Hot Bestie Summer (Hot Summer #3)

Chapter 1

Jack

"Shit, we're out of gas."

I must've drifted off, but the combination of Zak's words and the rental sputtering to a stop in the middle of the road wakes me up.

"Huh?"

I roll onto my side in the passenger seat and am met with an apologetic grin I've seen on his seven-year-old face, his pimply teenage face, his smooth early-twenties face, and now, his stubbled early-forties face.

"I thought we'd make it on what we had," he says, his voice not carrying the slightest hint of concern.

Typical Zak. A free spirit. Never worries. Always trusts that everything will work out.

Also, not very detail oriented.

That's why we're such great business partners. I'm his exact opposite, so together, we balance each other out.

"Don't stress," he says, tapping the giant screen in the center of the console. "We're about a third of a mile away from the house. We can walk the rest of the way."

"And what? Leave the car in the middle of the road?"

He grins, his dark-brown eyes twinkling. "You've been snoring for hours, old man. Take a look around."

I do just that.

We flew into Worcester before embarking on a three-hour drive to the small town with the best name ever for a small town, Cumcircle.

The leadup to our time away has been so busy—running an adult content multimedia empire is no walk in the park—and I wanted to get as much done as I could before we left so I can have something that resembles a summer holiday.

Even doing just an hour or two of work a day like I intend to while we're here feels like a massive reprieve from the daily grind of LA.

The highway narrowed into a two-lane road half an hour ago, right about the time I was starting to nod off. The open fields have ended, giving way to patches of dense green trees and the first scattered houses at the edge of town.

I feel more relaxed already. There's something so cozy and wholesome about small towns. Non-polluted air helps a ton, too.

We've stopped on a road lined with wide acreage blocks, each with weathered clapboard houses, deep porches, and barns and sheds scattered behind them. It’s a dead-end street with three modest houses ahead—one to the left, one to the right, and one straight ahead—each set a few acres apart, the street ending at the last house.

"Which one is your grandmother's?" I ask, since that's the reason we're here. Zak's grandmother transitioned to nonphysical six months ago, and she left him her house.

"First one on the right," he says, his grin turning wistful. "Man, I miss her so much. It's stupid."

I reach across the console, fitting his hand into mine. "It's not stupid at all. You loved her. It's perfectly natural to miss her. Being back here, allow yourself to go through all the emotions. I got your back."

Zak's eyes drift from the house to our joined hands to me. His face softens. "I know you do, man. You're the only one who ever has. That's why I love you like crazy."

I squeeze his hand.

We met in third grade, when Zak's family moved from Tucson to San Diego. Instant besties. He was at our place all the time. I didn't know it at the time, but both his parents were alcoholics. Mom suspected, though, which was why she insisted Zak could visit and stay over as much as he liked.

His parents have also made their transition. Not having any siblings—probably a good thing given the chaos of his family's household growing up—Zak Summers isn't just my business partner, he's more like family, my best friend and soulmate all rolled into one.

"I love you like crazy, too. Now let's start walking. I'd kill for a hot shower."

We get out of the car, taking the one bag of luggage we each brought with us. Before we head off, Zak drops his luggage onto the dusty road, peels off his FaceBros hoodie, and ties it around his waist.

"What?" he says when he notices me smiling at him.

We start walking. "I was just thinking how crazy our journey has been. Remember when we arrived in Los Angeles, all starry-eyed and hopeful?"

He chuckles and takes in a deep breath of non-polluted, non-LA air. "We were so innocent."

"And twenty years younger."

He angles his head, smirking. "You still look good."

I return the compliment. "So do you."

It's an inside joke, the looks thing. We look quite similar, sharing a sort of surfie vibe, each with messy hair, although Zak's grown his down to his shoulders this past year, similar builds, and similar facial features.

My hair and eyes are a bit lighter, but we get mistaken for brothers all the time.

We also get plumber for some strange reason, too.

That's a big part of why we succeeded, looking like regular guys. Not at acting like we originally intended because that is one cutthroat and competitive motherfucker neither of us had the mindset for.

No, we succeeded in another area of entertainment.

Porn.

It's the most random story ever. A guy approached us at the gym and asked us to join him for dinner to discuss a business project. Being broke, we agreed for the free food alone. Turns out, the guy, Decker, was a successful businessman. A successful businessman who made us a wild offer.

He said he had a major cum fetish, was super into 'regular-looking' dudes, and offered us ten thousand dollars each if we'd let him indulge in his ultimate fantasy––blowing his load on our faces.

I'll never forget Zak's reaction. He was eating soup as Decker was speaking, and as soon as Decker made his offer, Zak dropped his spoon and covered all three of us in bright-red tomato sauce.

We said we needed time to think about it. Zak and I discussed it, did a deep dive into a world of cum neither one of us knew existed, and ultimately decided to go ahead with it.

The experience wasn't bad. In fact, we both enjoyed it. Decker had connections and said if we ever wanted to do it professionally, as in, work in porn, just say the word. Apparently, there was a strong demand for 'regular-looking dudes' doing this niche of porn.

We decided to give it a try and shot a few scenes with a couple of studios. Things took off from there. This was in the early days of social media. We were early adopters and quickly grew a massive, loyal following. Being business-minded, we wanted to break out on our own.

With Decker's financial backing, we launched FaceBros, a porn studio specializing exclusively in cum content. Facials, bukkake, cumkissing, cumplay—you name it, we do it. And we've got supercool merch, too.

Even though we both quit appearing on camera over ten years ago, both of us are active behind the scenes.

Zak casts, directs, and produces most scenes while I handle the business side of running the company.

In the past two years, I've also gotten involved with advocacy work, especially regarding legislation to ensure sex workers and adult content creators get the same rights and safeguards other workers enjoy.

Mental health is also important to me. Emotional flattening, difficulty accessing desire, and hyper-self-monitoring are just some of the mental health issues porn stars experience and no one is addressing properly.

I know firsthand how hard it can be. I was so burned out after almost a decade of performing, I still haven't fully recovered.

"Man, you must be tired," Zak says, flashing a toothy smile as we reach the front porch. "You totally spaced out."

"Yeah, sorry."

"Don't apologize. You've been busting your balls lately, taking on way too much. I want you to relax and unwind. These next few weeks are all about decompressing and doing as little as possible."

I swing my arm over his shoulder. "Sounds like heaven."