Two men with six-pack abs passionately embrace and begin kissing. Soon, they tear each other’s clothes off. The camera zooms in as the pair writhes against each other’s naked bodies. Eventually, one of them gets on top and a full-on anal scene ensues.

Normally, I don’t watch porn.

But since Carter had it on when I came over, I told him not to bother to turn it off. At least he wasn’t jerking off to it.

He was actually working on image edits, and had it on as “background noise.” It was I who sat down to watch.

“Change the channel,” he offers, fixated on his computer screen. “I know that isn’t your thing. I’ll be done in five minutes.”

Flicking the remote, I move through almost a dozen stations. There’s a girl dressed as a nurse, administering a shot in the form of a dildo. Two men in leather suits with assless pants on. And a threesome making a daisy chain. None of which grabs my attention and screams “watch me.”

Carter doesn’t discriminate between gay and straight porn. As long as the men are good-looking, he’s down with whatever is on. He actually likes to watch porn, and not just for jerking-off material. He finds the skits amusing and the storylines intriguing.

That’s why he has all the porn stations. Clicking to another, and another still, I end up stopping on Playboy TV when I see a couple fucking on a kitchen counter.

As the guy thrusts violently into the girl, I can’t help but think how different this is from the sex tape Brooklyn and I made. The one where Brooklyn is actually making love to me, not fucking me.

I figured out what he said to me that night, what he whispered into my ear. It took me hours of watching us together, but he said, “I love making love to you.”

Swoon.

I wish I had heard it then, because figuring it out after our forbidden affair ended has only put me in the hopeless romantic category.

Sighing, I click the television off and look over at Carter. He is fiddling with his mouse. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Editing,” he says with another click and drag.

“I know that.” Getting to my feet, I walk over and stand behind him. On the screen is an image of a woman in a wedding dress. He’s blowing it up. I watch as it grows larger and larger on the screen. Tapping the paint can icon, he adds vibrant red to the bouquet of flowers that is held in her hands, along with yellow, green, and orange. When he zooms out, I can see that she is sitting on the ground with a pair of Chucks on.

Leaning even closer, I ask, “Who is that?”

He changes the specs in the adjacent window and I watch the photo zoom out some more. “Just a girl I hired to be a jilted bride.”

“Really? Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m not a wanker. These images are hot right now, and I wasn’t shooting any weddings in the next couple of weeks, and I wanted to add to my stock photos. I already uploaded the jilted groom prints. I thought I showed them to you?”

I pull my mouth to the side. “I don’t think you did.”

“Well, they’re selling like bloody mad with the whole Parker/Bennett debacle.”

I thump his shoulder. “Yes, I bet they are.”

He twirls around in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. “By the way, did you see the news yesterday? I can’t believe Gigi Bennett leaked the tape as a publicity ploy.”

“Me either! And did you see where it got her? A nomination for an Emmy.”

“No shit—I missed that.”

“Yep. I swear it was all a publicity stunt, but what do I know?”

Carter turns back around in his chair and taps his keyboard. “You should have taken some pictures yourself. Of that night and the wedding debacle.”

“Carter!” I scold.

He raises his palms. “I’m just saying, you would have made a fortune.”

I shake my head. “Has anyone ever told you what an ass you are?”

Standing up, he heads toward the kitchen. “All the time, especially when I make them come, and then tell them it’s time to leave.”

I follow behind him. “That’s enough talking shit. Tell me about Eli. How are things?” I raise a suggestive brow.

Reaching for the wineglasses, he glances over at me. “Nothing has changed since last week. We still haven’t shagged. If that’s what you are asking?”

“Still?” I laugh.

“Why do you think I’m watching porn?”

Grabbing an opened wine bottle from the refrigerator, I set it down and stare at him. “What’s going on? Why wait this long?”

“Grab the cheese, will you?” He sidesteps me to reach for a box of crackers in the upper cabinet.

“Carter.”

“Because,” he says, “we both want to take things slow.”

I put the cheese on the table and uncork the wine. “Any slower and—”

He cuts me off. “Don’t say it.” Reaching, he grabs the block of cheese to slice it on the butcher block. “I already know what you’re going to say, and that is why I invited him to come with me to Niagara Falls next weekend.”

I giggle as I pour the wine into our glasses. “Separate rooms?”

“Fuck no. This is a romantic getaway, and if it doesn’t move things along, nothing is going to.”

“Carter Kincaid in a sexless relationship?” I tease. “It’s unheard of.”

The plastic sleeve of crackers is loud when he dumps it on the plate. When he looks up, he makes a face at me. “Speaking of slow moving, did you call Landon back yet?”

I’ve been back in the city for four weeks. And it has been a productive four weeks. I’ve spoken to my father on countless occasions. It’s good I took that time to cool off. It helped. When we met, I told him how disappointed in him I was. What happened wasn’t really my business, but that man I put on a pedestal is gone. Still, he is my father, and I can’t cut him out of my life. He isn’t seeing Vanessa, at least. It wasn’t my father she was with that night, thank God. And he did fire her when he found out what she’d said to me. The things she said about Brandon I think hurt him the most.

I also quit my job in the grown-up way, giving two weeks’ notice.

In addition, I’ve been spending most of my days in Brooklyn, the place where my mother lives with her new husband. She and Josh got married over a year ago, and although I attended the small affair, it was begrudgingly. And I never took the time to get to know Josh. He is really sweet, and funny, and a talented artist who loves my mother.

My mother, father, and I went to Brandon’s grave together yesterday. Slowly, our family is healing from his loss, and although things will never be the same, I think we have all made peace with our feelings, in our own way, Cam included.

So yeah, a month, and no, I haven’t heard from Brooklyn, the person. I’ve called him and left him messages. The first one before I got on the plane to let him know I’d told Cam about us. The second one when I landed to tell him I missed him. The third one that night when I got in bed all alone and hated the mess I’d left behind. Countless messages later, he has yet to answer a single one.

And yes, it’s time I let him go.

I sip my wine. “I did call Landon,” I tell Carter. “We’re going out tomorrow night.”

He raises a brow. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Popping a piece of cheese in my mouth, I shrug. “It’s just dinner.”

“Hmmm…”

“What?” I ask tartly.

“Are you sure you’re ready to move on?”

I take another small sip of wine. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Amelia.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “I don’t have a choice. And technically I met him first, so I’m moving back.” I try to laugh, but for some reason I can’t.

“Just don’t hurt him.”

His words sting. I don’t think I’ve ever hurt a man, and I don’t want to now. But Landon has been pursuing me, so I think I owe him this date. Unable to talk about it any longer, I twirl around and head toward the living room with my glass in hand. “Come on, let’s watch TV.”

Watching porn has to be easier than facing the truth…

That I messed my life up and it is never going to be the same.