Chapter 26
Lana
On Saturday, Holland was true to her word. She showed up at my door right after noon, with her energy higher than it had ever been before. “Get dressed,” she’d said. “We’re going on an adventure.”
Her adventure turned out to be a sun-drenched parking lot on the edge of the city that had been converted into a food truck park. There were about fifteen of them lined up in a semicircle, each brightly colored with delicious-looking pictures of what they offered.
“The plan is to get one thing from every truck. We’re conducting a very serious, scientific study of which one is the best,” she announced.
“Sounds like a great plan,” I agreed, smiling at her.
We started with a gourmet taco truck, moved on to one that served loaded grilled cheese, and were now at our third stop: a battered-looking van with a hand-painted rooster on the side that claimed to have the “best damn fried chicken in the state.” We ordered a basket of chicken strips and fries to share and made our way back to a worn wooden picnic table in the center of it all.
Holland was mid-story, her hands occupied with two chicken strips she was taking bites of one at a time as she told me about the student film production she was writing about in her essay. “And you know what the absolute worst part of it all is?” she asked, her eyes wide with dramatic frustration.
“What?” I mumbled around a mouthful of fries, listening in pure amusement.
“The guy’s dad, who’s apparently some semi-famous producer, is the one playing the main character,” she said, waving one chicken strip for emphasis.
“And he is totally, tragically, a bad actor. Like, zero emotions. He’s supposed to be finding out his wife is leaving him, and he delivers the line with all the emotional depth of a man reading a grocery list.”
I snorted. “That’s painful. Are you going to write about that too?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, taking another bite of her chicken. “Almost the entire thesis is about nepotism in student films and how it compromises artistic integrity. I’m basically roasting this guy and his dad for three pages. It’s therapeutic.”
We spent the next hour working our way through the trucks, taking breaks in between to free space in our stomachs.
There was a Korean BBQ truck that served garlic-soy pork belly on a stick that was so good I almost cried, and a dessert truck that sold deep-fried chocolate chip cookies drizzled with Nutella that we both agreed was probably a one-way ticket to a heart attack, but a delicious one.
By the time we reached the seventh truck, a fancy-looking one specializing in artisanal lemonades, we were both stuffed, leaning back on the picnic table bench and groaning.
“I can’t move,” Holland declared, patting her stomach. “I think I’ve achieved maximum capacity. This scientific study is over. The winner is…all of them. And also none of them, because I’m never eating again.’
“You said that an hour ago,” I pointed out, sipping my fancy strawberry basil lemonade.
“And I meant it then, and I mean it now,” she said, then ruined her own declaration by stealing a fry I had left in the bottom of the chicken basket. She popped it in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Okay, so spill. How’s your essay going?”
I swirled the ice in my cup, “I finished,” I said with a simple shrug.
Holland sat up straight, her previous food coma vanishing. “You’re kidding. Already?”
“Yup. Printed, clipped, and ready to be turned in on Monday.”
“God, you’re such a loser, always doing everything ahead of everyone else,” she said, teasing me. Then she smiled proudly. “That’s amazing, though. How many words did it end up being?”
“About ten thousand.”
“Shit, Hayes will either be annoyed that you’ve once again overdone it, or he’ll praise you again, telling everyone you’re his favorite student.”
I laughed because we both knew the latter would be true. “Do you want to read it?” I offered.
“Uh, duh! Send it to my email.”
“Will do.”
“And did you give Callan a copy?”
It was a rightful question. “Yes, I did. He said he’d read it.”
“I want to know what he thinks of it. Not that I ever care about a man’s opinion, but, you know, after the way he treated you, he at least owes you that much.”
I smiled gently, lowering my gaze to my hands on the table. “I actually talked to him about what happened.”
“You did? Oh my god, tell me!”
I looked at her again and took a deep breath.
“We went to the grocery store two days ago, and there was this weird tension between us. We walked down the aisles, pretending everything was fine, then he just turned to me and asked if we were ‘cool.’” I made air quotes with my fingers, the gesture feeling as ridiculous as the word had sounded.
