The sun beats down on my back as I walk across campus toward the academic building to meet with my advisor. Thanks to all the money I’ve been socking away from my Ballsy paychecks, I can enroll in extra classes this semester. Which means I’ll be only thirty more credits from getting my degree.

Just thinking about how close I am to achieving this major goal makes my heart feel too big for my chest. This has been an abstract dream for so long, the kind of thing I never thought would come true. And now I’m only three full-time semesters from reaching it. It feels surreal.

I wish there was someone I could share this with. Someone I could admit my fears and joys to and have them tell me how proud they are. I shake that thought off. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that it does no good to dwell on the way you wish things were. Things are how they are, period.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see my mother calling. I sigh. It’s like I conjured her call with my childish wishing.

“Hi, Mom,” I answer.

“Peter, is it so much to ask you to call your mother every once in a while?” she chides.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy.” Not to mention calling my parents always makes me feel like a complete failure.

My mother tsks. “Too busy to call your mother? I can’t imagine you’ve been busier than your father and me. All by ourselves, trying to run a failing dairy farm, up at the crack of dawn every day to get the cows into the milking parlor, dealing with falling milk prices. We had an outbreak of BVD in the spring, and it nearly ruined us.”

I listen silently to her complaints. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it. Even if I’d stayed in Wisconsin and learned to run the business like they’d wanted, what the hell was I going to do to stop a diarrheal outbreak or the dropping milk prices?

“Maybe it’s time to sell the farm and retire?” I suggest. I know I’m beating a dead horse with this one, but if it’s as bad as she says, it might be past time. Sell the whole thing to a larger dairy producer and be done with it.

“You expect your father to just throw away a farm that’s been in his family for generations? He’s still holding out hope of you coming home and taking over like he dreamed when you were born.”

“He needs to get over that, since it’s never going to happen. I’m nearly finished with my degree, and I’ve got a nice life out here in LA.”

“Those silly sketches? Be real, Peter.”

“I’ve gotta go, Mom. I’m late for an appointment.” I smash my finger against the red disconnect button before I can hear her response and shove the phone back into my pocket.

An odd thought crosses my mind. I wonder if Brewer gets along with his parents? Are they proud of him? They can’t be that bad; otherwise, he couldn’t possibly be as carefree as he is. I’m sure everything in his life has been like a damn fairytale.

I huff and rub my hands over my face, then I force myself to shove all the bullshit my mom just spewed at me into a box in the corner of my mind and lock it up tight. They can’t touch my life here. So what if I won’t have anyone here to celebrate graduation with me? That’s life, and I need to get over it.

After meeting with my advisor and planning out my next three semesters so I can sail through to graduation, I find a missed text from Rebel.

Rebel: Holy shit dude, your scene with Brewer is blowing up. You’ve had 150k views in a week!

Tank: Damn. Guess I’m not the only one who wanted to see Brewer finally shut the hell up. Is this a good time to ask for a raise? Lol.

Rebel: If it keeps going like this, I wouldn’t rule it out. People in the comments and on Twitter are sure you and Brewer have something going on outside work. They insist there’s no way you could fake that explosive chemistry, Lol.

Tank: Ha, leave it to them to mistake raw hatred for passion.

Rebel: Whatever you have to tell yourself, dude.

I frown at Rebel’s response and grumble to myself. Brewer and I together is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. We’d kill each other within a week. The viewers having that dumbass theory is one thing. They don’t know me. All they see when they click on one of my videos is a guy with a vocabulary apparently limited to grunted commands, who fucks with an intensity they’re sure they’d love to experience.

To that end, it’s not like Rebel or any of the other guys know me much better than that. Hell, guys I’ve dated hardly knew me better than that. Why do I keep everyone at arm's length? That’s probably a question for a therapist, because all I know is I don’t see the point of letting anyone get too close when I know they’ll only ever see me as a big, dumb brute. That’s all my parents ever saw. Why would anyone else in the world be any different?

On my bike, heading away from campus, I don’t feel like going straight home to sit by myself. Don’t get me wrong, I love alone time. I prefer alone time by far compared to being around other people. But the phone call from my mom left me feeling shitty, as my parents always seem to do.

I ride around for a while, feeling the hot sun on my back and the wind in my face. Sure, LA traffic is a nightmare, but on a bike it’s not so bad. It’s not until I end up outside Ballsy that I stop. Is it pathetic to hang around work when you’re not scheduled? Some of the other guys do it, so it can’t be that bad.

I head inside and am immediately met with the sound of fucking. Heart’s getting pounded, if I had to guess. I don’t recognize the other grunts quite as readily. I round the corner to the set and see Heart on his hands and knees on a bed with one of our not-so-regulars, Otter, going at him from behind.

Since Rebel stepped back, it’s been more frequent that some of the lesser known guys have been filming more scenes. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t hurt to hire a few more guys, but Bear is picky as fuck about who gets to call themselves a Ballsy Boy. He’s gotten even weirder since Pixie showed up, but I’m not even touching that whole mess.

Rebel notices me and waves, a look of surprise on his face. I know enough to keep my mouth shut while a scene is rolling, since those mics pick up everything. I nod at Rebel and continue watching the fucking going on four feet away.

It strikes me how odd my life is. It’s fucking awesome, don’t get me wrong, but I never thought I’d be standing in a porn studio watching people fuck like it’s gardening or some equally mundane activity. I never expected to get into porn, but I haven’t regretted it for one second. This isn’t the job I want to be in forever, but I love doing it, and I’m not ashamed of it.

