never see myself falling in love with him. The truth is, my heart can never fully let go of someone else.
Maybe it’s time to schedule an appointment with my therapist. I’ve untangled plenty of knots with her before, but the heartaches from my past don’t just vanish; they hide and then resurface when I least expect them.
After getting dressed, I settle into my desk chair in the spare bedroom as Maisy drapes across my lap, while Daisy curls up next to the warmth of my laptop.
I send an email to my therapist to book an appointment, and text my friend Lauren to plan a much-needed night out. Mac sent the itinerary for Fort Lauderdale, so I book my flight and hotel.
The rest of the night is a blur. After eating takeout and working on a paper for my Legal Practices for Entrepreneurs class, I spend hours editing videos, juggling posts, and responding to comments and DMs. Content creation is a full-time gig.
By the time I finally collapse into bed, it’s past midnight.
Sleep doesn’t come easily as my mind betrays me, drifting back in time. A young, handsome face fills my vision; the faint memories of late afternoon hikes in the heat of summer, movie marathons on our birthdays, secret kisses under the bleachers, and the promise of one day holding his hand while walking down the street.
I allow myself to indulge until the sweet memories fade into pain and despair. So, I do what I’ve trained myself to do—lock it down and shove it all back into the vault where it belongs.
Chapter 2
Jay
“Babe, are you done working yet?” Ray yells from down the hall. “We’ve got a lot of content to film today.”
I still have an hour left on my project, but I shut it down early and set an out-of-office reply. It’s not worth the inevitable argument with my boyfriend as his footsteps thunder down the hall.
“Did you hear me?” He leans into the doorway of my home office, his jaw clenched. “Get your ass out of that chair and into the living room. You should have finished your work by now.”
“I am well aware of that,” I snap. “But my job matters too.”
His glare sharpens. “Do we need to have this conversation again? Our content will pay off way more than your so-called day job if we put in the effort. Now, get in there and fix your attitude before you do.”
I swallow the retort and keep my mouth shut. He acts as if my paycheck doesn’t cover the mortgage, all our expenses, and our health insurance. Since he quit bartending to be a full-time content manager last year, I’ve been paying all the bills.
I reluctantly follow him down the hall, where his phone is already set up on a tripod, ready to record whatever nonsense he has in mind, showcasing us as the perfect, in-love couple.
He launches into what we’re filming, “We’ve got four posts, so we’ll need to change our shirts a couple of times.” I roll my eyes behind his back, already annoyed.
We churn out so many of these posts that they all feel the same: overly staged and repetitive. Ray and I have been together for five years, dating for nearly two before we moved in together. The idea to share cute couple content on social media was his, and at first, I loved it. It was fun and exciting, something we could do together.
