Page 50 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

“Girl, if any man had been able to make me see stars-”

“I didn’t say I saw stars.”

“-the first time we were together, I’d still be dating men.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” I counter.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she admits. “But I might’ve had a tougher time giving them up.”

“He kissed me after,” I add.

“Like… off-camera?”

“Well, no, but we’d definitely finished the scene.”

Her demeanor changes entirely.

“Sophie, that’s not-”

“I know,” I say, cutting her off with a raised hand. “But I let him. He wouldn’t have-”

“He’s a man. If he had wanted to, no matter what you were doing, what signals you were sending out, he would have.” Natalie’s tone is full of rage. I haven’t seen her like this outside of traffic in a while. “Maybe don’t work with him again.”

If working with Lance was a mistake, it’s not the first one I’ve made. It likely won’t be the last. I didn’t even check the man’s references, looking for performers he’s worked with in the past who would vouch for him.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“You’re probably right.”

“Of course, I’m right.”

“If he reaches out, I’ll be really mean to him.”

“Tear him to shreds.”

I giggle. Natalie will always encourage me to destroy a member of the male species.

“I wonder if he’s the type to enjoy domination,” I muse.

“He probably wants you to tie him to a breeding bench so you can whip and peg his ass, then make him clean the dildo.”

“That’s an image.” I fake an eye twitch, but grin.

“You’ve seen worse.”

“Fair enough,” I sigh. “I promise I’ll be cold and calculating.”

I lean back on the couch and turn my attention back to the adult cartoon we’ve been binge-watching since Lance left. Natalie took her time getting home after her wax, so she missed him by half an hour. She joins me in focusing on the show once more.

“What time are our appointments tomorrow?” I mutter. One of the characters in the show is refusing a numbing shot for dental work, reminding me of how much I hate needles–when they aren’t stabbing ink into my skin–which reminded me that Natalie and I have our bi-weekly STI test tomorrow.

“You’re horrible with your calendar, you know that?” She sends me a sideways glance. “Mine’s at ten. Yours is at ten-fifteen.”

“Got it.”

“Did you text you know who today?” Natalie doesn’t look at me, but I notice the smirk on her lips out of the corner of my eye.

“Just something quick this morning. Told him I had a busy day.”

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