ANDI

Yeah, I was most definitely butt-toast as Decker so eloquently put it. My thoughts had gathered in a tornado of vague clues Decker had been gifting me since I arrived in New York a week ago. Somehow they all led to the same conclusion, porn star. I watched Decker’s reaction, my eyes squinting to keep him in focus, readying myself for the moment he burst into laughter and told me I was bat shit crazy. I continued to concentrate on the shocked expression he wore, but it wasn’t followed with laughter or denial. “Holy shit, you’re a porn star?” I shrieked. I had been going over this in my mind for the last week and not once had it occurred to me that Decker might be a porn star. I mean, A FREAKIN’ PORN STAR? Who does that? Decker rubbed his neck awkwardly, trying desperately not to look at my almost naked body. Oh shit, I was half naked, laying on a bed, in front of my hot friend, WHO IS A FUCKING PORN STAR! “You don’t have a mustache,” was my first observation.

Decker rolled his eyes. “We’re not living in the seventies, Country, very few porn stars have mustaches.”

I pushed myself up on my elbows and took him in, tall and wide, sex on a very lickable stick. His hair was untamed around his handsome face. Dark eyes that roamed over my body like a predator. He obviously hadn’t shaved in a while, a healthy dose of scruff giving him an almost earthly, mountain man look. He didn’t look anything like a damn porn star.

His eyes darted nervously around the room before settling on a ratty old shirt discarded on the floor by my bed. He picked it up and threw it my way. “Can you, like, cover a little of that.” His finger drew a line in the air up and down my body.

“I would have thought an adult film star wouldn’t be so shy around a little feminine flesh.”

Decker gave me a small smile. “Country, unless you want me sinking my cock into your sweet little pussy, I suggest you cover up a little. You are too damn tempting to be lying there like that.”

I glanced at the shirt then back at Decker, hesitating. I mean, my number one fantasy, since I was old enough to understand and truly appreciate the word sex, was the thought of sex with Decker. Decker Steele…the porn star. Reality smashed into my brain with a quick hard bitch slap and I pulled the shirt over my head. He slept with women, for money, on film. Like hell was he touching me. Once my shirt was in place, Decker seemed to relax a little. He still looked anxious, almost youthful as he stood in the middle of my apartment with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“So,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Are you a famous porn star?” Of all the things I could have asked, I asked that?

Decker shrugged. “I’ve won a few awards, and I get noticed occasionally, like tonight.”

“Pussy eating award,” I murmured. The thought of Decker so expertly devouring me sent a shiver through my body. Decker leaned against the back of the couch, putting a little more room between us.

“That was one of them,” he said with an arrogant grin.

“How often to you, like…perform?” I asked, trying to find the words in my tequila addled brain.

“Depends on what jobs I’m offered, but I haven’t worked in front of the camera in almost a year. I’ve been directing.”

“Oh,” I managed to breathe, a little relief settling into my shocked brain. The thought of Decker working behind the camera rather than in front of it was much easier for me to accept. “Do you make women audition before filming them?” My own small form of acceptance quickly drowned under something akin to jealousy.

“Not like that, no. The production company I work for only hires people we know, friends. They don’t need auditions because we know what they can and can’t do.” I chewed on my lip nervously, a thousand questions just waiting to burst free. “Maybe we can talk about this another time. It’s late and we are both a little wasted right now,” Decker suggested as he moved around the couch. “Is it okay if I sleep here?” He pointed to the sofa.

“Uh huh.” I watched as he kicked off his shoes and pulled at his shirt, dragging it up over his head, exposing his toned torso. A small embarrassing groan escaped my lips. His body was carved from every woman’s fantasy, a canvas of smooth, bronze skin. The muscles in his arms bunched as he reached for a cushion and arranged a makeshift bed. My gaze floated lazily over that male beauty. I could tell he was hard through the denim of his jeans and I blushed at the sight. It’s not like I hadn’t seen an erection before, but knowing Decker had one right now, because of me, well, it did wonders for a girl’s ego. When my eyes returned to his face, he stood watching me with an amused look. “Don’t worry, Country, this is a normal reaction to a beautiful woman. Well, not entirely normal as I’ve been having some issues down there, but I’m not about to jump you or anything. I wouldn’t do that to you. We’re friends, right?”

“What sort of trouble down there?” I found myself asking, ignoring the ‘friends only’ comment. I didn’t want friends, I wanted Decker. Decker who screwed women for a living? Oh heck no. I pushed my knees tightly together.

“Nope, not getting into that with you.” Decker stretched out on the couch. Casey had joked that maybe Decker had penile dysfunction. How close to the mark had he hit? Or did he have gonorrhea or something? That was a sobering thought, clearing all lust from my brain faster than a prairie fire with a tail wind.

