Page 48 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

“Touché. Seriously, though. Why not try?”

“I’ve told you how careful women in the industry can be,” I remind him. I haven’t tried to date anyone in my line of work in two years, but I’ve heard stories from the women I’ve worked with. I’ve seen how jaded they can become.

“Yeah, but you’re not an asshole.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“You know what I mean. Ask her or don’t. But my recommendation is that you do. Maybe you won’t be so grumpy anymore.”

“I’m grumpy?” I press a hand to my chest, feigning shock and indignation.

“Yeah, you’re a big grump. I want my friend back. You need to get laidoff-camera.”

I suddenly realize that he’s right. Not about being grumpy, of course, but about my sex life. Almost all of it recently has been for my fans, on-camera. I’ve been with women outside of filming, but only a few and not in months. Other than my time with Honey, on-camera orgasms just don’t hit the same.

“Fuck, you’re right.”

“Yes, I know. Now do as you’re told and ask her out.”

“Let’s grab a drink. I need a distraction.” I do a double finger gun gesture and grin when Brody rolls his eyes.

“Miles, I-”

“Just let me get some of this footage uploaded and then we’ll go. And call your sister.” I had nearly forgotten Isla’s sixteen texts to me since yesterday. “She wants an update.”

“An update?”

“On your date, dipshit.”

My eye twitches while I wait for the footage to upload and I lean my head from side to side, cracking my neck.

How long has it been? Two hours?

Nope. Seventeen minutes.

“Think I can leave my phone here?” I shout through the open door, hoping Brody is still in the living room.

“Up to you, man. Don’t you like sharing stuff on your pages when you’re out?”

“Fuck!” I do. A non-zero number of my fans like paying for my dates, nights out, trips, and just about everything else one can think of. All I have to do is make a post about it.

After another ten minutes of muttering and glaring at the computer screen, the upload has finished. I race from the room to find Brody in another one of his new outfits. The light blue button-down is tailored perfectly to his torso and the sleeves are rolled up to reveal a third of the tattoos on his right arm. His fitted tan pants would make anyone’s ass look good and I feel the eye twitch return.

“You dressed up for me.”

“And you…” Brody raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t like the shorts?” I throw my arms out and spin to give him a good look at the pastel, blue shorts that stop mid-thigh.

“Ready?” He ignores my little fashion show and grabs his keys on his way to the door.

The sports bar is one of our usual haunts, having left the club scene behind when we entered our late twenties and realized it wasn’t fun anymore. We’re lucky to nab a couple of seats at the bar, directly in front of the Dodgers game. They’re losing to the Kansas City Royals in the bottom of the fourth inning, but there’s still time.

Brody and I order our beers and a basket of pretzel bites with an extra side of spicy mustard.

“What did Isla have to say?” I ask, bringing the beer to my lips.

“She asked if the girl I met is crazy.” He snorts.

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