“And that basically opened the door to a whole conversation I didn’t want to have in the grocery store. ”
“Please tell me you didn’t have a public breakdown.”
“I didn’t. He kept asking what he did wrong, and the crazy part was, he actually seemed to want to know.
He wasn’t just asking to make me feel better.
And when I finally told him how I felt about the whole thing, he apologized.
Like, a real, grown-up apology. Not some mumbled excuse or an ego-filled ‘my bad.’ He looked me right in the eye and said he knew he messed up and that he was sorry. ”
Holland blinked, looking astonished. “Wow. Okay. That’s…not what I was expecting.”
“Me neither,” I muttered. “For a second, I almost didn’t know how to respond.
I was still so hurt, and I wasn’t about to just let it go.
So I told him and didn’t sugarcoat it. I told him it wasn’t just about him leaving, it was about the dinner and the observatory and making me feel like I mattered before making me feel like I was nothing. ”
“What did he do when you said that?” she asked, leaning forward, fully invested.
“He took it,” I said with a shrug. “He just stood there and took every word. He didn’t get defensive. He didn’t try to flip it around and make it about me being too sensitive. He didn’t interrupt or make excuses. He just listened, and when I was done, he said I was right.”
Holland crossed her arms on the table as she kept studying me. “And how does that make you feel? Honestly.”
I let out a long, slow breath, the weight of it all settling back on my shoulders.
“I don’t know yet. It’s…confusing. A part of me is glad he finally said it, that he acknowledged it.
But the other part of me is still standing in that room feeling like an idiot.
I’m not ready to just act like everything’s fine.
He hurt me, but it wasn’t entirely his fault.
Still, words are easy. I need to see if his actions are actually going to match them. ”
Holland nodded slowly, then her eyes widened. “Wait, so…are you saying you’re still going to be his fluffer?”
I pursed my lips and thought about her question for a while.
“When he apologized, I felt that power again. You know, me being in control over my body. Maybe that’s what I need.
To prove to myself that I can do something without letting my heart take over.
That I can keep it professional, the way we agreed. ”
A small smirk curled at her lips. “You like it. Oh my god, you totally enjoy giving blowjobs.”
And I also liked the sex we’ve had, but I didn’t want that with him anymore. At least not until I could be a hundred percent sure I wouldn’t let my feelings get involved. “I just feel like it could be good for me. For my self-esteem.”
“Totally,” she agreed with a nod. “I stand behind you here, Lana. But you have to promise me something.” She reached out over the table and grabbed my hands. “If you feel like it’s not working out for you, you stop, okay? I don’t want you to hurt.”
I smiled and squeezed her hands. “Okay. Promise.”
***
I got home around four, and Callan already had people over again.
I saw Madison and Trey in the filming room as I passed by, my head down, not really wanting to make eye contact with anyone.
I headed straight for the kitchen instead.
I wanted to get a drink before crawling into bed with a movie and staying out of everyone’s way.
Opening the fridge, I grabbed a can of Pepsi, then filled a glass with crushed ice before adding the drink. My stomach was still full from all the food I’d eaten earlier, and it felt good to do something calm after spending all day talking and laughing with Holland.
Heels clicked across the tile a moment later, and I looked up from the counter to see who it was.
Kira walked into the kitchen wearing her heels and a tight little dress.
Her hair was up in a high ponytail, and she looked as pretty as always.
The only thing that made me want to scrunch my nose was her expression.
She always looked like she was about to say something mean, which, to my disappointment, she soon did.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, acting like she wasn’t the actual houseguest here. “The little fluffer.”
I didn’t react. I threw the empty can into the trash and picked up my glass to take a sip. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of a reaction, but she kept going, snapping at me unprovoked.
“Did you know that fluffers are seen as being sluttier than porn stars? I mean, really. We at least get paid for sucking dick.”
I sighed but kept my face blank. I had no intention of letting her words sink under my skin. She wanted a rise out of me, and hadn’t I known that, I probably would’ve fallen for it.
