Porn Star(84)

Logan selects a whip from his collection and then crosses to the case of vibrators. “Because I knew as soon as you found out, you’d immediately go watch all her movies, and I might accidentally imagine you jacking off to her, and I’m not comfortable with that.” He takes out a magic wand—a powerful massager that makes me shiver just thinking about it.

“Dude, I’m not comfortable with you accidentally imagining me jacking off either. Please don’t ever say that shit again.”

Logan grabs his crotch and gestures teasingly toward Tanner. “Don’t pretend you’re such a homophobe. You know you want it.”

I laugh as Tanner rolls his eyes. “Do you want two cameras on this, do you think?” Tanner asks.

Logan looks out over the room, and I imagine he’s choreographing the scene in his head, which both impresses me and makes me a little anxious for no reason I can explain. “Yeah, two, I think. Leave one on the tripod over there.” He points, indicating where he wants it. “Do your thing with the other.”

I grin as I watch him because he’s sexy like this—he’s always sexy, but especially like this, all assertive and visionary and passionate about his work. Then my smile fades because I suddenly remember Logan’s not preparing this scene for me.

God, why does that thought have to make me so miserable?

I hang back when Bambi arrives, not wanting to disrupt the chemistry they need to perform. I’m suddenly grateful that Logan watched my scene with Kendi first—that way I can take all my cues of how to behave from him. He’d stayed out of the way, so I should too.

But even staying out of the way I’m a mess inside. Every second that passes brings me more and more dread. More and more anguish. It’s not fair that I feel this way, not to him. He was totally chill with my shoot with Kendi and, if he’d been upset about my het shoot, he didn’t let on. Well, besides the anger he expressed toward Bruce’s off-set behavior, but that wasn’t the same. He’s obviously better at his job than I am. He’s older—maybe that helps? He’s dated someone in the biz before.

It’s me. I know this. All me.

So once again I remind myself that I need to get my act together. I start by trying to rationalize through all the ways that our sexual relationship is different than the sex Logan has for his job.

1. We had sex without a camera.

2. We had sex in his bedroom.

3. We had sex without any money being exchanged—I mean, he’d given me money for Star-Crossed, but that didn’t pay for what happened between us last night. Or this morning. Or, really, any of it.

4. We had sex when I needed it. When I needed him.

It’s not like sex is what makes a relationship, anyway. It takes more than that to make two people compatible. Logan and I have more than just sex between us. We enjoy each other’s company. We love each other. We’re in love with each other. It’s the combination of all those things that makes what we have special. We shouldn’t have to be monogamous with our bodies to feel like we’re a couple.

My head knows these things. Understands them well enough to write a dissertation on the subject of why monogamy is an archaic expectation.

But it doesn’t matter what I know. Because my heart feels differently. My heart doesn’t get it. Especially when the action begins, and Logan’s standing over Bambi, making her kneel. Making her beg.

My heart is watching the man I’m in love with do very intimate things to a woman who isn’t me, and my heart is breaking.

Maybe if I caught his eye like he’d caught mine during my scene with Kendi. Maybe he could make me part of it, and I’d be okay. But I slip out before he has the chance to notice me at all because I can’t stand the possibility that he’d catch my gaze, and it wouldn’t change anything.

Or, even worse, that he’d get too lost in his performance with Bambi to think to look for my eyes at all.





18





My phone’s dead so, I plug it in as soon as I start my car. I’m still in Logan’s driveway when it buzzes with a string of notifications. Down deep, I hope one is from him, hope he noticed I’m gone, and that he stopped the scene in order to come after me, even if only by text.

But I’m afraid to check, in case it’s not him. I don’t want to find out how much that will hurt. So I start my car, and without looking back, I drive away from his house.

At the first stoplight, I can’t help myself—I check my phone’s screen. I sort through the messages, quickly determining that none of them are from Logan. Nothing else interests me at the moment, and I start to put my cell in my cup holder when I catch Raven’s name in a post that I’m tagged in on Twitter.

@theRealRaven How will this project fit into @number1Toole’s schedule with @DeviDare?

Logan’s tagged as well, and even before I’ve finished scrolling to the beginning of the conversation, I’m feeling dread.

The light changes before I find it, and I have to wait until I’m at another red light before I can look again. I find the original post easily—it’s a tweet from Raven herself. An announcement.

New project with @number1Toole CUMMING soon. #staytuned #bignews

“What the f*ck?” I mutter out loud. I flip through the responses, looking for more info. I’m sure he hasn’t seen this or responded to it yet, and I’m dying to know what his answer is as well as what the hell project he has lined up that involves Raven in the first place.