5. Quinn
“Oh my god,I’m soooo full.” Nick leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. “I blame you.” He shot me a mock glare.
“How is it my fault?” I leaned over and poked him in the side.
He slapped my hand away. “How am I supposed to work after all that meat?”
River and Gray snickered.
“That’s what he said.” Noah knocked his foot against Nick’s.
“You’re the responsible one.” Nick shifted his fake glare to Hayden, who was curled up next to River on the outdoor loveseat. “You were supposed to stop me before I put myself in a food coma.”
“My mistake.” Hayden snuggled into River’s side. “I’ll do better next time.”
I looked around at my friends, pride tickling my chest. It wasn’t the first time I’d had everyone over, but it never failed to amaze me that I was finally in a place where I could have my friends over for a barbeque and hang out before they went to work.
We’d finished eating about half an hour ago and were now sitting around my outdoor fireplace, enjoying the evening and watching the flames.
“When do we have to leave?” River asked.
“About an hour,” Zane said.
“He’s right.” Gray looked up from where he’d checked the time on his phone. “How do you keep time in your head like that?”
Zane shrugged. “No clue. But it comes in handy.”
“So, are you gonna play that for us? Or just keep edging us with the case?” Jett pointed to where Zane’s guitar rested against the side of the couch.
“Play this?” Zane asked with a seductive grin, reaching down and gently stroking his hand over the case.
“That’s like, really hot and really scary at the same time.” Nick snickered. “You really are a murder kitten.”
Zane shot him an unimpressed look.
“Aww, my little murder kitten.” Noah hooked his arm over Zane’s shoulders and smacked a kiss against his forehead.
“I hate all of you,” Zane deadpanned, but his eyes were bright with humor, giving away that he was having as much fun as the rest of us.
“No, you don’t.” River winked at his twin. “But for reals, bro. Play something.”
Zane rolled his eyes but opened his case and pulled his guitar out. “What do you want to hear?”
“Do you know ‘House of Memories?’” River asked me. “Like to sing? I’m obsessed with that song right now.”
“Sing?” Caleb, Gray’s boyfriend, asked. “You sing?”
“I sing,” I confirmed.
“‘House of Memories,’ yay, or nay?” Zane asked, softly strumming the strings to tune them.
“I don’t know all the lyrics, but I know the song.”
Nick stuck his phone under my nose, the lyrics already cued up on the screen.
“Looks like you’re out of excuses.” River grinned his usual happy smile.
“Looks like,” I said to Zane.
He nodded and strummed the first few notes of the song. The group fell silent as everyone settled in their seats.
I counted myself in, then began to sing, making sure to keep my voice low. A few of the guys joined in when they remembered a verse or the chorus, and we were all grinning when Zane played the last notes of the song.
“Play ‘Creep’ next.” Noah glanced at me. “You know that one?”
I handed Nick his phone back. “Of course. It’s one of my faves.”
Zane played the opening bars of the song, the familiar music soothing my artist’s soul.
I missed singing and performing, even if it was just a jam session in my backyard, and having my friends join in and sing with me was some of the most fun I’d had in forever.
“What’s next?” Jett asked when the song was over. “Do you know ‘Zombie?’”
Zane and I both nodded. Nick wiggled his phone in my direction. I shook my head. I’d memorized the lyrics years ago.
“Do you know ‘Summer of ’69?’” Caleb asked.
“Sixty-nine.” Nick snickered.
Caleb shot Gray, who was also fighting back his laughter, a stern look. Gray’s expression shifted to one of bashful obedience, a flicker of heat in his eyes.
“I know it.” I flicked my gaze back to Caleb.
“Same.” Zane plucked at the strings. “Anyone else want to add a request to the queue?”
Two hours later, I was slumped on my outdoor sectional with a platter of the leftover flatbreads Gray had brought over balanced on my stomach.
“Hi.”
I looked up from the food, a smile already on my lips at the familiar voice.
Tristan stood at the edge of my deck, clutching a bottle of wine and looking like he was contemplating running away.
“Hi.” I sat up, putting the tray down on the table in front of me.
“My sister made me come. And bring this.” He stood stock-still, but I assumed he meant the wine.
“Well, be sure to thank your sister for me.” I waved him over. “Are you still feeling awkward about last night?”
He nodded and took a few small steps closer. “I know I hide it so well.”
“Don’t be. It was an accident.” I patted the couch next to me with a chuckle. “I’m not gonna bite, Doc.”
He came to sit next to me on the sectional, keeping a cushion of distance between us.
“So, Lydia made you come hang out with me?” I teased, holding my hand out for the wine. “I’m assuming that’s for us to open?”
He shoved the wine into my hand with a wry grin. “Well, she didn’t make me come over. She offered to watch Leo so I could. And countered every argument I had about why hiding was the best idea.”
