Page 54 of The Casting Couch

“You know, people think doing porn is glamorous.It’s not.I’ve had sex on a pile of gym mats next to a broken fog machine and a craft service table with nothing but expired Pop-Tarts and a single sad banana.That was our budget.”

“I once did a scene in a fake dungeon with a guy whose safe word was ‘Applebee’s’.I just want you to imagine trying to stay in character while someone screams APPLEBEE’S!like their soul depends on it.”

Laughter.Real now.Full-bodied.

“Family dinners are weird when you do porn.My aunt asked if I was still doing ‘the acting thing,’ and I said yeah, last week I played ‘Pool Boy #3 Who Hears a Noise and Gets Distracted by an Orgy.’”

The room was laughing louder.Candy McSlutsky cackled in the corner.I started pacing the stage, letting my rhythm settle in.

“I’m also doing stand-up because my therapist said I should ‘process my trauma in a healthy way.’So now I tell strangers about my issues while drinking whiskey in a bar.Nailed it, right?”

People were practically howling.I dared another glance at Bradley—his face lit up, tears on his cheeks, his whole body rocking with laughter.

I was flying.

“My favorite scene I ever did?I was supposed to be a ‘space alien sex god’ with six-pack abs and tentacle arms.The abs were painted on, and the tentacles were pool noodles.The director yelled, ‘Give us E.T.with a boner!’and I blacked out from embarrassment.”

Standing ovation?Not quite yet.

So I pushed the gas.

“I asked my mom if she’d seen any of my movies.She said no, but she did see a meme of my ass on Instagram.She sent it to the family group chat.It was titled ‘National Treassure.’With a typo.”

That was it.The room went up like fireworks.

Applause.Whistles.A guy in the front stood and started clapping over his head.Candy returned to the stage as I finished with a wink and said, “I’m Nico Steele.Be sure to tip your bartenders and your sex workers.Goodnight!”

Standing ovation.

I stepped offstage, blinking, grinning like an idiot, heart pounding like a drumline.The applause still thundered behind me as I made my way back to our table.

Bradley was on his feet before I even got there.

He wrapped his arms around me, tight.Fierce.

“That was amazing,” he said, voice thick with laughter and emotion.“You killed it.I haven’t laughed like that in… Jesus, I don’t even know.”

I melted.Right there.No resistance.Just leaned in and let myself be held.

He smelled like beer and aftershave and something underneath I couldn’t name yet but already wanted more of.I pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes.

“You really think I was good?”I asked, suddenly eight years old and fishing for a gold star.

He blinked.“You were better than good.You were the best thing in this whole place.”

I blushed.

Right there, surrounded by glitter and cheap liquor and strangers in various stages of tipsy euphoria, I thought,

I want this night to never end.

* * *

We spilled out of Little Bastard like soda fizz.Loud, bright, and slightly unsteady.The warm Brooklyn night wrapped around us like a hug from someone who doesn’t really know you but means well.I was buzzing, just a little drunk, very full of myself, and somehow more alive than I’d felt in months.

“You had fans,” Bradley said, bumping my shoulder with his as we walked.“Actual people screaming for more.”

“Okay, screaming is generous.It was more like… vocally enthusiastic hooting.”

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