Page 17 of The Casting Couch

Naked.

Caught mid-motion in a… moment I had absolutely no business seeing.

My stomach dropped to my knees.“Oh, my God…”

I jerked back like the laptop was on fire, my face going up in flames.

Liam just shrugged, too tired or too over it to be embarrassed.“We’re a couple now.If we can do it, so can you.”

Jack smirked, though there was something bitter under it.“We don’t shoot anymore.Haven’t in a while.But yeah… that’s how we got started.”

His voice shifted on that last sentence.Lower, rougher, like the words cost him something.

He pushed off the wall and stepped closer, folding his arms again but tighter this time, like he was holding himself back.

“We only did porn because we were desperate for cash,” Jack spoke through gritted teeth.“After you got arrested, Liam lost his job and we didn’t have rent money.We didn’t have options.”

I flinched like he’d physically shoved me.The air in the room felt thinner suddenly, like it wasn’t meant for me anymore.

“I…” I swallowed hard.My cheeks burned hotter than they had in years.“I’m… I’m sorry.”

The words felt small and stupid, but it was all I had.

Jack just gave a stiff nod and looked away, staring at some invisible point over my shoulder like he couldn’t trust himself to keep making eye contact.

The silence stretched again.

Finally, I licked my dry lips, forced myself to meet Liam’s gaze, and asked the only question that really mattered now.

“So… how much does being on camera pay?”

ChapterFour

Nico

Ipaced back and forth across my apartment, one sock on, one sock missing, muttering punchlines under my breath like a lunatic.The exposed brick walls echoed every bad joke back at me like a passive-aggressive open mic crowd.

“Dating in New York is like trying to find a parking spot in Brooklyn… all the good ones are taken, and the rest are under construction.”

I paused.Meh.Not terrible.Not great either.

I grabbed my notebook off the coffee table and scribbled it down, anyway.Bad jokes sometimes turned into excellent jokes with enough caffeine and self-loathing.

The floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the loft let in just enough sun to remind me I hadn’t showered yet.The air smelled like cold pizza and laundry I meant to fold three days ago.A half-empty iced coffee sat sweating on the counter next to a stack of unopened mail and one very expired coupon for laser hair removal.

But I wasn’t complaining.I loved this apartment.Exposed brick, high ceilings, overpriced as hell, but worth every penny.Especially considering how few of those pennies I actually had to earn.

God bless excellent genetics and a decent-sized dick.

I flopped down on my beat-up leather couch and flipped back through my notes.Half the page was scribbled nonsense.The other half was just single words I thought were funny at the time: salami, disappointment, IKEA, lube.

Honestly?Could be worse.

The set from last night at Brooklyn Comedy Collective had gone better than expected.The crowd actually laughed.Like genuine laughter.Not just the pity chuckles I got at open mics wedged between some dude screaming about crypto and another guy doing ironic bird calls for fifteen minutes.

No, last night felt different.Solid laughs.A few people even came up after and told me I was their favorite set of the night.

And then, icing on the anxiety cake, I got booked.

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