“You’re like a real life Dirk Diggler,” I whispered with a small smile. He was nothing like the baby-face Marky Mark though. Decker was one hundred percent wild man.

“Dirk’s got nothing on me, Country.” I heard him murmur from the couch.

“Does Bradley know?”

“Yep.”

“That butthole. I’m so kicking his ass next time I see him.”

Decker laughed softly. “He was just protecting you, and me I guess. I’m not embarrassed by what I do, but it’s not Bradley’s place to be telling people. And he was no doubt hoping you would never find out, you’re far too innocent for the life I live.”

I snorted as I struggled to shove pillows off my bed. “I’m not a freakin’ virtuous angel, Decker. I’ve had sex, probably not as much as you, but I’m not some prissy flake like you and Bradley seem to think I am.”

“I had to explain the ins and outs of anal, Country. You want me to explain DP now?” I thought about that for a moment. I was too intrigued to stop myself.

“What’s DP?”

“Double penetration, two men, one woman.”

My mind floated over that scenario. “Like at the same time?”

“Like a sandwich, one on top, one on the bottom—”

I threw a pillow at him before he could go any further. “You’ve done that?” I exclaimed. “Are you bisexual?”

“No, Andi,” he chuckled, “I love women. But in my job, I’ve been required to share them with other men which was no hardship, because I never really saw them as anything other than a work colleague.”

I finally got the covers back to a point where I could squirm beneath them. “But what if yours touches his, while you’re…you know…doing it?”

Decker sighed loudly. “I guess the fact that I’m not attracted to men means I don’t think anything of it. Maybe a slight reposition is required to prevent crossing swords, but it’s not like I do it regularly. I’ve only done it on a few occasions, as it’s not my preferred sexual indulgence.”

I snuggled under the covers, my body cocooned in the cozy warmth of my bed. “What’s your preferred indulgence?”

“Straight up, plain ol’ sex, with a woman. Hard and fast, slow and soft, sixty-nine, doggy style, missionary, against a wall, over a couch, just your typical fucking. Now go to sleep.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what sex with Decker would be like. Obviously he would be good at it, and he would no doubt find my extraordinary lack of experience boring. But I didn’t need to worry, ‘cause we weren’t going to be having sex anytime soon, or ever. I mean, we were just friends. He was pretty to look at, he made me laugh, and he might be fun to fantasize about. But Decker was forbidden fruit. I was okay with that, right?

“Decker?” I called out, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, Andi.”

“I’m cool with you being a porn star.” Somehow I felt he needed to hear that.

“Thanks, Country.”

The quiet enveloped us again.

“Decker?”

He groaned loudly. “Yeah, Andi.”

“You can share the bed with me if you want. Your feet are hanging off the couch, and I trust you. We are friends after all.”

He didn’t answer for a long time. “I’m not sure I can trust myself,” he admitted.

“Don’t be a dumb ass, the bed is huge. How about I threaten to unman you if you touch me? Will that make it easier?”

Decker’s shadowy figure stood from the couch and approached the bed. “Not really, I can be stubborn and persistent when I see something I want.”

I couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, but he was standing right by the bed, and I knew he was looking right at me. The innuendo behind that admission made my heart flip. The desire to kneel before him and run my hands over that perfectly sculpted chest was burning through my body.

“Lucky you don’t want me like that,” I whispered. He made a huffing sound before climbing into the bed, careful to maintain as much distance from me as possible as he stretched out on top of the covers.

“I will smother you if you don’t zip that sassy little mouth and go to sleep,” he grumbled.

“Zipped.” I made a show of zipping up my lips, inserting a zipping sound effect and all. “Oh, and I promise I won’t Google you tomorrow, no matter how curious I am about your pretty dick,” I added quickly. Part of me really wanted to Google Decker Steele and check out this extra special penis. Another part of me couldn’t stand the thought of watching him have sex with other women. Been there, done that, even bought the shirt, hated it.

“Andi,” Decker groaned. “You can’t invite me into your bed and start talking about my dick. We might be friends and all, but I am also a mere male and my body knows beauty when it sees it.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” I gasped.

“Yes, you’re beautiful, smart, funny, feisty, every man’s dream come true. Now go to fucking sleep before I find something to gag you with.”

Silence descended as I lay there, absorbing Decker’s words. He thought I was beautiful. How many years had I hoped to one day to hear those words from Decker’s lips? Here, now, separated by a line of friendship with an ocean of confusing pornography and sex, he had finally said it. My heart should have soared with delight—he finally saw me. Instead, I found myself wanting to weep. I was lying, practically naked, beside him, he had put his hands on me tonight, pressed his lips to my neck, inhaled me like an addict needing a hit, and we had flirted and laughed so effortlessly. So many of my fantasies and dreams had come true in one night, yet he had never felt more distant and unattainable. Thankfully, my best friend, tequila, helped numb my thoughts. I finally fell into a drunken coma.

