“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” He didn’t buy that for a second. Their relationship, both romantic and professional, rested on two key pillars: always wear a condom, and stay in your own lane. They weren’t the type of people who fell for love’s long con.

He and Naomi understood each other. Had extended a successful business relationship into a partnership for almost two years based on mutual respect and the exchange of countless orgasms. Usually, that evened out to enough. On the rare occasion when loneliness lapped at his heels, well, he could always turn on the TV and watch Meg Ryan, falling in love by proxy.

“I’m pretty sure I could get you back if the mood ever struck.” She fussed with her dyed red hair.

Josh rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Stu.” He used the nickname she claimed to hate, a riff on her real name, Hannah Sturm. She forbade the use of anything but her stage name on set, but he often forgot when they found themselves alone. Like so much else about her, she’d never told him the reason she hated her given name. Even though they had first met as co-stars almost two years ago, he could count on one hand the number of things he knew about her childhood.

“I can assure you, sharing household goods with Clara is platonic. I had to find somewhere to live when you kicked me to the curb.” Josh stuck his hand under the stream of water in the shower to check the temperature again and jerked it back when the icy stream pelted his palm.

“Oh please. You practically ran out of my house.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “Platonic Clara.” Naomi lingered over the syllables, tasting the name on her tongue. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s some loaded East Coast princess.”

Naomi grinned like a cat ready to devour a hapless mouse.

He tried and failed to make his frown disapproving. They shared the same sense of humor, after all.

“Don’t even think about it.” Josh pointed a finger in warning as he told Naomi the same thing he’d told himself ever since Clara had shown up in his living room two days before. His ex was bisexual and loved novelty in the bedroom almost as much as he did. “I’ve never met someone wound this tight. You should see this girl. I doubt she’s ever kissed a guy without knowing his full name.” He didn’t mention that the challenge Clara presented raced straight to his dick.

“Sounds like the opening of a porno.” Naomi plucked an imaginary pen out of thin air and mimed writing. “Sweet, unsullied small-town girl moves to the big bad city and discovers big bad cock.”

Josh shook his head and grinned despite her bluntness. The idea of defiling his new roommate was definitely tempting, but even he knew how that story ended.

The room at Everett’s place already felt more like his than Naomi’s ever had. All of the seventies wallpaper reminded him of his grandparents’ condo. Besides, something about Clara reminded him of a baby deer stumbling around on new legs.

“She’s a good person. I can tell.” He’d already made a pact with himself to keep his distance.

“So are you,” Naomi said, her voice sharp enough that he knew he’d managed to raise her hackles. “And you just met her. She could wind up more wicked than both of us.”

“Impossible.” Josh pulled his comic book out from under her butt and gently swatted her with it. “Besides, I don’t have to mount every beautiful woman I meet.”

Naomi scoffed.

“Well, there’s an exception to every rule.”

“So, she’s beautiful, huh?” Naomi uncrossed her legs and recrossed them in the opposite direction.

“Would you stop pretending to be concerned? I’m telling you, she blushed, actually blushed, at the mention of sharing a bathroom with me. Can you imagine the color she’d turn if she knew all the places my dick’s been?”

Naomi looked down at her crotch and gasped in mock horror. “What’s she gonna do when she finds out?”

“She’s not gonna find out. Trust me. There’s no way that girl watches porn.”

“Haven’t you heard? We’re mainstream now. Elle, Cosmopolitan, BuzzFeed. Everyone and their mother is talking about our last video. Even nice girls know how to use the Internet, Josh.”

“Speaking of that video,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting with Bennie tonight. He wants to discuss my contract. I’m hoping he’s got an extension for me to sign.”

Naomi wrinkled her nose at the mention of his agent. He could admit that Bennie fit the profile of a smarmy bastard, but he’d picked up Josh like a stray cat back when he was an aimless college dropout living on dollar tacos and breath mints.

