Page 94 of The Casting Couch

Pretending I hadn’t been erased for years.

I pulled out my phone, hands a little shaky, and opened my texts.

To: Bradley

I need you.Can you please come to my place?

ChapterTwenty-Two

Bradley

Iwas naked on a bed in a tiny room at Boys On Film Studios, staring at a green screen and wondering if my life had officially become a meme.

It wasn’t even a proper bed—just a squeaky metal frame with a mattress covered in something that felt like industrial-grade paper towels.But the camera was rolling, and the lighting was soft, and I’d just… finished.You know.Finished.

Liam, standing behind the camera, looked up from the monitor and gave me a small thumbs-up like I’d just delivered a solid PowerPoint presentation.Then he handed me a pack of wet wipes.

“Great work,” he said casually, like I’d just filed some invoices instead of jacking off in front of a green screen.“Really solid content.We can get three different edits out of that.”

“Can’t wait to see where I end up,” I muttered as I wiped myself off.“The moon?A locker room?The back of a dragon?”

“Actually, there’s one version where you can be in a hot-air balloon.”

I stared at him.

He shrugged.“People are into all kinds of shit.”

To be fair, I hadn’t hesitated when Liam asked.Nico had vanished with his mom, and the energy in the office had been weird ever since.Jack and Nessa were in a meeting.Laura was filming a scene involving a bald man and Catholic guilt, and I was just… there.Floating.

“If you want to make some quick cash,” Liam had said, “we can shoot a solo scene right now.Real simple, and quick”

And I’d said yes.

Because I wasn’t embarrassed by anything anymore.Not after the bukkake.Not after crying into Nico’s shoulder in a towel.And definitely not after Nessa announced, our budding relationship would be filmed as the second coming of gay porn for women.

So I’d taken the little blue pill, stripped without flinching, and did the damn thing.

Now, freshly wiped and slightly sticky, I sat on the edge of the bed and started pulling on my clothes.

First the briefs.Then jeans.T-shirt.Hoodie.My body moved on autopilot while my brain spun in slow, agitated circles.

Nico had left hours ago, and I hadn’t heard a word.

I didn’t want to seem clingy.Or paranoid.Or like the type of guy who spirals the second someone walks out of the room.

But I was spiraling.

He’d looked tense when he left.That announcement from Petyr—“there’s a woman claiming to be Nico’s mother in reception”—had cracked the air like a thunderclap.Nico’s whole vibe had shifted.Guard up.Jaw tight.That rare, serious version of him had emerged, the one I barely knew but somehow already cared about too much.

I pulled my hoodie over my head, ran a hand through my hair, and was about to check my phone for the thousandth time when it buzzed.

From Nico:

I need you.Can you please come to my place?

That was it.

Seven words.No emojis, or jokes.No deflection.

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