Page 55 of The Casting Couch

He snorted.“You got a standing ovation.”

“Bradley,” I said, mock-serious, “never underestimate the power of whiskey specials and unresolved daddy issues.That room was primed.”

He laughed again, and I swear, every time he did, a little cartoon bird landed on my shoulder and sang about self-worth.I was in way too deep.

We kept walking, side by side, matching each other’s pace like we’d been doing it forever.The street was quieter now, storefronts closed, the air a little cooler.Bradley’s hostel was only a few blocks away, which meant I only had a few more minutes of pretending like I wasn’t low-key freaking out about how much I wanted to hold his hand.

We passed a bodega with an entire wall of Doritos, and he pointed.“One time in jail, a guy traded a bag of those for a tattoo of a squirrel on his thigh.”

I blinked.“That’s… oddly poetic.”

“Nah, it looked like roadkill.”

And we were laughing again, shoulders bumping, almost stumbling, and I couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or just… us.

Then, all at once, we were there.

The hostel loomed—old brick, sketchy windows, and a flickering light above the door that definitely said “you will not get your deposit back.”It was like the city itself sighed and pulled a curtain shut.

I stopped with him at the front steps.He glanced up at the building like it might bite him.

And suddenly—poof—the air changed.The way it does at the end of a night where something’s been brewing under the surface, all smiles and shared jokes and too-long glances.

Was this a date?

Because it felt like a date.

And if it was a date, did that mean I was supposed to kiss him?

Nah.We work together.That alone should’ve been a giant red stop sign.Hooking up with coworkers?Messy.Hooking up with coworkers in porn?Messier.Like, wardrobe-malfunction-during-a-threesome level messy.

And besides, what would we even be if this went somewhere?Boyfriends who have scheduled gangbangs?Lovers with time-blocked orgy windows?I knew guys in open relationships, sure, and some of them made it work, but I’d never been in any kind of relationship.The idea of opening a door that didn’t even exist yet made my brain do backflips.

So instead of kissing him, I hugged him.

Quick, but real.Warm.Solid.His arms came around me a beat later, like he wasn’t expecting it but didn’t hate it.And when we stepped apart, his eyes were soft, tired, grateful.Maybe a little curious.But he said nothing.

“Get some sleep,” I said, voice softer than I meant it to be.“This week is going to be crazy at work.”

“Getting jizzed on by strangers?Yeah.Dream career unlocked,” Bradley winked.

We both laughed, but mine came out too quick.

“Night, Nico,” he said.

“Night, Bradley.”

I turned and walked away, hands in my pockets, heart in my throat, the sound of his voice trailing behind me like a song I wasn’t ready to stop listening to.

ChapterThirteen

Bradley

The bed creaked every time I moved.The mattress was lumpy.Smelled like sweat, Febreze, and despair.I’d shoved a towel under my hips to avoid feeling the springs in my spine, but it wasn’t helping.

It was way past midnight, and I was still wide awake.

I stared at the ceiling through the darkness, letting the low hum of distant traffic try to lull me into something resembling sleep.It wasn’t working.My brain was on some kind of loop, replaying tonight over and over.Not the stand-up set.Not even Barbie Malibu or the glitter curtain or the whiskey that left a buzz in my blood.

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