“It was twenty-seven hours of labor,” my mother says through the phone. “We’re both exhausted. But then at the end, a beautiful baby boy.”

She’s spent the last ten minutes telling me the details of her and Baba’s latest delivery, and it feels like it’s been twenty-seven hours of listening. Admittedly, I’ve only been half paying attention, inserting uh-huhs and oh wows when it felt appropriate while I scurried around my apartment getting ready for class.

“Your father didn’t even make it upstairs. He’s passed out on the couch. I don’t know how I’m talking to you right now, I can barely think straight.”

“You should be in bed. I can chat with you later.” With my phone in one hand, I run my fingers through my hair and take a final glance in my bathroom mirror. God, I look tired, but I’ve looked tired for the last four months. I can’t remember the last time I slept well, the last time I didn’t wake dreaming of Logan.

Of course, it would probably help if I didn’t fall asleep to a video of us every night. Sometimes I don’t even masturbate while I watch. It never completely relieves the knot of tension inside when I do, and it usually leaves me feeling more miserable than when I started. But I like hearing his voice last thing before closing my eyes. I like remembering what it felt like to be with him.

It’s kind of pathetic, really. I know I can’t live like Majnun forever. Eventually I have to move on. Otherwise, why did I break up with him? Nothing’s changed. His job is still sleeping with other women. And I’m still miserable.

Well, not completely miserable. I do have school.

My mother dismisses my invitation to talk later. “I couldn’t miss today. Are you excited? Nervous? Did you fix yourself some of that calming tea blend I sent you?”

I’ve been in Austin for two weeks now, setting up my apartment and settling in. Yesterday, I went to a new student orientation and a financial aid seminar, and trained for a couple of hours for my job in the bursar’s office. Then I met with my advisor. Today classes start, and though I feel a bit unprepared for what’s to come, I feel confident that I’m doing the right thing. The undergraduate astronomy program is one of the best in the U.S., and my living expenses are much more affordable than in California.

“I am both excited and nervous,” I tell my mother, “and the tea is excellent.” I’m drinking coffee at the moment, but I don’t bother to let her know that.

And if this is what I look like after already a cup of strong brew, then the bags under my eyes are probably going nowhere. I turn off the bathroom light and head to my bedroom to look for my flip-flops.

“Nervousness and excitement are two sides of the same coin. You can rarely have one without the other.”

“I don’t know that quote. Who’s it from?”

“Me,” she says coyly. “See? I can say something useful every now and again.”

I smile proudly, even though she can’t see me. “You always say something useful, Mom. It’s just not always what I want to hear.” Kneeling, I stretch to retrieve the shoe that got pushed underneath my bed.

“Good advice never is. Speaking of which, let’s do your Tarot before I’m too sleepy to interpret your message. I have a feeling today’s going to be an important reading.” Every day since I’ve been gone, my mother has called to read me a Tarot card. That’s her excuse, anyway. Really, I think she just misses me.

“Page of wands!” she exclaims. “I knew today was good. There’s going to be a boy.” We both know when she says “a boy” she really means “Logan.” Ever since she saw him the day she went to pick up my clothes from my apartment for me, she’s been convinced he’ll show up in my life again. “He’s growing,” she says whenever she gets the opportunity, “you’ll see.”

But that’s my mother. She sees the good in people. I’d like to believe it’s a quality I inherited from her. But I’m also practical. And while I think that Logan probably is on a growth journey—because, who isn’t?—I can’t pause my life while he takes it.

I have too much to focus on right now to bring up the subject of Logan, so I ignore the elephant and say, “Yeah, mom. It’s my first day. There will probably be lots of boys.”

“Well, one boy in particular is going to be important. Maybe he’ll bring you good news.”

My mother forgets I know Tarot almost as well as she does. While the page of wands can mean a messenger or a creative man, it is also very much like the fool card. It’s more likely my reading represents the new path I’m on, my new beginning.

But I don’t contradict my mother’s interpretation. “Oh, yay. Hopefully that means my financial aid will finally drop into my account.”

“It hasn’t yet? Do you need any money, Boombalee?”

“No, no. I’m good.” Student loans and my part-time job in the bursar’s office will pay for my tuition. Revenue from Star-Crossed pays for my basic living expenses and all my textbooks. The first episode released two months ago and is currently Lelie’s number one most watched show. Critical response has been just as incredible and preliminary reports show the crossover to non-porn watchers is strong.

