I’m debating how to respond to keep the conversation going and pressplayon our teaser video again. I can’t get over the way Luke looked at me with such awe and reverence. It was like he was worshipping my body, and I’ve never experienced anything like it. Of course it felt incredible at the time, but seeing that tender, affectionate gaze fixed onme…
Sure, he’s nice. Sure, he’s great at his job, and he went out of his way to make sure I felt comfortable and prepared for our shoot. But when he looks at me like that, it’s like I can see whole worlds inside of him. Places that he keeps to himself. It makes me want to explore them all.
Would he let me?
I play the clip again, and the way he’s looking at me…maybe he would. Maybe he’s never had anyone try.
I’m still pondering this when my phone lights up with an incoming call. The photo of my sister Amanda with her heart-shaped face glowing and her toffee-colored hair whipping in the wind overlaid on the image of me and Luke is a bit of a jumpscare, and I quickly slide my finger across the screen to answer. “Hey, sis, what’s up?”
“Oh, you know, just making sure my little brother wasn’t kidnapped and dumped in the desert somewhere.” Her voice is far too chipper for the macabre nature of that sentence.
“Damn, Mandy, you really know how to paint a picture,” I mutter, rolling off the bed and making my way across the bedroom to shut the door for privacy. I don’t think my roommate, Tyler, is even home, but sometimes it’s hard to tell. When I got home from the shoot the other day, I was here for a full two hours thinking I was alone when he emerged from his room like a freaking zombie and scared the crap out of me. I’m thankful for the cheap rent, but he’s barely said ten words to me since I arrived. Weird dude, for sure.
Come to think of it, I understand why my sister might be concerned that murder was a possibility.
“You know I’m just looking out for you,” she says, her voice laced with fondness. Shehasalways looked out for me, whether I wanted her to or not. “But for real, how’s your first couple of weeks been? I’ve talked Mom and Dad out of texting you a thousand times a day or buying plane tickets and showing up on your doorstep for a surprise visit, so you’re welcome for that.”
“Thanks, I owe you one,” I laugh, flopping back onto my bed and spreading my limbs like a starfish. “Have they really been that bad?”
“Nah, they’re doing okay, I think. I went over there for dinner last night, and Dad had put out a place setting at the table for you without even realizing it. When I pointed it out, they didn’t get all teary or anything, though, so that’s an improvement over last week.”
There’s a pang of homesickness in my gut at that. I can picture it perfectly: Mom bustling about the kitchen while Dad hovers and tries to help, but driving her crazy by somehowalways managing to be in front of the drawer she needs to get into. My parents adore each other, even after thirty years of marriage. I can only hope that one of these days I’ll meet a man who shows me even half of the love and respect they have for each other. That same love and respect is what made me feel like maybe it would be okay to come out to them after all, and I’ve received nothing but their unwavering support ever since. Even when I was away at college, I knew I was always welcome home on the weekends, and they’d have a plate ready for me at Sunday dinner. They always made it clear that my boyfriend was welcome, too.
“Man, I could really go for one of Mom’s casseroles right now,” I sigh, my stomach grumbling on cue. “Everything is so freaking expensive out here and doesn’t taste half as good.”
“Psh, that just means you haven’t found the right places to eat and shop yet,” Amanda chides. “Gotta make some local friends and ask them where to go.”
Something pings in my memory at that. Luke mentioned that sushi place he wanted to take me.
“Ooo, who’s Luke?” my sister chirps.
Oops. Guess I said that out loud.
I sigh and roll onto my stomach, burying my face in the crook of my arm. “No one,” I grumble, mentally kicking myself. There’s no way she’s gonna let this go now. “I don’t even know a Luke. What are you talking about? Forget I said anything.”
“Ha, fat chance of that happening,” she laughs. “Now spill. Do you have a boyfriend already?”
“No! Nothing like that.” I blow out a breath in exasperation, weighing my options. I could lie, but she’d probably see right through that anyway. She’s only three years older than me, but she always gave her best effort at mothering me when we were kids, even though we had a perfectly loving and capable mother who didnotneed the help of her bossy eldest child. Mandy’sconstant efforts to assist led to her watching me like a hawk, and she learned all my tells before I even did. Lying isn’t an option, then. She’d hear it in my voice. And I really don’t want to lie anyway.
That leaves…the truth. She wouldn’t judge me, I know she wouldn’t. If possible, she’s even more progressive than my parents, and would probably be proud of me for giving a giant middle finger to the purity culture nonsense she had to deal with growing up and embracing sex positivity. Still. It’s weird to admit to yoursisterthat you moved halfway across the country to do porn.
“Come on, Ry,” she coaxes, dragging out the ‘y’ in my nickname. “Tell me who this Luke is and why he wants to take you for sushi!”
I let out a groan of frustration before flipping onto my back again. “Alright, fine. But youcan’ttell Mom and Dad, okay? Swear it. NDA.”
She’s silent for a moment, and then my phone lights up with a text notification. It’s a picture from my sister’s number: a sloppy, finger-drawn signature. “There, NDA signed.”
I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of our ongoing joke. I have dozens of terrible signatures—both hers and mine—littered throughout our text thread. Each represents secrets kept that have probably long since been forgotten by us both.
“Okay, okay! I’ll tell you.” I close my eyes, as if that will make this any easier to say. “Luke is…a guy that I met my first week out here. It’s…he’s…LukeLarson.”
“Luke Larson?” The confusion in her voice is evident, but it won’t take her long to work it out. I can practically hear the wheels turning in her head. And she’s a straight female with eyes; I’m pretty sure she also follows him on Instagram. “Why does that name sound so familiar? We don’t know anyone–oh my God!Is he that porn star who’s always posting thirst traps ofhimself at the beach?! The one whose video you bought online, and Mom found the charge on the credit card statement?!ThatLuke Larson?!”
“Yeah, yeah, thanks for the reminder,” I grumble. “That’s the one.”
“Holy shit, my little brother is dating a porn star!”
“Well…that’s the thing.” I hesitate, my heart thumping in my throat. I know Mandy will be cool, but this is the first time I’ve admitted this out loud to anyone in my family, and the moment feels kind of monumental. I tap my fingers against the phone nervously as I consider how to break it to her. “We’re not dating. We…we sort of…worked together. On a thing.”
