Chapter 9
Lana
Holland talked me into watching a second Magic Mike movie, and so I got home way later than intended. It was around eleven-thirty, but just like it always did, the house buzzed with music and voices.
I was too tired to care about that, though.
All I wanted was to take a shower and then go to bed.
I shut the door and kept my head low, set to head straight upstairs without crossing paths with anyone.
My head ached from Holland’s relentless commentary during the movies, and I had a slight sugar overload from all the snacks we ate.
I couldn’t wait to be in my room, but just like any other time I tried to escape without being seen, I was held back by Callan.
Then the door to his filming room opened, and he stepped out wearing a black T-shirt and sweats.
Not his usual look, but seeing him clothed was always nicer than having him fully naked in front of me.
His buzzed hair looked damp like he’d just showered, but I knew that wasn’t it. It was damp from sweat.
He looked surprised to see me standing in the hall.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked, as if he cared.
“Out,” I said, keeping my voice flat and lacking any emotion.
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, eyes scanning my face, and he just had to look fucking sexy.
Asshole.
It’s not fair.
“Out where?”
“Campus and Holland’s place,” I replied, unsure why I even told him. He didn’t need to know.
He nodded slowly and looked like he was trying to decide if he wanted to say more. The sound of someone moving around in the filming room carried into the hall, followed by laughter.
I crossed my arms. “You’re still working?”
“Finishing up,” he said. “Had to reshoot a few things.”
I nodded, not sure what to do with my hands or my eyes—or that information—so I looked past him at the door instead. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna shower.”
“Sure.” He didn’t move, though. Just watched me for a second longer than was comfortable.
And because I always got anxious when someone stared at me, I started giving him even more information than he asked for.
“And then I’m going to bed because I’m tired.”
He gave a short nod, as if he actually appreciated me telling him. And he continued to watch me, never taking his eyes off me while a rivulet of sweat rolled down the side of his face.
I couldn’t help but watch it, and I hated myself for thinking something that stupid could look so sexy. When I met his eyes again, and the stare down became too much to handle, I asked, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay. Then…”
“Goodnight.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Goodnight.”
He gave a small nod, and his eyes didn’t leave mine because I wasn’t moving.
I couldn’t, and I was internally screaming at myself to just leave and go upstairs.
I finally managed to, but I didn’t get far.
I stopped halfway up the large staircase and turned to face him.
“Actually...I need to ask you something.”
Callan straightened a little, looking like he expected me to say that. As if he knew I had more to say but was unsure how. “Okay.”
“I have to write an essay for class,” I said. “About film production. Any kind. I’m supposed to study how a set operates, how it’s structured. And since you…” I hesitated. “Since you work in that field, I was wondering if I could write about yours.”
His expression didn’t change much, but his jaw flexed.
“I’d only write about the technical part,” I added quickly. “Like how it’s filmed, lighting, direction, editing. Not the content. Just the process.”
The sound in the filming room went quiet. He glanced toward the door, then back at me.
Shit…were they listening in there?
“You want to write about my work,” he said slowly. It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah.” My voice came out softer than I wanted. “Would that be okay?”
Callan exhaled, thought about it for just a second, then shook his head. “No.”
The word hit me harder than I expected. I blinked, unsure if he was joking or if that was just it. “No?”
He gave a quick shrug. “No. I don’t want you writing about it.”
I froze for a second, scared I’d let shame take over. But I held myself together. The logical part of me wanted to ask why, but something else got there first. “Okay, fine,” I said, with the same small shrug. “I didn’t really want to do it anyway.”
I turned to go upstairs, but he stopped me.
“Why’d you ask?”
“What?” I looked at him again.
“If you don’t want to write about it anyway, why did you ask?” he asked, challenging me the way he always did.
“Because…” My jaw tightened. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
Sighing, I threw my hands in the air. “No, Callan, I don’t know. Maybe I was being talked into it by Holland, or maybe I truly thought that it would be a good idea. But it’s fine. I can write about some indie production.”
I was ready to end this conversation and head upstairs to lock myself in my room, but my feet wouldn’t move, and my eyes wouldn’t stop staring into his.
Get a fucking grip, Lana!
“No.”
I raised a brow. “No what?”
“No, you won’t write about some indie production. You can write about this,” he told me while waving his hand at the room behind him.
I frowned. “You just said no.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
He looked past me for a moment, then down at the floor, like he was trying to find the right words. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer. “Because you’re right. What we do is film production. It’s not random. It’s not cheap or meaningless, no matter what people think.”
He pulled the door closed behind him and took a step closer.
His defensiveness wasn’t directed at me, but he still frowned as I had somehow offended him.
“The movies we make involve more than what Hollywood does half the time. We think about people first. The ones in front of the camera and the ones who’ll watch.
Every actor is taken care of from start to finish.
We think about how they’ll feel, how they’ll look, how the story will translate for whoever’s watching it later.
” His eyes lifted to mine. “It’s not just about money.
Or shock value. It’s about connection, and that’s still storytelling. No one ever gives us credit for that.”
I pursed my lips and nodded slowly, finding myself agreeing with him. But I wasn’t sure what to say.
“Point is that every fucking person on this planet has sex, and just because we film it, shouldn’t make the act of having sex a taboo topic.”
He was right, and I admired him for being so passionate about his work.
I’ve always respected those people the most who were proud of the work they did, and Callan was one of those people.
And, just like he said, even though porn was frowned upon by many, there were even more people who watched porn on a daily basis.
It was only a taboo topic because some were uncomfortable talking about intimacy, but then they go home and have sex themselves.