I’m proud of it. Proud of Logan. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets an award or two at the AVN show. If he got nominated, maybe I’d attend the ceremony. Surely, by then I’d be ready to see him again.

As of now it’s been four months. Four long lonely months.

“Don’t be prideful, Devi. ‘When you are—’”

I cut her off before she can finish her Buddha quote. “I’m not being prideful, Mom. I have enough money.”

“Good. But I can do a distance Reiki to manifest fortune for you if you need it. Just say the word.”

“Yeah. I will.” I brace the phone on my shoulder with my cheek while I stuff my physics textbook into my bag. “Hey, I have to get to class now. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

We hang up, and I take a minute to run through a centering meditation—another useful tool I’ve gotten from my mother—and then head out for the first day in my new world.

---

Do I miss doing porn?

The short answer is I miss the money. (It was really good money for not a lot of work. I could cover the monthly stipend for my campus job with just one shoot.)

The long answer is I miss doing porn with Logan.

It’s a long answer because I’d have to go into all the details of how, in my mind, they don’t exist separately anymore. Even girl-girl porn reminds me of Logan. Not because he watched me that day with Kendi, but because sex in general is now tainted because of him. Logan made sex better. He made it about all of me, and not just a part of me. Not only my body and what it could do. He made sex a whole experience. Now I can’t go back to how it was. It’s like I spent my entire life drinking skim milk, and though I liked it fine, I had no idea what I was missing until I drank whole milk. I’m sure it will change one day, that I’ll enjoy sex and porn again more fully after time and distance. After I fall in love and have sex with someone else.

But even when it does change, I don’t think I can go back to doing the kind of erotic films I was doing. I don’t even have an agent for it anymore. Back when I decided to leave Logan, when I decided to go back to school, I wrapped up a few assignments and then politely fired my agent. I’m not sure if I would have had trouble finding more work after LaRue threatened to blackball me, but my guess is that it wouldn’t have been the problem I’d feared since he didn’t even come after me for lost revenue like he said he would. He didn’t really want my money. He wanted me to spread my legs for his films.

Speaking of people who wanted me to spread my legs, I did make a formal complaint about Bruce Madden to the Adult Performer Advocacy Committee. Not that it did any good. He is still offered jobs and the APAC has made no formal investigations. Sadly, women don’t have much of a voice in the industry, surprise surprise. At least I did my part.

Logan did his part too. Though it’s too painful to watch his videos with other women, I still visit his website from time to time to read his blog and see the latest updates about Star-Crossed. One day, about a month after I last saw him, he’d written up a blog post about Bruce and about what he did to the women he worked with. Apparently there were other victims besides me. Logan did his research and put together a pretty in-depth tell-all about the “douchecanoe,” as he calls him. I’m not around anyone who would know those things anymore, but based on the comments the blog post got, I suspect Bruce is having trouble getting any big stars to work with him now. I’ve got to be honest—that makes me feel quite vindicated.

It also makes me feel gooey and melancholy about Logan too, because (a) what doesn’t? and (b) I know he spoke out for me. It’s proof that he really does love me, but I never questioned that.

Logan is the real reason I can never do porn again.

If I tried, I would be setting myself up for the same situation I fell into with him. Even if I made the rule to not date another porn star, I’m smart enough to know that those kinds of rules aren’t always within a person’s power to keep. Besides, it would be hypocritical for me to be skim milk when I no longer want to drink it myself. It was fine once upon a time. Not anymore. Not for me. Now I want the real thing. So I’m going to hold out for the whole milk.

As for Logan…

Though I’d never admit it to my mother, I sometimes like to fantasize that he’ll change his mind, that he’ll decide he prefers whole milk too. But it’s not really fair to try to put that dream on his reality. He might actually like skim milk. He might not even be able tell the difference. I can’t sit around wishing for him to “fall in line” and show up on my doorstep with a box full of chocolates and a bouquet of roses. That just might not be his future.

But my future is the stars. So it doesn’t mean that I don’t still hope.

---

After a morning of back-to-back classes, I have four syllabi to go over, five chapters of reading, an essay to write, and a page of math problems.

