I'd eat a Twix and my life would rewind just enough, so that I could tell Zoey to zip her lips and I could meet up Tristan with my dignity still intact.

Regrettably, none of this happened. My face heated up enough to melt wax. I'm sure that it was the exact same shade of red as a fire truck. I ground my teeth as I looked down to compose myself for a second, only to see Tristan looking at me with a gigantic smile on his face. At least someone thought this was funny.

I turned around to look at Zoey who had a hand slapped over her mouth like she realized too late that the shit that came out of it was that loud. I raised my hands up to my sides and mouthed, "What the fuck?" She mouthed back, "I'm sorry," and at least had the decency to look apologetic. If it were Nicole who had done it, I knew that bitch would have repeated it again, if not louder.

"C'mon," Tristan called out to me, heading in the direction I'd walked from.

The nicely dressed man that had screamed at him while he had been talking to me before was in front of Tristan, talking on his cell, and leading the way through the crowd. I trailed a little behind my newly discovered porn acquaintance. He kept glancing back every few steps, shooting me little smiles each time. It was strange how people turned to look at him every once in awhile. It was also really uncomfortable recognizing the looks of pure lust in many women's eyes when they spotted him.

The only other thing that was more uncomfortable was how I felt right then. If it wasn't bad enough that I found out he did porn, now he knew I "needed some dick in my life." I liked what I knew about Tristan so far; he was funny, and so hot my eyeballs ran the potential of sizzling just by looking at him, but I just felt strange. I was probably being a hypocrite, and maybe a little sexist by allowing myself to feel weird since I could care less what Zoey did. Was it because I knew she was just with women, and Tristan was using his dick to fuck girls?

My stomach churned at the thought again.

Once we were out of the majority of the crowds, and heading toward a row of doors that lead somewhere else, the man in the business suit turned around to look at Tristan with a shake of his head, and then looked me up and down. "This is a terrible idea for your image, Tristan. I mean, she's really lovely but—"

"Shut up, Walter," Tristan groaned, holding the door open for me to follow the man through the new hallway we were in.

"You know how bad of an idea it would be to—," the man I assumed was named Walter continued. There were more doors down that way with a lot of people coming in and out of them. He stopped abruptly in front of a door to the right that said ‘Covert Entertainment.'

"That's all for today, Walt. I'm leaving once I get cleaned up." Tristan cut him off again before ducking into the room we had stopped in front of. He motioned for me to follow before he shut the door in front of Walter's face with a loud sigh. He gave me a cheeky grin, but his face looked resigned and a bit weary. "Sorry about that. Walter is my manager."

"Okay." I nodded before looking away.

The room was pretty sparse with a vanity mirror, a chair on one side, couch on the opposite corner with a pile of clothes draped across it, and a small wardrobe. There was also another door to the right, probably leading to another dimension, knowing my luck.

Tristan cleared his throat as he slid one of his slender hands up to his hair only to yank at the short strands. He pulled his hand away from his head, staring down at his palm. He frowned, before flipping it over to show me the black smudges trailing across it. "I hate this crap."

"It's washable?" I asked him, referring to the black color in his hair. I felt so nervous for some reason. It was like my senior class salutatorian speech all over again, with sweaty palms and pits.