I shut the door behind me—softly, but Heather still hears it and sits bolt upright on the couch.

“Wha the fu…” She rubs her eyes and glares at me before looking at her phone. “One forty-five? You fucked him, didn’t you?” She tosses the throw off her lap.

“No.”

“Do not fuck the porn star!”

“What the hell, Heather. I’m not.”

She’s rubbing her eyes again. “You want to...”

“No…” I say, tossing my purse on the floor. “I don’t.” I just lied because I do, I so do, and I fucking hate it. The thing is, yes, I’m smarter than that. He fucks women for money. It’s gross if you really, really think about it—but then if you don’t really, really think about it, if I didn’t know him—it would be just a little hot.

“Well, I’d want to fuck him…” She stands up and stretches. “I think this is a terrible, horrible, no good idea.”

“Of course you do.”

“I do.” She stumbles toward the hall. “You loved him—”

“Loved!” I stress. “LOVED him. Past tense. Not present tense.”

Heather snorts. “Um-hmm. Loved him. Fucked him. What the hell ever, Jemma. I know more about him than I do that guy you dated for a year… hell…” she tosses her hands in the air. “What was his name? Dale or some shit?”

I shake my head. “Try Tristan.”

“Fuck.” Her eyes narrow. “Really, Tristin? That sounds like something my mee-maw would call her one-eyed Pomeranian—anyway, I know more about Tyler than I do that fuckface. You cannot be friends with an ex. An ex that does porn. An ex that you watch fuck other girls. An ex that tongue fucks a pussy like Captain Ahab trying to spear Moby-fucking-dick.”

I glare at her. “I hate you right now.”

She steps close to me and glares. “You smell like a guy.”

“I rode home with him. In a cab.”

“Road head?”

“What the—no. I did not give him road head in the back of a fucking cab so the grungy looking cabbie can jerk one off while driving down the road.”

She laughs. “That would make a good porn. Suggest that to your boss and see if you can get a royalty cut.”

“Oh, God. Maybe you should go into directing porn.”

“Maybe.” She laughs. “Where did you guys go anyway?”

“To a bar.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she narrows her eyes. “To a bar?”

“Yeah, with some people from work. It’s not a big deal.”

“Jemma, I’m just saying, this is bad. Like super bad. You are gonna get hurt.” I walk to the hallway, and she follows me. “Hurt I say. I love you. I don’t want you hurt because then I’ll kill a motherfucker and orange is not the new black on this ass.”

“I appreciate that, Heather.” Smiling, I open the door to my room. “But I’m not gonna fuck him. There is no way I would have sex with a porn star. Really.”

“Well, like I said, just be careful.” She flicks my hair behind my shoulder. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

She stumbles down the hall to her room. I shut my door, pull my clothes off, and lie down on the bed. I’m tired as shit, but I can’t go to sleep because I can still smell Dolce and Gabbana. No matter how hard I try to think about anything else, all I can think about is him…and me. And how things used to be.

After trying to shove him out of my thoughts for half an hour, my mind falls to the gutter. I sit up, grab my laptop, place it on my lap, and type in Johnny Depth in the search bar. Why? Because I can’t get him out of my head and this is going to be my life for a while, so I may as well get used to it. I’m training myself to have no reaction the next time I watch him fuck the shit out of some blonde with big boobs.

I click on one of the website links and swallow. There is a still frame of Tyler fisting his cock. My heart bangs against my ribs. I have that feeling I’m doing something dirty, and I guess I kind of am, I mean it is porn of my ex. Shaking my head, I click play.

Tyler is sitting behind a desk, shuffling through papers. The door swings open and a girl dressed in a Catholic school girl outfit saunters over to him.

“Professor Depth,” she says in a breathy moan. “I need some help with this assignment…” The camera lens zooms in on her enormous breasts straining against the material of that white, cotton shirt.

“What kind of help, Mindy.”

Oh, I can’t take the way his voice sounds. I mute the volume and shift under the comforter. He walks around the desk, grabs her by the shoulders and bends her over, rubbing his palm over her ass. She glances over her shoulder and bites down on her lip just as he works her red, lace thong down her thighs. Tyler kneels, spreads her ass cheeks apart, and then slowly flicks his tongue over her pussy. My stomach kinks a little. This is so fucking weird.

Minutes later, she’s been flipped back around on the desk, with her skirt hiked up around her waist, legs bent back by her ears. Her tits have popped out and he’s sucking on one. The screen goes to a close-up of his dick thrusting into her. Over and over. And fuck, it’s hot. It shouldn’t be, and if I really let myself think about who it is, it bothers me, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t turning me on.

My eyes stray over to my bedside table, stopping on the top drawer. I bite down on my lip then glance back at the screen. Shit. Reaching over to the table, I tell myself it’s normal to do this. It’s completely normal to watch porn and then feel this overwhelming urge to masturbate. That’s why people watch it—to get turned on. And what do you do when you get turned on? You spank one out. It’s just that, I’ve now got this dildo buried to the hilt, and tomorrow I’m going to be face to face with the guy whose dick has made me desperate to ram this piece of silicone inside me, and he’s my fucking ex.