Page 3 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

Cool.

Having already showered and readied for bed, I now have to go to the front desk and purchase one of the cords from their little shop. I groan and grab my key and wallet, slip on my aged flip-flops, and hurry out of my room, and down the hall.

My nipples harden in the cold hallway, showing beneath my thin, oversized t-shirt. The soft slap of flip-flop against foot is louder than I would like it to be as I speed walk to the elevator. I jam my thumb against the button and cross my arms over my breasts to hide my traitorous nipples, knowing there’s a camera somewhere, but not wanting to find it.

The elevator dings and the shiny, metal doors slide open to allow me to enter. How is it even colder in here? I shiver and press the button for the lobby, still muttering to myself about how stupid it was to just walk away from the damn charger in the airport. Some lucky fucker got a new one for free. I bought it yesterday, specifically for the trip. The one I keep on my bedside table at home is a little worse for wear.

The elevator reaches the lobby, but before I can squeeze through the barely open doors, I’m nearly bowled over. The man, who doesn’t seem fazed by the collision, is older with only a rim of white hair at the back of his head and gray stubble on his face. It’s August and hot as hell outside, but he’s wearing a huge coat, holding it tightly closed. He mutters an apology as he presses a button for his floor and I slip out before the doors can close again. Why can’t people just look where they’re going?

I round the corner and my eyes fall on the little shop, if you can call it that. It’s more of an alcove right by the front desk. There’s an assortment of candy bars, a few first aid items and toiletries, a small refrigerator with drinks, and a freezer with meals and ice cream. At the end is a group of chargers next to some earbuds. I hurry over and grab the right charger for my phone, but when I turn to the front desk, no one is there.

“Fucking great,” I groan.

I can’t let my damn phone die, so rather than return to my room, I sit on one of the couches that face the front desk. I really hope it doesn’t take too long.

This wasn’t the plan. I should’ve gone to bed earlier. Hell, I should’vearrivedearlier, but my second flight out of Chicago was delayed due to storms in the area. The Midwest still won’t leave me alone, it seems.

Footsteps approach from the hallway and I glance up to see the front desk employee who checked me in. She’s a petite older woman with dark hair and somewhat wrinkled, tan skin. Her dark eyes are warm when she smiles at me.

“I’m so sorry, were you waiting for me?” she asks, eyes falling to the cord in my hands.

“No, you’re fine!” I exclaim. I hop up and meet her at the desk so she can scan the item. “I just realized I forgot my charger at the airport,” I groan dramatically.

We make the transaction quickly.

I start to pry the container open as I head back to the elevator, crossing my arms after I press the button. My nipples need to calm the fuck down. Still messing with the plastic, I sway side to side as I wait for the doors to open. There’s a spectacularly comfortable bed waiting for me in a probably too-cold room–just the way I like it.

The elevator ride and trek back down the hallway take no time at all without someone trying to knock me over. My phone, sitting on the bedside table, is at three percent battery. That’s the lowest I’ve let it get in a while. I can’t remember the last time I even let it get below forty.

I quickly plug it in and turn on my alarm. I always wake up at least half an hour before I think I need to and that’s still probably far earlier than most people would. It’ll be my luck that I get to my destination with an hour still to go before I’m supposed to be there, but that’s my burden to bear. Early is on time and on time is late.

I yank the covers back and crawl beneath them. With a sigh, I turn off the light, flop my head on the pillow, and hunker down in the sixty-five-degree room. Perfect sleeping temperature.

My alarm would piss me off if it weren’t for the fact that I’m excited for my collab today. Tony Gerth is someone I’ve wanted to work with for a while, but we haven’t been able to align our schedules until now. The excitement doesn’t make me any less tired as I reach to turn off the noise and turn on the bedside lamp.

I go through my normal routine for a shoot day. Body shower, quickly curling my hair, and the full face of makeup. Happy that I don’t need to dress nicely only to strip the moment I arrive, I slip on a pair of cropped joggers and an old T-shirt. After placing my laptop on the desk, I empty the rest of the contents from its bag next to it. To the bag, I return a variety of items I’ll need for the shoot, including release forms, my costume, and a pair of shiny, black heels. The pumps have been featured in a lot of my content recently and are looking a little worse for wear, but I don’t see them getting much screen time today, if any.

The heat out on the street wouldn’t be overwhelming if it weren’t for the humidity that comes along with it, even at nine in the morning. August in New York City isn’t going to be on my travel list again, but it was the only option if I wanted to get here this year.

My Uber driver waves as he pulls up and I slide into the back, placing my headphones on before we even pull away from the curb. I don’t want to be mean, but I can’t be bothered to answer questions about my trip.

I like being aware of what’s going on, so rather than playing loud music and zoning out, I pull up the map on my phone and follow our progress to the location in silence. We take no detours and as the hotel comes into view, I let out a sigh of relief.

The hotel lobby is gleaming and bright with tall white columns and a grand chandelier hanging in the center. I pass through and head for the elevators, trying not to attract attention. Tony’s a local, but his apartment is having some major work done. Since he has my collab and a few others scheduled, he splurged on a room for the week. I admire the professionalism. I can think of several performers who simply would have canceled, despite knowing I came here for them. Not everyone is consistent and reliable in this business.

I’m thankful I don’t have to worry about how clean he keeps his apartment. My brain calls forth a rather nasty memory of a recent collab. I shudder as I step onto the elevator and press the button for Tony’s floor. My body trembles with pre-filming jitters. As the elevator doors open to let me out, I work my jaw to keep it from locking up with anxiety.

Breathe.

The hallway extends to either side of the elevators and I check the sign to figure out which direction to take. Room 521.

As the door comes into view, my anxiety skyrockets. I shake out the arm not holding my bag, pull off my headphones, and knock. The sound of my knuckles colliding with the hard surface is jarring in the silent hallway. A muffled shout comes from the other side.

“One sec!”

The door swings open, bringing me face to face with a man I’ve only ever texted. A man whose body I’ve seen a whole heck of a lot more than his face because, well, that’s the nature of the job. I could probably pick his cock out of a lineup.

“Honey?” Tony’s voice is deep and full of excitement. His brown eyes are warm with fairly pronounced crow’s feet in his tan skin when he smiles. He’s wearing a white tank top that shows every gorgeous muscle and baggy, black pants. The absurd thought occurs to me that he’s taller than I expected.

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