Page 3 of Mad for Madison

“Sounds like you’re gonna be a busy guy,” Madison replied. He had a habit of looking right into your eyes when he spoke. It felt like being caught by a lasso and pulled in. I didn’t mind it a bit.

“I enjoy it,” I said, struggling for air. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off me. “Mama Viv’s throws the best parties.”

“She does,” he agreed, his voice low, his face satisfied.

I didn’t know what lightning bolt of stupidity had struck me then. I would tell myself later that I only wanted him to have a good time or that I wanted more people to spend money at Neon Nights so that Mama Viv would continue to be successful. I would come up with a million excuses, but recalling this moment never failed to make my cheeks heat up. “You should come,” I said, letting the words tumble out.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Madison casting his gaze down was the last nail in my coffin. “Ah, I don’t know. I expect I’ll be tired.”

“Of course,” I said, hiding my disappointment as best as I could. In fact, his words were just another reminder of the different worlds we lived in. Inviting him to sit at the bar while I served countless thirsty people was nobody’s idea of a fun date, even if I were a hot catch—which I was not—but Madison was more than just a cute guy who was about to have a busy day.

Madison was off-limits. He was as off-limits as a guy could be. Because he wasn’t just going to have a long, hard day that would leave him tired by the time the party rolled around.

He was on his way to work. I imagined a well-lit studio somewhere downtown, a small crew of guys who knew how to operate it all, fresh towels and plenty of hot water in the shower, camera lenses pointed toward the bed, the armchair, the dining table, or whatever else the scene required. And a guy whose job it was to give Madison the kind of pleasure I couldn’t dream of.

Because he was a porn star.

He was one of those people who strode with such unbending confidence in his own success, and I could only sit back in awe of what he had achieved. And under the awe, there was a never-changing layer of sadness. He was the guy I saw leaving the building on most mornings, and for a heartbeat or two, I would have him in my thoughts as fully and completely as if we stood right in front of one another. Then, he would be gone, and Iwould know that he had the most exciting things lined up for the day and that he wouldn’t notice if I disappeared off the face of the earth by the time he returned.

Tristan strolled into the bar, keys hanging from his index finger. “I won’t need them today. You can leave them here in the morning.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Tris,” Madison said, snatching the keys off Tristan’s finger. “Thanks for the coffee,” he told me, taking a moment to make eye contact as he slid a bill across the counter to pay for his coffee.

He twirled around and hurried away.

“What do you think is the rush?” Tristan asked.

Life, I thought—exciting, impossible, unapologetic life. “Who knows what he’s up to,” I sighed instead.

Madison

I rubbed my hair dry with the smaller towel, the bigger one tied around my waist, as I walked down the hallway between the big, spacious bathroom and the open-concept living room.

Craig was already packing the lights into cases marked with the Eros Edge Productions logo. There was a flurry of activity, with two runners carrying out the equipment after a long day of shooting. Everyone wanted to go home.

Jett, the director, stood by the fireplace, talking to Ricardo, my scene partner. Ricardo wore a pair of gym shorts, probably commando-style, and ate a slice of pizza while his beer can was balancing on the middle of the armrest. His dad body never failed to cause a little tingle deep inside my stomach. We’d spent the last three days working together on a particularly salaciousscene, and it was, without a doubt, an absolute pleasure working with him. Not that I had a particular type. In this line of work, you could have a great time if you weren’t exclusive. And luckily, I was into all kinds of guys. Older and younger, skinny, toned, muscled, soft, hairy, smooth, and any other type that came to mind.

Ricardo spotted me as I moved around, looking for my backpack. I had a pair of clean underwear somewhere. “Great work today,” Ricardo said.

“Beautiful, Nico,” said Jett.

I’d told him before that he was welcome to call me by my name when the cameras were off, but he’d discovered me on Twitter as Nico, and some habits never died. Nico Hart, Eros on Earth, the prince of seduction and a lover of all kinds of pleasure.

Nico was a persona fabricated for the audience, but I would be a liar if I said he wasn’t based on me. Only some parts were exaggerated, and others were toned down. He was braver, but he was also single-minded. Nobody would ever say that Nico was creative or original. He was hot, forward, flirtatious, sex-positive, but there was little else to him. And that was all that people knew.

I was flirtatious, too. I couldn’t help it. It was my nature to close the distance between my arm and someone else’s. It was my instinct to listen, nod, smile, and meet their eyes. I dialed it to a hundred for work, but that was still me.

“Thanks, boys,” I said. “Now, did anyone see my underwear?”

Laughter rippled around the room, and a runner, a guy my age, lifted my backpack from the corner of the living room. “Are they in here, Nico?”

I nodded and thanked him for finding the backpack. Pulling up the soft, expensive fabric of the dark green boxer briefs was another kind of pleasure. I’d grown up wearing third-handclothes but new underwear. The only trouble was, the underwear that was bought for me had to last until next Christmas. Often, it didn’t. Holes appeared around the waistband, and it would itch and bother me. On the upside, torn underwear went just fine with torn sweaters and sweatpants my older brothers had worn to death.

Once my boxer briefs were on, I took off the towel. Early on, I wasn’t sure about the on-set etiquette. Just because I had been naked and in action for three days in front of these people, every inch of my body seen and scrutinized, it didn’t mean I could or should just drop my clothes and change in front of them. I also quickly learned why we spent days together before shooting anything and how much it mattered to be on the same page about everyone’s comfort levels. In some ways, it felt like being part of a big family—something I would never tell anyone because of how terribly wrong it sounded.

I put on the rest of my clothes and ruffled my black curls with my fingers. My hair would look awful as it dried, but I didn’t plan on being seen in that state.

Jett pulled out an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and offered it to me. “This is the New Year’s bonus from our friends at EEP, Nico.”

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