Everything on this site was tip-based. Users were paying Montana tokens to request different acts. There was a scrolling menu at the bottom of the screen that summarized the pricing: Fifty tokens and she sang a song. One hundred and she took her top off. Two hundred and she removed her panties. Three hundred and she masturbated on camera.

Fuck.

The thought of that made my dick stiffen.

Five hundred for a one-on-one, private “chat.” Sure. I bet there’d be a lot of chatting going on in that scenario.

I really wanted to ask her why she’d chosen that old song. It nagged at me.

While it was free to watch her, if I wanted to interact, I had to register with the site.

After entering my email to sign up, I chose the username ScreenGod90, an ode to my movie-making roots and my birth year. Then I started typing.ScreenGod90: What made you choose “Blue Skies?”Montana was answering someone else’s question, offering a guy advice on pleasing his woman. I wasn’t sure if she’d even noticed my question. It was getting buried, lost in a bunch of scrolling sentences from various people.

I bet she would notice me if I tipped her. Duh. Money talks, Ryder. It took some time to get used to how all of this worked. Anytime someone gave her tokens, it made this cha-ching sound, and a notification lit up the screen.

I ventured over to the token bank and purchased 100 tokens. What the hell? I didn’t gamble, so this was like my version of it.

I tipped her twenty to start and asked my question again.ScreenGod90: What made you sing “Blue Skies?”She glanced over and seemed to be reading the comments before looking directly into the camera—at me. “Hi, ScreenGod.”

That made my body stir. I swallowed and felt my face heat up. Well, this was fucking weird. Seeing her looking right at me, talking to me through the screen was like taking a hit of a drug. I immediately wanted more, and it was only my first taste. All she’d done was say hello to me. In that moment, based on my reaction, a part of me knew it was very possible I could become addicted to this feeling…addicted to her.

“That’s a great question. Why did I choose that song?” She closed her eyes as if to really concentrate on the answer, then said, “That song has always given me chills. It gives off an air of eternal optimism. The lyrics…they’re so simple, yet they convey how great life can be when people are in love. Everything turns sunny and bright, even though you’re living in the same world that might have seemed gray before you found the one you were meant to be with. Life is all a matter of perspective. I’ve experienced both the blue skies and the gray ones. But this song gives me hope, I guess, that blue skies will come again.”

I fucking loved that answer.

Long after she’d moved on to someone else’s question, I was still staring intently at her lips.

And from that night on, I was completely hooked.CHAPTER TWO* * *RYDERI’d snagged an outdoor table at The Ivy. As usual, paparazzi were camped out across the street.

Even though this place was always crowded with people I knew or wanted to avoid, it reminded me of my childhood. My parents used to take me here when I was a kid. They’d preferred the indoor section to the patio. The antiques and colored furniture inside always made me think of my mom in a weird way because she had similar taste. My mother would always order the corn chowder here, so I did the same any time I came to The Ivy. Mom’s spirit seemed to be around a lot lately.

Today I sat on the outdoor patio, surrounded by the signature white picket fence as I waited for my friend, Benjamin, otherwise known as Benny. He and I grew up together, and our fathers had once been business partners. Benny’s dad was now retired but had also hoped to groom his son for a position at the studio. Benny wanted no part of making movies, though. Instead, he owned a marijuana dispensary in Venice Beach. As Benny liked to put it, he was all about “weeding out the bullshit” and enjoying life. Sometimes I wished I had his balls—to just say “Fuck it.”

Benny finally showed up. He scratched his long beard as he sat down across from me and said, “You look like shit.”

“I haven’t been sleeping that well.”

He opened a menu. “Something on your mind?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Dude, you know you can talk to me, right? Just cuz I may repeat it back to you doesn’t mean I’m not listening.”

Benny had a strange habit—something he’d done since childhood. He sometimes had to silently repeat the last part of whatever the person he was talking to said before he responded. You know how when you’re watching a bad actor, you can see them silently mouthing their co-star’s lines? That always reminds me of Benny.