*

Queasiness forced my eyes open, and I had no time to appreciate the fact that Decker was nestled behind me, his arm thrown over my waist, spooning me close into his chest. Instead I scrambled from bed and ran for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me before empting the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Damn, tequila was so not my friend anymore.

“Andi, you alright?” Decker called out from behind the door.

“Do I sound alright to you?” I snapped when I finished gagging. He was quiet for a moment, and I thought I heard him gag.

“Are you alright?” I found myself asking between panting breaths.

“I will be if you could manage to keep it down.”

“What the…” I didn’t get the rest out as I began to throw up again. Finally, I drew in a deep breath and flushed the evidence of my weak stomach away. HATE YOU, TEQUILA! The sound of music seeped under the door, old school stuff, Elvis. I cringed. Decker had tinkered with my stereo. I turned the shower on and ignored my musical outrage as I showered and brushed my teeth. Having no clean, dry clothes in the bathroom, I wrapped a towel around myself before slinking out into the apartment. Decker was in the kitchen. His gaze lifted to me, his eyes widening at my lack of clothing.

“Sorry about that,” he nodded towards the bathroom, “I have a weak gag reflex, even the sound of someone else losing it makes my stomach roll. Blood, spit, and jizz I can do, hurling makes me green. I almost lost my guts in your kitchen sink.”

I scrunched up my nose at that little admission and quickly made my way over to my closet and grabbed the first thing my hands landed on. Decker was gentleman enough to keep his gaze averted as I returned to the bathroom to dress. Great, I thought as I glanced down at my clothes. I had managed to pick up my oldest, rattiest shirt which just happened to have ‘My Heart Belongs to the Back Street Boys’ across the front of it. My heart so did not belong to BSB, but my father had bought me the shirt when I was a teenager with some ridiculous notion that all teenage girls loved them. By the time I reemerged, Decker was sitting down with a plate of bacon and eggs. The fact he had played with my stereo irritated me more than the fact he had helped himself to my food. Any thoughts of irritation died when I noticed the bowl of ice cream sitting in front of an empty chair.

“You remembered?” I was shocked he had remembered.

Decker winked as he took in my shirt with a smirk. “Of course I did. A closet Back Street Boys fan, I knew it.”

Pulling out the chair across from him, I sat down, my stomach already demanding its fill of ice cream, my hangover cure. “The only reason I haven’t tossed the shirt is because my dad gave it to me.”

“Wow, could I be any more insensitive?” He looked downright uncomfortable as he shifted in his chair, avoiding my gaze.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Decker. Just don’t mistake my affection for this shirt as some secret love for a nineties pop group who almost drove me to a musical suicide. My heart has and always will belong to country.”

He managed a sheepish smile before digging into his bacon and eggs. My stomach began to settle as soon as the ice cream hit my tongue. I tried really hard to stop my eyes from lingering on Decker’s bare chest, but it was hopeless, a gun to my head couldn’t have stopped me from staring.

“We should have a rule. If you’re going to stare at mine, I should get to stare at yours,” Decker said with humor in his voice.

I dragged my eyes from his chest. He looked sleep ruffled, but otherwise good. His brown eyes twinkled with mischief and he looked ready to take on the world. I, on the other hand, needed a strong cup of coffee and a slow warm up before I could face the day.

“In your dreams. Maybe you should put a shirt on or something.” He ignored me with an arrogant smirk, typical male.

“So, how do you do it?” I asked, remembering the little revelation about Decker’s profession from the night before. Decker raised a brow in question. “The whole porn thing,” I clarified.

“I thought you said you weren’t a virgin?”

“I don’t mean how do you do it, you douche. I mean, what if the girl is ugly? How do you…you know…get it up?”

“Country, the girls are never ugly. They are all special in their own way. Some have more curves than others, some have clear skin, some don’t, some have big tits, some have little tits. At the end of the day, they all have their own kind of beauty. Fucking beautiful women for money has never been a hardship.” He seemed to hesitate before continuing. “I lost interest in it a while back though; it’s why I started directing instead. I guess sex gets boring after a while. Who would have thought?”

“What about girlfriends? Surely the girls you date aren’t cool with you sleeping with other girls,” I wondered out loud.

“I don’t date.”

I gave him my best ‘the fuck?’ look.

