Page 72 of Exrated
This experience is absolutely priceless. For the next three hours, I watch him sign dildo after dildo, tit after tit. I delight when one of the women gropes him, and that uncomfortable look graces his handsome face. During lunch, I filled a spray bottle up with water and told him I’d squirt the ladies that got out of hand, but as far as I’m concerned, until one of them yanks his jeans down and tries to rape him—it’s not out of hand.
Everything is absolutely incredible until a guy trots up to the table.
“Oh, this is gonna be amazing,” I whisper when the guy hands the cock cast to Tyler.
“Dude,” he says. “Can you sign this for my girlfriend?”
Well, this isn’t near as fun.
Tyler scrawls his name over the cock then hands it back to the guy.
“Man, tell me, what is it like to fuck Vee-Gina? I mean, damn, she is hot. And that pussy….” he hisses in a breath. “Fucking perfect. That scene out ofSecret Pussy, dude. You know, the one where you’re fucking the shit out of her then flip her over and ram it in her ass. Man, you’re my hero. I would pay money to stick my cock in an ass like that. Do you ever want to have sex outside of that shit because those girls are as perfect as they get…”
The rant of this perv fades into the background. I hate this. Before, all the shit was funny. This—this is not entertaining. All I can see is Tyler balls deep in some girl, and as much as I try to not let it get to me, I can’t help it.
The guy is going on and on, and the line is backing up.
“Excuse me,” I say. “But there are other people in line.”
“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, sorry. Thanks, man.” He wobbles the dildo in the air and trots off.
Tyler glances at me and smirks before taking the box from the next person in line and signing it.
Just as the woman goes into a fit about how much she loves him, my phone dings with a text.
Know you’re busy. But you got the part. Call me when you can. Congrats, Jemma. You deserve this.
My heart flutters in my chest and I have to go back over the text to make sure I didn’t misread it.
Another text comes in.
You start in a week. Already talked to Hud and already have some people looking for an apartment for you.
I’m in disbelief. A part—aleadrole in a Stefan Goldberg TV series. My pulse is going haywire, my cheeks burn from how wide I’m grinning. No more dildos. No more watching people have sex. No more Tyler.
No more Tyler.
My smile fades a little as I glance over at him. As much as this situation has sucked, as much as we’ve fought—I’d be lying if I said even when I hated it, I hadn’t enjoyed it. It’s hard to explain, but this is how it has always been with us. From the outside, everyone thinks we hate each other, but deep down inside all that bickering comes from a place of love, and as long as we aren’t ignoring each other, we both know there’s still something there. And even though I know this will never go anywhere, well, I still like knowing it’s there.
The entire signing, she cracked jokes at me. After the signing, we went our separate ways for dinner because she evidently fucking hates being seen in public with a porn star. She fucked a disease riddle rock star and fucked him on camera, and she’s got a problem being seen with me. She’s a fucking prude.
I’m scrolling through Facebook when she walks into the hotel room.
“Enjoy dinner by yourself?” I ask.
“Who said I had dinner by myself.”
“Well, my dinner was great, thanks for asking.”
She stops at the end of the bed and tosses her purse onto the floor. “Uh, yeah, take-out pizza seems divine.” She points at the open box on the dresser.
“It’s New York City. You’re supposed to get pizza.”
“Oh, you better watch your physique, Mr. Depth, lose those chiseled abs and your ratings may plummet.”
I glare out her while she digs through her bag and takes out a ton of shower-shit.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she says.