It’s overwhelming and awesome.

I haven’t been this happy since…well, since Logan.

School, I decide, is the best cure for a broken heart. That and a busy schedule. Even though I’m eager to dive into my homework, I’m also thankful I have my work-study job in the bursar’s office to keep me truly occupied. I’m only scheduled for three hours on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but with my full course heavy with math and science classes, I’m sure it will be all I can handle.

The job is easy, thankfully, and even though it’s my first day at the counter, it only takes half my shift before my supervisor says, “You’ve really got the hang of this, Devi. Think you can handle some students on your own while I start working on the deposit for my drawer?”

“Yep. I’m good.” Like I said, the job is pie, and Jake’s a great trainer.

He’s also amazing to look at—tall, dark, handsome, built, and totally gay. He’s witty and smart and likes to tease, and since there’s no sexual tension, it’s easy to tease back. We’ve only known each other two days, and he’s already a friend.

“Coolio. I’ll be in the back. Holler if you need anything, I’ll be here in a flash.”

I don’t need anything, but I turn my back to the counter and call after him. “Hey, Jake!” When he rushes back, I say, “Just testing.”

He laughs. “You’re such a bad girl.” If he only knew. His expression sombers quickly. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you come in,” he says to someone behind me. “Devi will get you taken care of.”

Jake walks off, and I put on a friendly grin and pivot to face the person in front of me. “How can I—” I start, and then my voice cuts off in a sharp intake of breath.

Because the guy in front of me is Logan.

My body reacts instantly, buzzing and itching as if on cue. As if we’re in production for Campus Porn and our script has us meeting and banging within two minutes. I’m ready to start shedding my clothing and I’m not above climbing over the counter.

But we aren’t on set for anything. This is real life, and while I’m thrilled at the sight of him, I’m on pins and needles too.

He locks eyes with mine, a host of familiar emotions present in his intense gaze. “Am I too late?” he asks.

“What?” I ask, even though I heard him. I might even know what he’s asking, but I’m still so stunned to see him that I’ve forgotten how to use words.

“Am I too late?” He glances toward the back office where Jake disappeared just a moment ago.

Damn, he really is asking what I think he’s asking!

And he’s really here. In front of me.

My stomach flutters with nervous exhilaration, and I have to swallow before I can respond. “You mean, are you too late for me? That in the short time I’ve been in Austin I may have fallen madly in love with my supervisor? Because, number one, he’s gay.”

“He’s gay?” Logan tries to play surprised but mostly he sounds relieved.

“Mm hmm.” I lean against the counter to be nearer to him but also because I’m shaking like a leaf.

“Huh.” He leans forward too, his elbows on the counter, and he’s so close I can smell the familiar clean scent of his skin. “What’s number two?”

Number two, I’m still madly in love with you.

I almost say it. We’re flirting, and it’s easy and natural and like we’ve never been apart. But I’m trying to be cautious because what is he doing here?

“Number two, I don’t just give my heart to everyone I work with.” Speaking of my heart, it’s pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

His eyes are back on mine, his gaze deep and penetrating. “I know that about you. It’s one of my favorite traits of yours.”

It’s funny how, out of the hundreds of amazing things he’s said and done to me, a simple statement like this can still twist me in delicious knots. Maybe because a part of me had feared that he hated me after I left. That there would never be anything about me that he thought of as his favorite again.

But he doesn’t hate me. And he’s here. And I’ve missed him so so much that just seeing him makes me all sorts of crazy happy. But if nothing’s changed since I last saw him…“What are you doing here, Logan?” My tone is demanding and I don’t try to hide the bite of desperation. “You come all the way to Austin like this, and I’m going to start to get my hopes up. Is there any reason why maybe I should get my hopes up?”

His eyes fall—nervous maybe? He digs in his back pocket. “I don’t know if it’s worth getting your hopes up over. But as for what I’m doing here,” he pulls out his wallet and flips it open, “I came to pay a tuition bill.”

Understanding settles in, and my heart literally sinks.  “I don’t need you to pay my tuition bill, thank you. I’m doing fine on my own.”

I wonder if he talked to my mother or if he just decided to come do this on a whim of his own. I’m not sure how he ever got the notion that I would want this, as if he owed me. As if I were his whore. I’m pissed and my eyes are stinging, and how the hell is it still possible for him to hurt me like this?

