Page 109 of The Casting Couch

I stared at it for a second, smiling like a total sap.The fact that he’d even thought about not waking me?That alone was dangerously sexy.

I unlocked the phone and scrolled through my calendar.Ugh.Photo shoot at Boys On Film today for one of the websites, probably for their main landing page or something.They were always updating shit now that the branding was getting sleeker.

Also, I had a reminder about some guy named Cam.Apparently, I’d agreed to meet him about doing a scene together for my personal FantasyFans page.A solo creator collab.Leaning masc, lots of tattoos, supposedly straight-but-open.This was set up a few weeks ago before I met Bradley.

I stared at the event for a second, then deleted it.

After last night?I didn’t even want to think about touching anyone else.Not even in a work context.Not even hypothetically.

Then, because I’m apparently that guy now, I typed a reply to Bradley.

Me: Going to Boys On Film to get photos taken.Meet me there?

I hovered for a second.My thumb paused over the screen.The words “I love you” were right there on the edge of my brain, waiting, ready to launch themselves into the digital void like a kamikaze pilot.

But I didn’t type it.

Not because I didn’t mean it.I did.I was pretty fucking sure I did.

But we hadn’t said it.Not even last night, when we were tangled up in each other’s arms.It had been everything, but it hadn’t been that yet.

And I wasn’t about to rush it.Not when it was finally real.

I hit send.

Then I dragged myself out of bed, stretched until my shoulders cracked, and padded into the bathroom.

Time to shower, get semi-presentable, and figure out what the hell I was supposed to wear for these dumb promo shots.But the whole time, my brain was still humming like a lovesick idiot.My phone buzzed, and I saw a reply from Bradley.

I’ll be there as soon as possible.Let’s have lunch.

* * *

I was shirtless and sweaty under the lights, trying to smile with my eyes like I wasn’t melting from every pore.

“Chin up.Shoulders back.Give me… yes, yes, that’s the one,” the photographer said, like I was posing for Playgirl: Sad Clown Edition.

Moira stood off to the side with a powder puff in one hand and a cold iced coffee in the other.“You’re lookin’ like a sweaty slice of cheesecake, baby.I mean that in the best way.”

“Great,” I muttered.“Moist cheesecake.My dream aesthetic.”

She darted in with ninja precision and blotted my forehead.“You’re doin’ amazing, sweetie.But tilt your head a little less ‘existential dread’ and a little more ‘I’m the main character and I just discovered I’m secretly a prince.’”

“Okay, but, like… a prince with anxiety, right?”

She cackled.“Absolutely.This studio is run on trauma and cheekbones.”

Before I could respond, the door creaked open and Petyr leaned his very serious face into the room.He always looked like someone had just told him his cat was pregnant.

“Nico,” he said.“There’s… a woman here.Your mother, I think?And that guy from the other day’s with her.”

My stomach dropped, and the air got a little thicker.

“Oh,” I said, already grimacing.

Because I knew exactly what this was.

Thom.With his Walmart charm and his dumb little power plays.

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