“I take it you told her what happened?”
He winced. “Yeah. She thought it was hilarious.”
“It really was.” I bit back a smile. “From my perspective, at least.”
“I’m glad one of us thought so. Have I mentioned that I’m awkward as fuck?”
“I’ve known you for over three months now, Doc. Awkward doesn’t bother me.” I pointed to the platter. “Hungry? My buddy Gray is an amazing cook. I need someone to help me so I don’t finish them all on my own.”
“Those look good. I wish I could cook.” Tristan leaned forward and studied the different slices of flatbread and toppings. “I’m decent enough at the basics and can follow directions, but there are some things I just can’t get a handle on. Like rice. I always overcook it, even when I follow the directions to the letter. Same with boxed mac and cheese. It always turns to soup when I try to make it.”
“I’m hopeless at the boxed stuff too.” I looked around for the corkscrew that was kicking around. “My dad makes the most amazing mac and cheese from scratch. I grew up on the stuff. Do you have a rice cooker? I love mine.”
“I used to. I think it’s in the pantry. I’ll have to dig it out and see if it still works.”
“There it is.” I pointed to the elusive corkscrew. “Can you grab that for me?”
Tristan leaned over and scooped it up from where it was shoved into the corner of the sectional.
My eyes were drawn to his back as his hoodie lifted, showing off a strip of skin and the dimples above his ass where his jeans had slid down.
He sat up and handed me the opener. “I didn’t know if you prefer white or red, but that’s one of my favorite wines. Hopefully you like it too.”
“I’m sure I will.” I focused on popping the cork and not on why I’d just checked out his back. “I don’t know much about wine, but I generally like both. What about you? Do you have a preference?”
“Not really, but I’ll usually choose white if I have the chance because too much red wine gives me a headache.”
“Are you allergic to sulfates?” I put down the bottle and went to get glasses from one of the cupboards in my outdoor kitchen.
“I think it’s more of an intolerance than an allergy. I didn’t know you could sing,” he said when I sat next to him. “I heard you from next door. You have an incredible voice.”
“Thanks.” I poured out two glasses of wine. “It’s been an age since I’ve had a chance to sing like that. I used to spend hours jamming with my friends when we were all wannabe actors or singers. I don’t get to do that very often anymore. I miss it.”
He took the glass I offered him. “I love singing. I can’t carry a tune to save my life, but my shower walls get serenaded on the regular.”
Chuckling, I took a sip of my wine. The crisp tang danced over my tongue. I knew jack shit about wine, but this brand tasted expensive.
“My whole house gets daily performances. My dad loves to tell me stories about how I used to sing myself to sleep when I was a kid. Some of my favorite memories from when I was little are when we’d go for drives on back roads and he’d crank up his music so we could sing together at the top of our lungs.”
“Sounds like you really love it.”
“I do. I wanted to do that for a living once upon a time. Back when I was young and dumb.”
“I doubt you were ever dumb.” He picked up a slice of flatbread and took a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed. “Damn. You weren’t kidding when you said your friend can cook. But you wanted to be a singer? Like in a band?”
I shook my head. “Broadway.”
“Broadway?” He gaped at me.
“Yup.” I folded a piece of flatbread in half so I could eat it in one bite. “I was a musical theater kid. Went to a performing arts high school and everything.”
“Did you actually live in New York?”
I nodded and took a moment to swallow my food. “Spent four years in the city working crap jobs and living in squalor like every other wannabe actor.”
“Wow. That’s… That’s really cool.” He made a face. “Do people still say cool? I can’t keep track. Leo talks in code half the time. I have no idea where half the stuff he says comes from.”
“Probably YouTube.”
“Yeah, probably.” Tristan snagged another flatbread. “I swear that’s all he watches when he’s at Simon’s. But back to your adventures in the city. Were you in anything big?”
“I had a couple small parts and was an understudy for a few shows, but most of my work was off-Broadway. I love the community there, and I’ll always love the theater, but it’s not an easy life. Especially now. It was unaffordable when I left. Now it’s basically impossible to live in the city unless you have a high-paying job. Most actors barely make enough to qualify for health insurance, and it’s even worse for stage actors unless you’re a headliner.”
Tristan leaned back in his chair and finished his wine. His posture was stiff, like he still couldn’t relax.
I held out my hand for his glass, silently offering a refill.
He handed it to me. “Are you sure we’re okay? I still feel really bad about last night.”
“We’re fine.” I refilled his glass. “If I had to end a friendship every time one of my friends saw me naked, I wouldn’t have very many friends left. Hell, you’d see way more of me than that if you googled my stage name.”
Tristan chuckled. “It’s getting very hard to not ask when you say stuff like that.”
“You can ask if you want.” I handed him back his glass. “I’m impressed you’ve held out for so long.”
