"Never knew you wore glasses," I say, which is dumb but the only thing I can come up with.
"I'm old, remember?" he teases, taking them off and resting them on one of the magazines. Then he frowns at me. "I assume you didn't come here just to make fun of me."
"No. I came here to say thank you for saving me with Riff today."
His frown deepens. "That guy's such an asshole."
I wonder if Scooter knows just how big of an asshole. I motion to the seating area. "Mind if we talk?"
"Not at all. Can you turn around first please?"
"O-kay?"
Scooter chuckles. "I need to put some clothes on. Wasn't expecting company."
"Oh, right." I spin around to give the guy some privacy. "Thank you for saving me from witnessing your old, shriveled penis."
"And they lament that chivalry is dead," he says as the sheets rustle behind me. "Okay, me and my old, shriveled penis are decent."
I turn back and almost choke on my breath. How does Scooter manage to make a black cotton Henley onesie hotter than the skimpy Speedos we're forced to parade around in? The guy is a fucking dream…but I'm not here to ogle him. I'm here to express my gratitude for what he did.
He takes the armchair this time, so I settle on the two-seater.
"Thanks for stepping in like that with Riff," I repeat. "I, uh, really don't get on well with him."
"Very few people do. Heard his parents tried to give him back to the hospital, but it was too late."
I smile. Then I think about what Riff did—and is still doing to me—and my smile fades. I've been weighing up whether to let Scooter in on the truth. I mean, I've already told him the real reason why I've been cast on the show even though he knew that already.
All the cast and crew—with one notable exception—are wonderful, but I feel something deeper with Scooter. Something that goes past friendly castmates and into territory that makes me truly like him.
And trust him.
"I'm going to ask you something," he says slowly, and I instantly feel in my gut that he's building up to something big. "I could be way, way off. And if I am, I'll apologize unreservedly. But there's something I need to know."
The dim glow catches the tension in his face, shadows carving along his jaw as his eyes fix on me with a steady, unblinking focus.
"Okay. What is it?"
"Has Riff done anything to you?" Our eyes meet, his churning with intensity. "Anything…sexual?"
7
Scooter
Cabot's jaw locks, and tears well in his eyes. I know I've hit upon the truth, but I don't move, don't say anything else, barely even breathe, waiting until he confirms it.
He blinks a few times and turns away. "I came to Hollywood wanting to get cast in a reality TV show. Any show.Love Island. Big Brother. I didn't care. I love being a vet, but my salary back home wasn't ever going to cover Billy's medical bills. I met Riff randomly one night at a bar. I didn't know who he was, and he never mentioned he was a producer on the show until after we…"
He winces, and I do my best not to as well. Poor guy must really be regretting that decision now.
"We all make mistakes," I say, offering a small smile.
"It, um, it gets worse." He sighs, sagging into the couch. "When he told me who he was, he mentioned they might have an opening. I was upfront with him about everything. Billy. Why I was in Hollywood. How I wanted to make some fast money. I shouldn't have told him that."
"Why not?"
"He said he wanted to take some photos of me. Nude photos. I did it because I thought, hey, I slept with the guy already, what harm could there be in taking a few pictures? Turns out, a lot. He agreed to cast me on the show but only if I obeyed his strict orders, which are to do and say anything to get you off. And if I deviate from the plan, he'll release what he has on me."