But then he says, “Not your tuition, Queen Cass. Mine.”

My throat goes dry. “What?”

“Yeah, see,” he runs a hand through his hair, and I have to bite my lip to keep myself from doing anything rash like, oh, molest him in a public space. “It took me a little while to get all the details sorted out, but I’ve wrapped up all of my prior obligations and sold a portion of my production studios to Vida. And as of about three days ago, I’m officially a student at UT Austin.” His expression is somehow both bold and boyish. “In other words, you are looking at a man who is no longer a porn star.”

In a flash, all sense of propriety goes out the window and I’m crawling over the counter to leap into Logan’s arms.

And then we’re kissing, greedily, desperately, our mouths clashing awkwardly with eagerness. My ass is still on the counter, but I wrap my legs around his waist, and his hands thread possessively through my hair, and I can’t even think because my feelings are so big and consuming.

“You’re crying,” he whispers when I pull away to catch my breath.

“I can’t help it. You enrolled in school for me.” I watch my thumb sweep across his jawline, too overwhelmed to look him in the eye.

“Hey.” With two fingers, Logan pushes my chin up to meet his gaze. “I enrolled in school for me. I rented out my house and am living in a one-bedroom in Texas for you. Got it?”

Even better. I’m grinning, but I rein it in to give him a look of mock seriousness. “Got it.”

He swipes away my tears with the back of his finger then wraps a hand behind my neck. “Awfully convenient that the same school you chose has a fairly decent film program, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Convenient. That’s what that was.” I like the idea of fate and everything, but I’m not one to rely on it alone. So I nudged the universe a little. Can you blame me?

“You knew I’d follow you here, didn’t you?”

My mind flashes to that Tarot’s star card, the card that I’ve held close for all these months. “I didn’t know. I hoped.”

Logan pulls back to study me. “Why didn’t you say that’s what you wanted?”

“I couldn’t ask you to give up your world for me. You would have resented me forever. You had to choose that for yourself.” I’m so proud that he has, that he’s thought about this and stayed true to his feelings while taking planned, logical steps that are good for him and his future.

“Hanged man has to hang himself?” God, I love him.

“You got it.” Then, because it seems like maybe I should be sure he really has chosen what I think he has, that he’s really okay with it, I ask, “So you’re completely out of the porn business?”

“Not completely.” He continues to search my face while he talks, perhaps looking for my approval. “I’m still producing long distance. Tanner’s holding down the fort. I’ll probably do some directing now and then.”

“But no more performing?”

He shakes his head, and it sounds like a promise when he says, “No more performing.”

I’m relieved. And, strangely, a little something else. “No more Logan O’Toole films. That’s almost disappointing.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates through me. “Maybe, I could come out of retirement for a film or two. But I’ll only star with one woman.” His voice gets low and serious. “I’ll only ever perform again with you, Devi.”

I reach up to capture his mouth with mine, kissing him in approval.

But he breaks away after only a few seconds, pulling back with a somber expression.  “I’m sorry, babe. Really sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t quit before. I know that it hurt you…” He trails off, I think, because this apology is hard for him.

I know he needs to say this, but I need him to know I already know. “I get it. You didn’t mean to hurt me. You were doing your job. A job that you loved.”

“I didn’t really love it anymore when I didn’t have you.”

Seriously, my ovaries just imploded. Sensitive Logan is so freaking hot.

He cradles my face against his hand. “And, besides hurting you, it hurt me. I was in love with you. Even before you left, I knew that loving you changed things. That it should change things. I knew that every time I was with someone who wasn’t you, I was betraying that emotion, cheapening the moments we shared with these false imitations. I promise I figured it out pretty fast after you left. I’m just sorry it wasn’t sooner.”

And I’d thought I was done with the waterworks. “I’m not going to lie,” I sniffle, “I’ve been miserable without you. But I think you were probably worth the wait.”

He answers with another kiss, one I can feel in between my thighs, and our hands start roving, and if not for the polite clearing of a throat behind me, it’s quite possible that our display of affection might have moved from PG-13 to rated R.

Who am I kidding? Rated R would be tame for us.

Like we did when we were caught at the art gallery, Logan and I freeze while Jake, the throat-clearer, opens the drawer on the other side of the counter. “Don’t mind me. I just came out for a deposit slip.”