I’d already decided to tell Tristan about my time filming porn, but the conversation hadn’t come up organically. Might as well tip things in that direction now.
“But you should probably know something before you do.”
He quirked one eyebrow and sipped his wine.
“The top hits will all be from porn sites.”
Tristan made a choking sound and started coughing.
I took his wine glass from him and put it on the table. “Sorry, Doc. I thought you’d swallowed.”
He laughed mid-cough, which only made him cough harder.
“Oops.” I noticed my unintentional pun. “Would this be the wrong time to say that’s what he said?”
Tristan snort-laughed through his coughing fit and waved his hand like he was asking for mercy.
“You okay?” I asked when he’d regained his composure.
“Fine,” he croaked and wiped his eyes. “Just caught off guard.” He cleared his throat.
“Sorry about my timing. There’s really no easy way to tell someone you did porn.”
“Porn like your OnlyFans stuff, or like porn porn?”
“The second one.”
“Okay. That’s what I thought you meant.” He cleared his throat again. “Please tell me I’m not the only person who almost died when you told them. That would be even more embarrassing than using my beer bottle like a gong last night.”
I chuckled. The hollow sound of the bottle on whatever metal he’d hit it against really had sounded like a gong. “You’re not the first to have an extreme reaction. One time, someone kind of froze, then did some weird jazz hands and backed away from me like they thought I’d attack if they turned their back to me. Another time someone full-on ran away. Like jumped up and sprinted out of the room at full speed. Legend has it they’re still running.”
He huffed out a laugh and picked up his wine glass. “I feel bad for laughing because those reactions sound horrible. Thank fuck I only tried to breathe wine.”
“You get used to it.” I shrugged, but he wasn’t wrong.
Someone choking on their drink or short-circuiting and needing a few minutes while they processed my past was one thing, but it hurt when people had such a visceral reaction. And it really hurt when people cut me out of their lives without another word.
“You know I’m totally going to google you now, right?”
“I know. I just wanted you to be prepared.”
“So, what’s your stage name?”
“Stone Mason.”
He folded his lips inward, trying—and failing—to hide his grin.
“Yeah, I know. I was twenty-two and thought I was so clever.” I rolled my eyes and finished my wine.
“I’m assuming you only worked with women?” He flicked his hand toward his pocket but stopped mid-motion. “Outside of your solo stuff?”
“You want to pull your phone out and look me up right now?” I smirked.
“I’m neither confirming nor denying your statement.” His face was the picture of innocence.
“I’m glad you’re taking this so well. Not everyone is okay with having a sex worker in their life.”
“Not my place to judge. Sex work is work. I mean, I watch porn. It would be hypocritical to have issues with the people who create it. You do you, quite literally in this case.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.
I laughed, the last of my apprehension melting away. I’d figured Tristan would be fine with the news, but the underlying fear that I’d lose another friend because of my past was always present when I told people.
He sipped his wine, his eyes on a point in the distance.
“Go ahead and ask whatever you’re wondering. I’m used to questions.” I busied myself with pouring myself another glass of wine.
“How did you get into that? You don’t have to tell me if it’s a negative thing,” he added quickly.
“It’s not.” I swirled my wine around in my glass. “Do you want the short version or the one with context?”
“Context.”
I nodded and leaned back against the sectional. This was also a tricky part, determining just how much to tell people. I wanted Tristan to know the truth because we were close, and I didn’t like keeping secrets from my inner circle, but finding that line between honesty and oversharing wasn’t easy.
“I’d been living in the city for about a year when I was approached by a studio to do some explicit modeling after the owner saw me in an off-Broadway show that was on the spicy side. I was broke and figured it would be an easy way to make some extra cash so I could pay my rent. I assumed the contract was for a photo shoot, but it was for filming a porn scene.”
I ran the tip of my finger over the rim of my glass and covertly checked Tristan’s body language. He was relaxed and listening intently.
“I filmed with them and figured it would be a one-and-done thing. But they offered me an exclusive contract after the scene was released.”
“What’s an exclusive contract?”
“It meant I wasn’t allowed to work with other studios or do any sort of amateur partnered content. They guaranteed me a certain number of scenes per year, and I agreed to do appearances and stuff to promote them. I only signed with them because of the monthly stipend. That was the only steady income I had the whole time I was on contract, and it was why I was able to stay in the city as long as I did. It wouldn’t have been worth it for just the scene pay.”
“I thought people in porn got paid well?” He swiped another piece of flatbread off the tray.
“Women do. But you have to be a huge name or have a stake of some sort in the studio to make big bucks as a male performer. I made about ten percent of what my scene partners did. In straight porn, the male is just there to be a human dildo. The woman is the one who brings in the audience.”
Tristan tilted his head thoughtfully. “I never thought of that. Is it different in gay porn?”