“It’s hypocritical,” I heard myself say.
“Yeah.” He crossed his arms again, making his biceps flex. “If you want to write about the real part of it, you can. And I know it will be brilliant.”
I bit my cheeks and felt heat rising up my neck as he kept looking at me with his intense, brown eyes.
I didn’t want to mess this up. Not because it was his world.
But because I knew I could turn something so frowned-upon into a discussion that could get people to stop talking badly about the adult film industry.
“Okay. Thanks for trusting me with this.”
That was a first. Getting so personal with him. But it showed me that Callan wasn’t just a broody asshole who dictated to others to stay in control. He was a real human with real feelings and a passion about his job that not many had.
He nodded, then studied me again before saying, “That means you’ll have to watch.”
I knew what he meant. “I know.”
“Think you can handle that part, too?”
I wasn’t sure, but I was willing. “I’ll sort of have to if I want to write a brilliant essay about an adult film production.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “When is the essay due?”
“In three weeks.”
“How many words?”
“Three thousand.”
He nodded slowly. “That’ll probably be enough.”
“Yeah, for sure.” I smiled tightly.
“So, when do you want to start?”
I looked past him to the door behind him, suddenly feeling excited about what’s actually going on in there. I shrugged. “Whenever you think is fine.”
He thought about it for a second, then said, “Tomorrow night. I’m finishing up some editing in the morning and have a couple of meetings in the afternoon, so you can come down around, let’s say, eight-thirty.”
That was late, but I knew his filming schedule didn’t have normal office hours. And for some reason, there was always more sex at night than during the day.
“Isn’t it hard to film scenes without daylight, or do all your movies take place at night?” I asked, already slipping into essay mode without even having created an outline.
He smirked. “Not all of them. I have some great lighting in there, and I like the city skyline in the background at night.”
Fair enough. I liked the LA skyline too, and I often found myself lying in bed, just staring out the window before falling asleep.
“Okay, then…” I straightened up and smiled again. “See you tomorrow night at eight-thirty.”
Callan nodded, then he uncrossed his arms and turned back toward the filming room, leaving me standing there on the stairs with more excitement than I’d ever let myself feel.
***
“Was he shocked or surprised? I bet he was excited. Who wouldn’t want someone like you to watch you work? I sure would.”
I chuckled at Holland over FaceTime, trying not to grin too wide. “Actually, he said no first. Then he changed his mind.”
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Elaborate on that, please.”
“He first said no. Then I said, Fine, I didn’t really want to do it anyway. Then he said yes.”
Holland grinned. “Reverse psychology at its finest. You didn’t even mean to do it.”
“I really didn’t,” I said, laughing softly. “I’m still not sure if it’s a good idea, to be honest.”
“Are you kidding? It’s the best idea. You’re going to sit there and watch porn being filmed for an essay. You realize how wild that sounds, right?”
“I’m not watching porn. I’m observing a film set,” I corrected, though my tone didn’t sound as confident as I wanted it to.
She raised a brow. “Mhm. Sure. And sure enough, you’re unable to look away from naked bodies and tits bouncing and dicks hardening.”
“Holland.”
“Fine, fine,” she said, laughing as she turned to lie on her stomach.
“I’m just saying that this is probably the most interesting homework anyone’s ever done.
If I were Hayes, I’d give you an A before you even turned it in.
Actually, since it was my idea, I should get an A without even turning anything in. That idea alone is A-worthy.”
I laughed softly. “If I get an A, I’ll take you out to dinner.”
“Oh, baby,” she said, wiggling her brows, and sounding flirtier than she ever did with any guy. “Now I sure hope you’ll get one, so we can go on a hot date.”
I rolled my eyes at her but grinned. “Weirdo.”
“Love you too. So, when’s your big research starting?”
“Tomorrow at eight-thirty.”
“And did he say what he’s working on?”
“No. Just said that he’ll do some filming tomorrow night.”
“Oh my God, I wish I could come with you.”
I scrunched my nose. “As much as I love having you around, I think sitting there with you while others are having sex would be too strange.”
She thought about it for a moment, then scrunched her nose too. “When you put it like that, it does sound weird.”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t, anyway. My dad’s making me go to dinner with him tomorrow night. One of his ‘networking things.’ I have to sit through steak and business talk while pretending to care.”
“That sounds painful,” I said, sympathetic but amused.
“It is painful. And you’ll be having the time of your life, surrounded by porn stars and fake moaning.”
I groaned. “Holland, don’t put it that way.”
“What? I’m jealous,” she said, laughing. “You’re getting firsthand insight into the psychology of pleasure or whatever fancy academic label you’ll slap on it. I’ll be stuck with my dad and his boring coworkers.”
“I’m sorry.” I pursed my lips and watched her on my screen. “We can hang out Friday night if you want.”
“Please. And when we do, you have to tell me every detail. Actually, no. Text me every detail tomorrow night. Doesn’t matter what time it is. I want every single detail.”
“You want me to turn research into gossip?”
“A hundred percent.”
I laughed quietly. “Okay. I’ll text you all the details.”
“Good.” She smiled sleepily. “Now go to bed, future porn scholar. You have to be fresh and ready for your “research” tomorrow night.”
I rolled my eyes at her calling me a porn scholar but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Okay. Goodnight, Holls.”
When the call ended, I set my phone down and stared at the ceiling. My thoughts were too restless to get them to quiet down.
Tomorrow night, I’d walk into that room and see Callan doing what he did best, while I sat there taking notes.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how strange it would feel. But I was determined, and in a way, I had a good feeling about this essay.