“I tried a couple of times back in the early days, but it didn’t work out. Don’t get me wrong, there are some actors and actresses who seem to make it work. Both are usually in the industry though so they understand that the sex is just that, sex. No emotional attachment. I can’t help but put myself in the woman’s position though. If it were me kissing her goodbye each day while she went off to fuck random guys, I wouldn’t be cool with it. So, it’s easier not to date.”

“How long have you been doing it?” I had so many questions I didn’t know where to start.

“Twelve years,” Decker replied. I did the math in my head. Decker had been working in the porn industry since he was twenty. The last time I had seen him, he was eighteen and strangely enough, fucking everything in sight. I guess he really was born for pornography. Perhaps it was the lingering alcohol in my system, perhaps it was my morning moodiness quadrupled with a hangover, but Decker’s nonchalance towards women and sex created a churning anger deep in my stomach. Here I had been crushing on this man for half my life and he had been out fucking everything with a pulse, getting paid for it. I had wasted so much time pining for something that I clearly did not need in my life.

“And you never get lonely? What about all the good stuff like first dates, first kisses, the excitement over a new relationship when the sexual tension gets a chance to build?”

Decker shrugged. “I guess I also miss out on all the shit, like fighting, cheating, and jealousy. From what I hear, the sex eventually turns into monotony, and doom and gloom prevails. No fucking thank you. I’m more than happy to stick my dick in a beautiful, willing woman with no attachments or messy relationship shit to deal with. The bonus is I get paid to do it.”

I tried not to wince at his visual he had just created in my throbbing head. “Sex shouldn’t be treated with such insignificance, Decker. I mean, I understand that sex is enjoyable and some people partake in it for the simple pleasure of sharing their bodies, but fuck, it should also be treated with a little damn respect. You can’t go through life without experiencing the beauty of an emotional attachment to a member of the opposite sex; it will turn you into an emotionally stunted eunuch.”

Decker seemed to bristle at my words. “You don’t think I respect the women I screw?”

“Hardly, you said it yourself, you just stick your dick in a willing woman with the bonus of getting paid for it.”

He stood from the table too quick, his chair falling back with force. His fists were clenched, and the anger he was barely containing took me by surprise. “You don’t know anything about what I do or who I do it with, Andi. You of all people should know what it feels like to have people make assumptions about them.”

Well, that just pissed me off. I matched his stance, pushing myself up, wishing my chair would have flown back to the ground with the same impressive velocity as Decker’s. It didn’t, the slight grating on the hardwood floor was completely lame.

“My teenage awkwardness has nothing to do with your offhand attitude towards sex. At least the few people who did make an attempt to get to know the teenage me earned a place in my heart. I made friends, male ones that I didn’t need to have casual detached sex with.”

“Why the fuck would I have wanted to spend my time around an emotionally stunted girl?” Decker growled, enunciating the words “emotionally stunted” so it was clear to me that he was throwing the words I had used at him right back in my face.

“God forbid you stop screwing every pretty thing with a heartbeat long enough to wonder why the emotionally stunted little girl was emotionally fucking stunted.”

Silence descended upon us like a thick, uncomfortable sludge. Decker took a long breath in and blew it out with exasperation.

“We might have known each other a long time, Andi, but neither of us really knows anything about the other.”

“Clearly,” I snapped.

Decker retrieved his shirt and shoes without saying a word and left. I didn’t try and stop him, caught somewhere between wanting his comfort him and wanting to kick his ass. As soon as the downstairs door to the apartment clicked shut, I stomped over to the stereo and turned off the ear splitting rock that was infecting my happy place. I pressed play on the CD that was already sitting inside, and Keith Urban’s “Raining on a Sunday” filled the room, the sorrowful melody turning my anger to sorrow.

A betraying tear slipped down my cheek, and I brushed it away with frustration. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was angry over, and I sure as hell had no idea why I was crying. All I knew for sure was my out of control feelings were over Decker. No matter how many times I told myself Decker was just a pretty ornament to be looked at and not touched, seeing him here in New York had tugged at that place that dwelled inside all women. That place where dreams of knights in shining armor, steadfast devotion, and happily ever afters dwelled. That place inside all women that yearned for tender touches and a coveted embrace. That place in all women called a heart, the place where dreams and impossibilities lived in a locked up box. I had allowed myself too many dreams and fantasies of Decker Steele, and now those dreams and fantasies were crushed under the revelation that he was nothing more than an insensitive man whore who went through life one woman at a time. I sniffled angrily, probably more than one woman at a time. I was being childish and unreasonable. Decker had never offered me anything more than friendship. I was just a silly girl caught up in silly dreams. He had been a good friend to me since I had arrived in New York, and I had gone and thrown that friendship back in his face with my prudish outrage. I didn’t want to lose Decker’s friendship because, quite simply, the thought of not being friends with him hurt even more.