“Don’t give me that look. I’ve spent two years shackled to a shitty stock agreement. I’m sick of wearing a leash. I want to work with other studios. Hell, I’d like to cut a profit on my own films. Mainstream coverage means big money, right? We gotta double down on our fifteen minutes. It’s now or never.”

No matter what happened in their personal lives, their professional success tangled together until sometimes he didn’t know where Naomi Grant’s career stopped and Josh Darling’s began. If she wouldn’t capitalize on their chance at real stardom, he’d have to grab her hand and drag her along.

That woman had ten times more brains than anyone in this business gave her credit for, which was exactly the way she liked it. She dealt in secrets like currency, and they bought her half the industry wrapped around her little finger. The whole business would turn upside down if she ever got inspired to make a fuss.

When Naomi hopped off the countertop and headed for the door, she had her professional mask back on. “Good luck,” she told him, striding past in a wave of spicy perfume. “Bennie is almost as cheap as he is repugnant. Trusting him is gonna get you screwed one of these days, and not in the way you like.”

Chapter five

THE FIRST TIME Josh met Bennie, his future agent declared him the biggest knucklehead he’d encountered in almost three decades in the porn business.

Since that day, over two years before, they’d met for burgers countless times.

Bennie’s favorite burger came from a landmark diner in Glendale founded sometime in the 1950s. To this day, the interior of the establishment evoked images of sock hops and waitresses on roller skates. They probably filmed sitcoms here during off-peak hours.

Josh spotted his agent’s shiny bald head at a table in the back. Bennie didn’t look up from his phone when Josh scooted into the sticky vinyl booth across from him, but he did grunt in his general direction. Josh accepted this ritual greeting. He’d spent enough time with Bennie to know that the man issued few words and most of them were expletives anyway.

Bennie smoked unfiltered cigarettes and spat on the sidewalk, but he knew everyone who mattered and never took a vacation, which made Josh’s life significantly easier.

“How’s it going, Ben?”

The portly man raised his eyes to take in Josh sitting across from him and grinned. “How do you fucking do, Darling?”

Josh pointed to a discarded plate of soggy fries and a sad sliver of bun. “I see you’ve started without me.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. You know me, always starving.” Bennie swiveled the plate in offering so the remaining fries faced Josh.

Ugh. He squirmed and shoved the plate away blindly.

“Oh fuck.” Bennie threw a napkin over the plate. “I forgot about your ketchup thing again. Forgive me.”

“It’s fine,” Josh said, willing his stomach to settle.

“Is it because it looks like blood?” Bennie waved his hand to bring over their server.

People always asked that. Josh shook his head, not trusting himself to open his mouth at the moment.

A sunshiny waitress approached the table in no particular hurry. She looked down her nose at Bennie but brightened considerably when her eyes found Josh. “What can I do for you two?”

Josh’s ears perked up at the attention. He couldn’t help it. He specialized in waitresses. They worked similar hours to him and always brought home free food. Naomi gave him flak for his indiscrimination when it came to women, but he didn’t mind. He could always find something to like. Hell, even Clara, who had Don’t even think about it stamped across her forehead, got his motor running.

“Do ya wanna hear the specials?” Fried onions sizzled on the grill behind her.

“He’ll have the burger. Medium. Fries. Extra crispy,” Bennie said, eyes back on his phone.

She scribbled the order on her pad and pouted at the stolen opportunity to linger.

“Extra pickles,” Josh added, giving her his smile at eighty watts. The way she chewed on her pen as she walked away gave him the sneaking suspicion that unleashing the full force of his grin would be writing checks he wasn’t prepared to cash.

Putting his palm over Bennie’s phone, he tipped his head toward the waitress stand. “Hey, you don’t remember by any chance if . . .”

“Yeah, you fucked her the last time we were here.”

Josh frowned. He didn’t remember the sex, the hallmark of a lackluster performance. He tried to recall the last time he’d had sex with only one girl without cameras. Sometime last year, when he and Naomi could hardly stand each other, they’d opened their relationship to external partners beyond work. At first, he’d enjoyed feasting at L.A.’s buffet of babes, but like anything else too readily available, even pussy got boring.