“Oh yeah. Tops usually get paid more than bottoms, but both roles can make good money if they have a following. That’s actually why I started my online content work.”
“What do you mean?”
“As another way to make money. Most of my fans are women and queer men. I figured marketing solo content to them would be more lucrative than focusing on content that was for straight men. That’s also why I started dancing when I retired three years ago. I already had a following, and it helped me shift my brand from studio work to solo stuff. My plan is to keep with the solo stuff while I get my contracting firm off the ground and make it into a profitable business, then keep it as passive income until it’s not viable anymore.”
“Wow. That’s really smart. You have a head for business.” Tristan shot back the last of his wine. “Do you miss it?”
“Not at all.” I chuckled and finished my drink. “It’s hard to explain, but I didn’t enjoy filming. I didn’t hate it or anything, but it was work.”
He arched his eyebrow at me.
“A lot of people have this romanticized view of porn, and it can be like that for some models, but it wasn’t for me.”
Explaining this part of my job to people was hit or miss too. My friends at Crimson understood because they were also sex workers. People outside the industry didn’t always get it, and I’d been called a liar more times than I could count.
Tristan sat quietly while I refilled our glasses.
“Most people don’t understand how porn is made, not unless you’re in the industry or know someone who is. It’s not just some dude with a camera filming you having sex from start to finish. It’s a full production with a crew, a set, and multiple takes. At least with studios. It’s different when people film their own stuff to sell, but I only did studio work, so this was my experience. On average, it took between four and seven hours to film a twenty-minute scene.”
He widened his eyes comically. “For real?”
“Yup.” I chuckled at his bug-eyed expression. “The first hour or so is usually a meeting where you talk about the scene and break down limits and whatnot with your scene partner. Then you do a walk-through with the script to get your marks and do your blocking. Once that’s done, you do a dry run, or like a dress rehearsal, where you move through the blocking and take the scene promo photos. Then it’s time to film the actual scene. That can take anywhere from a few hours to a full day, depending on how long it is, how complicated the blocking is, or how many breaks you take.”
“And you’re…performing for that entire time.”
“Most of it.” I tipped my head back and drank more of my wine. I had a decent tolerance, but I could feel the start of a wine buzz as my chest and neck flushed warm. “Once filming starts, at least. Even with the starting and stopping, it’s usually only for a few minutes to change camera angles or fix the lighting. They tried not to make us wait for too long because it’s hard on the male talent, no pun intended.”
“How do you…”
“Stay hard that long?” I asked with a smirk.
He nodded, his ears going red.
“Everyone has their own tricks. A lot of guys use pills to help. Mine was a gift for compartmentalizing and porn.”
“Porn?”
“Kinda ironic, right?” I huffed out a laugh. “I spent a lot of time watching porn on my phone. Especially when it was time to film the money shot.”
“Is that what I think it is?” Tristan asked.
“It is if you think it’s the cumshot.” I put my empty glass on the table. “The money shot is why editors make the big bucks. By the time the director gets all the footage they need for the scene, the male talent has been edging himself for hours. Some guys can do cumshots on command, but there’s usually a lot of off-camera jerking off to get close. When it’s time, they film the last few strokes and the cumshot, then edit it together to make it look like a seamless transition.”
“I had no idea how much work went into it.” Tristan raked his hand through his already messy hair. “It really is a job.”
“Yup. You show up, film, then go home. It’s a paycheck for a lot of us. I’m not saying there aren’t people in the industry who get off on the exhibitionism and enjoy filming scenes, but I didn’t work with any while I was filming.”
“So you didn’t actually enjoy the sex part?”
“Not really. I didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t really sex for me. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve always been able to separate sex from intimacy. Having sex on film was work. It might look intimate, but there were never any emotions or feelings involved. Hell, I didn’t even feel any chemistry or real attraction toward my scene partners, and it was the same for a lot of them too. It was all acting.”
Tristan nodded thoughtfully.
“So, still wanna be my friend?” I asked, only half joking.
I usually didn’t give people that many details at once, choosing instead to tell them the basics and add more context in later conversations. But Tristan was different. I wanted him to know the real me, the one I usually hid from people.
“As long as you don’t mind knowing I’ve seen you fuck because I’m totally looking you up tonight.” He went to reach for the wine bottle but stopped. “Did we drink it all?”
“We did.” All the tension in my body bled out in a rush, leaving me calm and a little giddy from the wine buzz.
I’d told Tristan the truth, and I hadn’t lost him as a friend.
“No wonder I’m a little wine drunk.” He snorted. “I don’t drink a lot.”
“It’s fine, Doc,” I assured him. It wasn’t the first time Tristan got a little tipsy during our hangouts. “You’re safe with me.”
Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone so fast I couldn’t catch it.