Page 100 of The Casting Couch

“But no, really.We met through work.Very Romeo and Juliet.If Romeo had a ring light and Juliet was contractually required to moan ‘Oh God yes’ at least three times.He’s…” I stopped myself before I got too sincere.“He’s good people.Better than I deserve.”

A beat.The room got quiet for just a second.

I smiled, leaned into the mic.

“Anyway.It’s been a hell of a week.I got cast in a gay bukkake scene for Japanese businessmen.My building manager keeps predicting people’s sex lives like she’s Miss Cleo on molly, and now I’m possibly being blackmailed by a goober wearing boot cut jeans.”

The laughter was rolling now, wave after wave.They were mine.

“So I guess what I’m saying is, life is wild.You never know what’s gonna hit you.Like today?My estranged mother and her boyfriend—who sells boats and looks like a racist version of Kenny Chesney—showed up uninvited and made me take them to a fried chicken buffet.I’m sitting there trying not to scream while this man asks the waitress to repeat herself because he ‘don’t speak New York.’”

Laughter, groans, someone in the back yells, “Oh my God!”

“By the time we left, I was Googling how to fake your own death in a public bathroom stall.”

I smiled and pulled back from the mic.

“Thank you.I’m Nico Steele.Tip your bartender.And if anyone here knows how to hack a USB stick, I’ll buy you a drink.”

The place exploded.

People were standing.A few were hollering.I heard someone yell, “YOU’RE A STAR!”which, okay, might’ve been ironic, but I took it.

As I stepped off stage, sweat sticking to my back, I felt the rush of it—the buzz, the warmth, the validation.The high.

And then I saw Bradley, already on his feet, clapping like I’d just won RuPaul’s Drag Race: Porn Star Edition.

* * *

The cab ride back to Manhattan was quiet.

Not awkward quiet, just the kind where you’re both coming down from something big.My brain was still buzzing from the stage lights, the applause, the hundred invisible threads of memory and panic that had been stitched into my set like landmines.But beneath all that noise was the low thrum of something else.

Gratitude.

For the guy sitting beside me, legs warm against mine, who showed up tonight when I asked.

Bradley didn’t try to fill the silence, which made me want him even more.He just let me breathe.Let me exist.

The cab turned onto Eighth Avenue, and my stomach gave a little twist when I saw the chipped stone facade of the old hostel where Bradley was staying.A battered sign hung above the door like a shrug.A place where the water pressure could peel your skin off or disappear entirely depending on the mood of the plumbing.

The driver pulled up to the curb, and Bradley reached for the door handle.

“Well,” he breathed, turning toward me, “this is me.”

I nodded, heart hammering now.Something in me recoiled at the idea of him stepping out and leaving me alone in the cab.Alone in the night.Alone with everything.

Bradley paused, like he sensed it.His eyes were so open, so kind.He wasn’t rushing.

Still, I panicked.

Before he could get the door all the way open, I reached out and grabbed his hand.My voice came out lower than I expected.Unsteady.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” I blurted.“Will you come home with me?”

ChapterTwenty-Four

Bradley

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