Page 107 of Felix

I snort. “Go easy on him.”

Trevor gives me a grin. He isn’t known for going easy on set, but that’s part of his charm.

“Can I ask you something?” I say abruptly.

Trevor stops with me outside the break room. “Of course.”

“You’re married.”

He nods. “Sixteen years now.”

“Do you think… I mean, is it wrong to get off on fucking other men?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I backpedal. “Shit, I didn’t mean to imply there’s something wrong with you, just…”

“Just yourself?” Trevor fills in, apparently seeing right through me. I wince, but he answers me evenly. “I don’t think it’s wrong unless you or your partner feels bad because of it.”

“And…it’s never been a problem for your husband?”

“No,” he says, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Isaac… He can be such a brat. He’ll play at jealousy, don’t get me wrong. But then I come home, rail him over the countertop like he was all but begging me to do, and everything is fine.”

I choke a little.

“I fully believe you can be in this line of work while committing your heart to one person and one person alone,” Trevor says seriously. “Sex and love…they don’t have to go hand in hand. They do, for many. And that’s fine. But there’s nothing wrong with you, Emil, just because you’re not in a purely monogamous relationship.”

“I get off on people watching me,” I admit for the very first time. I’ve never told any of my coworkers that. “I crave it. I don’t want to stop.”

Trevor doesn’t look particularly surprised by my admission. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you found someone who enjoys it with you, huh?”

I let out a breath. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

He clasps my shoulder gently, squeezing once before letting go. “Don’t let other people’s opinions bother you, Emil. That way lies unhappiness. I’d rather be happy, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. I would.”

Trevor nods. “Anything else?”

“No. Thank you.”

Trevor gives me a smile before continuing on into the break room. I walk past to the locker room, setting my bookbag down once inside. It’s quiet at the moment, although I know it won’t stay that way for long. There’s always activity in the studio. People coming and going. Sex happening inside these walls. I suppose, if I cared what people thought, I’d never be in this business in the first place.

“Christian likes you the way you are,” I remind myself, trying to soothe the old, flaring insecurities that are trying to tell me something’s wrong. That Christian is pulling away or… No. I stop that line of thinking. Nothing’s wrong. Everything with Christian is fine. Easy, even. “Because we fit.”

We do.

His exhibitionist, that’s what he calls me. And he’s my beautiful voyeur.

My lips twist into a smile, but even so, I make a note to check in with my therapist to hash out some of these swirling insecurities before I self-sabotage the best thing to happen to me in…maybe ever.

“Fucking self-awareness,” I mutter, plunking down onto the bench seat in front of my locker. The door swings open not a second later.

“There you are,” comes a voice I’m intimately familiar with.

I spin in my seat, pulse hitching when I spot Christian. “Holy. Um…what, uh…”

Christian lets the door close behind him, a little smirk on his face as he walks forward. There’s a trench coat tied loosely around his body, the bottom hem ending near his knees. Nothing innocent is ever hidden away underneath a trench coat.

“Christian?” I ask, my throat suddenly dry.

He stops a dozen feet or so in front of me, his legs bare apart from the cute black shoes on his feet. Ballet flats, I think. “I have a surprise for you,” he says.

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