When I didn’t even look at her, she scoffed. “You know everyone talks about it, right? You coming around here like you’re something special. But all you are is—”
“Kira.”
Callan’s voice cut through the room, calm and firm, and it instantly made her shut up.
She straightened, her confidence faltering for a second. “I was just—”
“Leave,” he said, not raising his voice. “There are no more scenes I need you in. I’ll finish up with Madison.”
Kira blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. You can go home.”
“But why? Because I’m telling the truth?”
He glared at her but still kept his voice calm. “Because you’re being disrespectful toward her, and I don’t allow that in my house. Or anywhere.”
She wanted to argue, but decided against it when she saw just how serious he was. Scowling and shooting me another glare, she stormed out of the kitchen with her heels clicking all the way down the hall.
I rolled my eyes at the whole interaction, glad I could keep my mouth shut and not start an unnecessary fight. I was ready to head upstairs, but Callan stopped me.
“Did she say anything else to you?”
I shrugged. “Nothing worth repeating.”
He let out a slow breath and ran a hand over his jaw. “She won’t talk to you like that again.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I can handle her.”
“I know you can. But you don’t have to.”
I didn’t respond to that. I wanted this moment to be over with, but he wasn’t letting up. He stepped closer, his expression softer now. “I read your essay.”
My fingers tightened around my glass. “You did?”
“Yeah, read it this morning. I wanted to tell you in person.” He paused for a second, wanting to choose the right words. “It was good. Really good.”
I stared at him, unsure what to say. Deep down, I knew he’d like the essay. I had only applauded him for the way he worked, and for being so professional on set as director and actor. On the other hand, I was worried he took everything I wrote the wrong way, not believing what I put down.
He proved that the former was the case with what he said next.
“You wrote about the set in a way no one ever has. Most people either judge it or glamorize it. You didn’t do either. You talked about how I work. How I run things. How I treat the people I shoot with. You saw everything exactly how it is, and you wrote about it like it mattered.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Well…it did matter. It was the assignment.”
“It was more than that.” His voice dropped. “You talked about me with respect and honesty. Even after everything. You didn’t have to do that.”
I lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “You run your set well. It deserved honest words.”
He held my gaze. “Thank you. For being fair about it. And for writing something that actually captured what my work looks like. Even if it’s the adult industry.”
There was no teasing edge to his voice. No smugness. Just sincerity.
“You’re welcome.”
“I mean it,” he added. “It meant a lot to me.”
“Good,” I said quietly. I didn’t know what to add. His sincerity pressed against my chest and made it hard to breathe. I hated that he could still do that.
He watched me, and we didn’t break eye contact. He waited, like he knew I had one more thing to say. And he was right.
I sucked in a breath and put the glass back down on the counter. “Since we’re talking about honesty, I need to say one more thing.”
“Shoot.”
My pulse thudded hard enough that I felt it in my neck. My body was trying to betray me, but I wouldn’t let it. “I want to keep being your fluffer.”
There was no surprise or judgment in his eyes, and I had his full attention. So I continued before I let myself take back what I said.
“It’s my choice, and I’m doing it because it helps me feel in control in a way I’ve never felt before. And I like how that feels. It isn’t about you needing me, and it’s not about us because we’ve already talked about that, and we’re keeping this professional.”
His jaw clenched but then eased again.
After a few long seconds, he nodded. “All right. If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you,” he said, his smile turning into a small grin. “I won’t say no to that. You’ve been extremely helpful on set.”
“Okay,” was all I said.
“You just tell me when you’re ready again.”
I looked past him toward the filming room and pursed my lips. My plan for the night had been to watch a movie and not think about anything else. But a little voice inside my head told me to be brave.
I met his eyes again. “Do you need me right now?”
His expression turned amused, and the smug grin I knew all too well was back. “You offering?”
I shrugged. “If you need me, yes.”
“I do.”
“Good. Then I’ll…finish my drink and come over.”
“Great.” His grin widened. “I’ll wait.”