I know porn stars are supposed to be the height of sexual immorality or some bullshit. The way I see it, we’re providing a service. We’re here for all the sexually confused men out there, all the women who want to explore their own sexuality more, couples who want to spice up their love life, and all the millions of men and women who are bored and horny. We’re practically fucking saints. Pun intended.

By the time the scene wraps up, I’m half hard.

“Hey, man, what brings you by? You’re not shooting today, are you?” Heart asks as he towels himself off, walking over to me bare assed with a smile on his face.

“No, just bored and in the area, so I thought I’d swing by.”

“Why were you in the area?” I jump at the sound of Brewer’s voice behind me.

“Jesus,” I gripe, spinning around to face him. As soon as my gaze lands on his cocky smirk, with the smell of sex lingering all around us, my dick goes from half hard to full mast in seconds.

“Aw, did I scare you, grizzly? Oh, someone is happy to see me,” he says as his eyes drop to my erection.

“I’ve been standing here watching Heart get pounded for the last half hour.”

“Suuuure,” Brewer taunts, stepping closer and tracing his finger along the waist of my jeans.

I grit my teeth, trying to suppress a shiver. My body wants to sway toward Brewer—to pick him up, toss him on the messy bed a few feet away, and fuck him until we both collapse from exhaustion.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I fuck him once, and now my body is roaring for a repeat? Jesus, I need to get my shit together.

I slap his hand away and growl.

“Aw, don’t be mad, grizzly. You know I like to play with you.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to keep your hands off me? I’m not one of your fuck toys, end of story. What the hell are you doing here anyway? You aren’t scheduled today.”

“You know my schedule?” he teases. “God, you’re like some sort of sexy stalker.”

I clench my fists and spin around, determined to get the hell away from Brewer before I clock him. I don’t know why I came by here anyway. It was stupid. There’s a reason I stay cooped up in my apartment alone.

“Hey, Tank.” Rebel catches me on my way out the door.

“What’s up, man?”

“Is everything okay? You don’t normally come by here on your day off.”

“Yeah, I was just riding around and thought I’d stop. I’m going to head home now.” I point my thumb at the door for emphasis.

“Once we’re finished wrapping here, I’m meeting Troy for dinner around the corner, want to join us? Heart’s coming and Brewer, too.”

Ah, so that’s why Brewer was here.

“Uh…” I look between Rebel and the door trying to decide if I want to put up with Brewer’s clownish bullshit just to hang out with Rebel, Troy, and Heart.

“Come on,” Rebel insists.

“All right, fine.”

I loll about while Rebel gets everything with the film crew wrapped up and tells the set staff what he needs them to do to have the set ready for tomorrow's shoot between Campy and Pixie. Maybe I’ll swing by to watch that one, too. Pixie is cute as hell on camera. There’s something about him that just lights you up inside. It’s impossible to be in a bad mood with Pixie around. It’s probably a good thing Bear hasn’t let me do a scene with Pixie. I think I like the kid too much to fuck him.

When everything is in order and Heart has showered, we head over to a little Mexican restaurant two blocks away from the studio. Troy and his friend Mason are waiting for us with a half-eaten basket of chips and a couple of margaritas already on the table.

I’m surprised when Heart greets Mason with a kiss on the cheek, and Mason’s face flames bright red. He stammers out an awkward greeting before accidentally flipping the basket of chips and nearly toppling his drink.

“Sorry we ran behind. Otter and Heart were putting on such a good show, I didn’t want to tell them to wrap it up too quickly.”

“Your job is so cool,” Troy mutters in awe before pulling Rebel into a quick but seemingly sloppy kiss.

There’s a strange twinge in my heart watching the two of them together. I’ve never been very good at having a boyfriend. But every once in a while, I get a bug up my ass to look for one. Between school and work, there’s no way I’d have time right now, but it would be kind of nice to have someone to come home to at the end of the night.

Brewer sighs wistfully.

“What was that for, you getting boyfriend fever?” Troy teases Brewer.

“No, just remembering how good Rebel used to give it to me. I miss that cock, man.”

Rebel’s brows pull together, and Troy’s expression stiffens as he looks uncertainly between Rebel and Brewer.

“Like doing scenes together, or…”

Sensing this is about to go south rapidly, I grab Brewer’s arm and yank him toward me. “Come with me to the bar to get drinks for the rest of us,” I suggest through gritted teeth.

“The waitress—”

“Now, fuckboy,” I growl.

Brewer opens his mouth to give what I’m sure will be a snarky response, but I slap my hand over his mouth before he can get anything out. Then, I drag him toward the bar.

“What the fuck was that about?” he grumbles when I finally let him go, out of earshot of the table.

“You took the words right out of my mouth. What the fuck, asshole?”

“What did I do?”

“It’s a good thing you’re hot, because you clearly have shit for brains.”

Brewer rears back like he’s been slapped, his face turning bright red at my insult.

“Fuck you, asshole. I’m sorry we’re not all as miserable as you are. And I can’t believe you have the nerve to call me stupid when you can barely string two sentences together without grunting like a caveman.”

Anger wells inside me so hot it takes all my willpower not to haul off and punch him. “Fuck you,” I throw back at him. “Let’s get some fucking drinks and get this meal over with. And do us all a favor and keep your mouth shut about whatever you and Rebel had together before he met Troy, will you?”

Brewer flips me the double bird and stalks the rest of the way to the bar to order drinks.

This is going to be fun, so glad I decided to come out.