Page 79 of Exrated
“God, I was not a fluffer. Why does everyone think that?”
“You do know that people don’t actually clean off dildos, right?”
“What? They most certainly do. I had to clean those off all the time.”
He takes a few deep breaths before he wipes the tears from his cheek. “Look, my aunt did porn. They’re supposed to clean their own shit. He had you doing that as a joke.”
“No. You’re full of shit.”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m serious. My aunt said every time they hired a new girl that had no idea what was going on, someone would trick them into that shit. You fell for that for how long?”
Sighing, I roll my eyes. “The entire fucking time.” I drag my hands down my face, suddenly no longer interested in the curry in front of me as I recount how many dildos and strings of anal beads I wiped down. “That fucking job was an experience, that’s for sure.”
“And you never thought about doing porn?” The waiter stops by our table to refill our drinks. I can see him fighting a smile.
“Uh, no.”
“Shame.”
“Fuck off, Grayson. I’m not a whore.”
“First of all, doing porn wouldn’t make you a whore, and second, I saw the Pandemic Sorrow video, Jemma.”
Heat washes over my face. I know my cheeks have to be blood red right about now. “Great,” I mumble beneath my breath as I reach for my water.
“What?” he asks. “It’s no big deal. Everyone fucks. You made a tape, so what?”
“Can we just not talk about that?”
“Yeah, sure.” He pushes the plate away and tosses his napkin onto the table. “I don’t think you’re a bad person if that’s what your worried about. It’s just funny because you seem so innocent and all. That’s it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m embarrassed about it.”
Grayson shrugs. “It’s not like that defines you as a person unless you let it. Who you are on the inside, that’s what should define you, not something you did without thinking about the repercussions down the road.”
I narrow my gaze on him as we stand from the table. It’s funny how things can make so much more sense when they come from another person. And now I feel like a cunt for telling Tyler I could never manage the fact that he had done porn. I had let that define him as a person when there is so much more to him than that.
The Uber driver slams the breaks on, throwing me against the seat. “Jesus Christ! Are you sure you have a license?” I’ve been in the car with him for over an hour, and I’ve thought I was going to die at least ten times so far.
“Atlanta traffic is terrible thing. Hard to drive in. Yes.”
He jerks the wheel and flies across two lanes of traffic to get to the exit ramp. I should be at the airport right now, but instead, I bought a ticket to watch a filming ofDisaster,the show Jemma’s on and this crazy-ass man is driving me to the studio. The breaks and tires scream when he slams to a stop.
“Dis da studio. I take you no farther. You must go alone from here on, me amigo.”
What the fuck is this, a secret mission? This dude is weird as fuck and smells like a can of tuna. I grab my bag, dig through my pocket and hand him the fare.
“Bless you, mi amigo. Godspeed.”
“Uh, yeah…” I climb out of the car and haven’t even shut the door when he swerves off, laying on his horn as he weaves in and out of traffic.
I stare at the name on the side of the building: Treewood Studios. I’m still not even sure what the fuck I’m doing here. The thing is, for the past two months all I’ve done is think about her, then last week that fucking TV show aired and of course I watched it. She said the thing that bothered her most when we split up four years agowas that I didn’t fight for us, well, fuck, she can’t say that this time.Am I expecting anything? No, but damn it, at least this time I can say I tried. Nothing like beating a dead horse.
There’s a line wrapping around the side of the building, and I stand at the back of it for thirty minutes before they let us in.
There’s an androgynous security guard standing by the turnstile. As I start through the gate, it stops me.
“You can’t take that bag in, sweetheart.” The voice is a little husky, but I think it’s a woman. My gaze drifts down, trying to make out if that’s a pair of tits or not. “Eyes up here, hot stuff.”
