Sebastian nods like that was a part of his plan all along. “Excellent. It’s all set then. We’ll have a pre-production meeting on Friday afternoon at Noel and Bellamy’s. Shooting starts on Monday. Questions?”
The waiter comes over to take our order and after he leaves, the conversation turns to who everyone thinks will be nominated for the Grabbys. Noel and Bellamy won the industry award for best flip-fuck last year and Noel’s convinced they’ll win it again this time. Rhys thinks Angel will for sure be nominated for best male newcomer. And Sebastian is keeping his fingers crossed for best director.
My name doesn’t come up, which is fine. Really. It is. I’ve done some good videos this past year, but nothing earth-shattering or record-breaking. I’ve never been nominated for the Grabbys and I’d be surprised if I ever will. I’m not that kind of performer… you know, flashy, charismatic, memorable.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m hot and hung, two basic requirements to be a gay porn star. But there are dozens of guys who are hotter and more hung than I am—three of whom are right around the table with me. I’m more than happy to see my friends up on stage while I cheer them on from below. I like being the supportive friend who celebrates when they succeed.
So why is the ache in my chest growing? Why does it feel like it’s cracking my chest open? Why does it feel like it might swallow me whole?
CHAPTER
TWO
SANTINO
My stomach swoops and I can’t tell whether it’s just the change in altitude from the plane descending toward JFK or if I’m nauseous because I’m nervous. Both. Both. It’s probably both.
I’ve never really liked planes—they’re thin metal tubes catapulting through the air, just waiting to fall out of the sky. But I’ve also never done anything like this before—take off to the other side of the country all by myself, without telling my family, to work with a porn studio.
When Bellamy called me up months ago with this idea, I thought he was joking. Me? Go to New York? Work for The Camboy Network? Did he mix me up with someone else?
But nope, apparently he’s getting married and the whole thing is getting filmed and turned into a movie and he wants me to be his best man.Me, plain old Santino Baldoni from a small city in the middle of California, who hasn’t done anything worthwhile in my twenty-five years on the planet. Like, what? We’re not even that good friends.
I mean, we lived together for a few years in San Francisco, and we get along well and everything, but we’re definitely notbest friends or anything like that. Hell, he was fucking Noel on the DL formonthsbefore I found out on social media. The dude didn’t even tell me himself.
But like, whatever. If Bellamy wants to fly me out to New York for a few weeks, all expenses covered, be in a movie, and get paid, then, hell yeah, I’ll pretend to be his best friend. I’ll be the best fucking friend he’s ever had.
But it’s more than that.
I managed to move out of my parents’ house and into San Francisco after high school. I was going to do big things, make a life for myself, be somebody. But all I managed to do was odd jobs like being a porter at a hotel, selling ferry tickets at Fisherman’s Wharf, and delivering other people’s food orders on the side. Some life I’ve been living.
My mom’s been bugging me for ages to move back home and join my dad’s pool maintenance company. It’s the last thing I want to do, but it’s becoming harder and harder to say no. What excuse do I have? “No, Mom, I can’t because I’m making the big bucks washing dishes at some random restaurant. Yay…”
So yeah, when Bellamy offered me this chance, I jumped at it. And maybe there’s some teeny tiny part of me that’s hoping something will happen in the few weeks I have here—something that will get my life back on track.
To be honest, though, I’m terrified. It’s silly, I know. A fully grown man scared of being on the other side of the country from his family. But I’ve never been this far away from home before. Completely on my own. Without my parents or my older sisters just a phone call away.
I know. I know. I’m desperate to get out of the shadow of my family, and yet I’m afraid of being so far away from them. It doesn’t make sense. But it’s normal to be scared of something you’ve never done before, right? It’s normal to be nervous when it feels like my entire life rides on the success of this trip.
And like, the crazy thing is that I kind of want to call my Mom about it? Like, I want her to tell me it’s okay, I should go have a good time, everything will turn out fine. But I know she won’t say that. She’ll flip out and demand I come home. She might even lock me in my room. I know, it’s extreme, but my mom’s been through some shit and she’s not good at dealing with people leaving.
Besides, how would I even explain what I’m doing? “Oh, hey, Mom, I’m working with this porn studio, but don’t worry, I’m not in a porno. It’s a documentary about two porn stars who are getting married? How do I know porn stars? Oh, you know, I used to live with one of them.” Yeah, not happening.
The plane lands with a jolt and my stomach lodges itself in my throat. I grip the armrests and hold my breath, willing my organs to settle back in place instead of projectile vomiting out of my mouth. When the seatbelt sign blinks off, I let everyone else elbow each other off the plane first. I need a minute to make sure I won’t be sick.
Except the nausea doesn’t fade when it’s my turn to shuffle down the narrow aisle toward the exit. Actually, it gets worse as I follow the flow of passengers through the airport. By the time I collect my suitcase and make it out to the pickup zone, I feel like I’m up in the air again and the plane is about to plummet to earth.
The heat doesn’t help. The second the sliding doors open and I step outside, I’m hit with a wall of humidity. It’s so much hotter here than it is back in San Francisco.
I’m in the middle of taking my hoodie off when a shiny black Range Rover comes barreling around the corner. I jump backward just as it screeches to a halt right in front of me. “What the fu?—?”
The passenger door flies open and Bellamy jumps out. “Yo! Dude!” He rushes over and pulls me into a full-body hug.
It takes my brain a second to react and tell my body I’m not being attacked, then I relax into the embrace. It’s nice, actually. Grounding. I don’t feel like I’m being tossed around a tin can at thirty thousand feet anymore.
“Man, I’m so stoked you’re here! How was your flight?” Bellamy grabs my suitcase and stores it in the trunk.
“Bro, I fucking hate flying. I thought I was going to die.”