I turn and give him an apologetic smile. He returns it with a look that says we’re-good-but-you-better-believe-I’m-asking-for-details before going back to his paperback.

We laugh in unison.

Then, reluctantly, I say, “While I’d like to keep making out with you, I am on the clock. My new job doesn’t encourage heavy petting like my last one did.”

“Good. I’d be fiercely jealous if it did.” He kisses me once more, chastely, then swats my ass. “Now get back to your side of the counter so I can calm down before I walk out of here. I still need to pay my tuition, too.”

“Oh yeah. Let’s do that.” I unwrap my legs from him and scoot back to my place. “Do you have an invoice?”

“I didn’t bring it with me. Can you look it up?”

“Of course.” I turn to my computer screen, about to type in his name when I remember that I don’t know it. Not his real name.

He’s one step ahead of me. “Last name, Johnson.”

“Johnson? But that’s—” a great porn name, I start to say, but he cuts me off.

“First name, Dwayne.”

I’d always known he was embarrassed by his real name, and I always thought I’d be considerate and respectful when I finally learned what it was, but I can’t help myself. I laugh. “Your name is Dwayne Johnson? Like, The Rock?”

“I’m changing it legally, I swear.”

“Do I have to call you Dwayne now?” I’m still laughing as I pull up his account. “Because I just don’t know if I can—” I have to pause until I can gather myself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I’m not really sorry. Not at all. “I’ll get used to it. I promise.”

“You can just keep calling me Logan, thank you very much.”

“Uh huh. We’ll see.” It’s too good to not to use it for as long as it’s entertaining. And I have a feeling it will be entertaining for quite some time—at least to me.

It’s only a few minutes before I’ve swiped Logan’s credit card, applied the payment to his account, and stamped his receipt Paid in Full. Purposefully, I brush my fingers against his as I hand him the printout. I shiver from the spark of electricity that passes through us.

So maybe we’re no longer pornographic performers, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still have the chemistry.

Logan folds his receipt and stuffs it in his pocket with his wallet. “What time are you out of here?”

“Four-thirty.” I glance at the clock on the wall. A whole hour from now.

Logan/Dwayne nods.

A beat passes, and I can tell that he’s as unsure of what happens next as I am. As reluctant to leave as I am to let him.

After a minute, he pops the question. “Dinner later?”

“We both know what you’re really asking. And the answer is yes.”

He backs away from the counter, his eyes still on me. “Hope you’re hungry. Because I have quite an appetite.”

“I remember. I think about it a lot, actually.”

He groans. “You’re killing me, Cass.” He pauses at the door to adjust himself. “I love you,” he mouths.

And I know he does. Maybe even as much as I love him. But I’m not Cass right now. I’m not Layla, and he’s not Majnun. We aren’t star-crossed lovers who wish for each other across the sky. I’m Devi, and he’s Logan (er, Dwayne), and what we have is real and grounded.

I blow him a kiss, and even though I wish he weren’t leaving, I’m confident that we’ll have plenty of time to make up for the time we spent apart.

When he’s gone, Jake appears almost instantly. “Who on earth was that fine piece of manhood?”

“My boyfriend,” I answer like it’s no big deal that I’m dating the most amazing guy in the world. “His name is Dwayne.” Somehow I manage to not laugh this time.

“Lucky, lucky girl.” Jake lets out a dreamy sigh. Then he leans in and whispers, “I hope you don’t mind me telling you this, but Dwayne looks exactly like this—don’t judge me for knowing this—a porn star. Logan O’Toole. He’s over-the-top sexy. Totally to die for.”

I bite back my smile. “Oh really?”

“Can you imagine what that would be like? Dating a guy who does porn for a living?” Jake practically swoons at the idea. “The things a man like that could do!”

I shrug my shoulder dismissively. “Plenty, I’m sure.”

I don’t tell him that I’m more than sure of what a man like that can do. Or that I don’t have to imagine what it would be like. I don’t tell him that a porn star boyfriend is only hot for about five minutes. I don’t tell him that Logan O’Toole is much more than just a sex symbol or a status or a “fine piece of manhood.”

I let Jake keep his fantasy. He and the rest of the world can have Logan O’Toole. I get to have the real thing.