Levi kept up his sullen, challenging stare. He had four years on Sonny, and he’d been doing porn for even longer. That made Sonny a kid in his book, or at the very least, a cocky little shit who needed to say what he wanted to say or shut the fuck up.
Sonny bit into the apple and chewed thoughtfully. He didn’t seem in any hurry to elaborate. He fiddled with a few things on Jon’s desk, eyeing Levi with a speculative gaze. Levi let the silence hang for a while before he snapped.
“For God’s sake, what?” He honestly didn’t know why he was still in the room, let alone allowing a little prick like Sonny to yank his chain.
For his part, Sonny shrugged. “I think it’s ironic that you’re gonna get pounded by Rex. He’s probably the only top here who’s a bigger douche bag than you.”
“Fuckin’ whiny twink bitch,” Levi muttered, as much to himself as to Sonny. “Listen, kid. I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t need to get fucked by Rex. I’ve got nothing to prove.”
“Haven’t you? Even if that’s true, seems to me you’ve got a lot to learn. You’ve been here, what? Five years? And you hardly let anyone so much as rim you. What are you? One of those gay-for-pay rejects? Or are you just in denial?”
Sonny’s beautiful face twisted into a sneer. Levi stared at him, wondering how the conversation had taken such a nosedive so quickly. Then again, it hadn’t exactly begun well. “I ain’t no straight-assed punk.”
He shoved his chair back and made to stand. He’d had enough of this shit. He didn’t bottom, but that didn’t make him straight. He’d never so much as looked at a woman or denied his sexuality.
“Prove it.”
Sonny’s words gave him pause. He stopped on his way to the door. “Prove it to who? You? You’re gonna get nailed too, you know. I don’t remember seeing you get fucked on-screen before either.”
“Maybe you haven’t looked hard enough. Besides, I haven’t agreed to anything yet. Your name in the hat put me off.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” Levi turned back to the door, not wanting to admit that Sonny was probably right. He never watched any of the scenes that came out of Blue Boy, not even his own. Hell, especially not his own. Now that he thought about it, he had no idea what Sonny had and hadn’t done on-screen.
Sonny snorted. “Figures.”
“What does?”
“That you’re bailing,” Sonny said. “Everyone round here knows you’re not man enough to take what you’re due. If this ‘whiny twink bitch’ can take Rex, why can’t you? Like you said, I’m the one who’s gonna get it both barrels. Face it, dude. You’re the bitch.”
“Whatever.” Levi pushed open the door. Something, though he wasn’t quite sure what, made him turn back. “What is it, exactly, that you think I can’t handle?”
Sonny shrugged. “You’re a selfish top. A bottom is just a piece of ass to you, a hole to drill so you get paid. Have you ever stopped to consider the person you’re throwing around the set?”
Levi scoffed; he couldn’t help it. “You twinks ask for that shit.”
“Yeah, because that’s what we get paid for, what the audience wants. It doesn’t mean we always enjoy it. Have you asked? Or even cared?”
“What makes you such an expert on me?”
“I’ve seen the way you work. The other twinks might think you’re a stud, but I think you’re an ass. I’m not scared of you. I’ll do the scene, but if you think I’m letting you abuse me the way you did Diego last week, you can think again.”
The venom in Sonny’s tone surprised Levi, but his complaint wasn’t without merit. The kid was right when he accused him of never stopping to consider the person attached to the ass he was fucking. To him, that was the point of porn—that it wasn’t personal. To him, it really was just a job. “Yeah, well. Don’t force yourself on my account. There are plenty of bottoms who’d happily take your place.”
“True,” Sonny said. “But I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Trust me, whatever Jon says, Rex’s gonna pound the life out of you, and I’m gonna enjoy every scream that comes out of your arrogant mouth.”
* * * *
Levi drove home in a pissed-off daze. He couldn’t believe he’d let that little prick get under his skin. Jon wanted them to get to know each other, but Levi didn’t need confirmation that Sonny really was the annoying little fuckwit he’d always assumed he was.
And he had the nerve to call me arrogant?
He pulled up outside his apartment block and went inside. It was early evening, and he still had a stack of bikes at the garage to work through, but for some reason, despite showering at the studio, he felt like he needed another. He got cleaned up and headed back out to the small auto shop he co-owned downtown. The place was deserted. AJ, his business partner, was done and gone for the day. Levi unlocked the shutters and let himself in, pulling off his T-shirt and stepping straight into his coveralls. AJ had left him plenty to do. The garage specialized in maintaining custom and vintage motorcycles, and business was good.
A ’77 Triumph Trident kept him busy for a while, but as he worked, he was frustrated to find he couldn’t get his conversation—if you could call it that—with Sonny out of his mind.
“Why are you even here?”
Sonny had spat the words to him as he’d pulled himself together and left the office, but he hadn’t bothered to reply. He didn’t need to. He knew why he was there. Why the fuck should he explain it to anyone else, especially that little prick?
Little. Yeah, right. Somehow, he’d found himself glancing at the unofficial wall of fame on his way out of the studio and discovered that Sonny was in fact anything but. If the wall was to be believed, the kid had a thick eight-inch cock hanging between those muscular dancers’ thighs.
Damn. Since when did he care about the other model’s vital statistics? Life as an exclusive top rendered the size of another man’s dick practically meaningless. Maybe Sonny was right, and he did have a lot to learn.
He packed his tools away and spent an hour going over the accounts. AJ was a badass mechanic, but he left the bookkeeping to Levi—a job Levi loved and loathed in equal measure. Loved because the garage turned over a pretty tidy profit, a profit he was ridiculously proud of, but loathed because however much money he made, it wasn’t enough.
“Why are you even here?”
“Because my daddy shot himself, and my momma’s a gambling drunk with more debts than I’ll ever be able to pay.”
Even after all these years, it still sounded pathetically cliché. The garage was supposed to be his ticket out of porn, his ticket away from annoying douche bags like Sonny, but each time he got close something would happen to drag him back. His momma totaled her car just a few months ago, breaking her arm and cracking some ribs. The medical bills had wiped out three years of hard work. AJ often told him he should just leave her to rot. It wasn’t like she cared that he busted his balls to keep a roof over her head, but in his mind, that made him no better than his father. No better than the man who’d blown his brains out in the garden shed without so much as a note.
Levi pushed aside the maudlin thoughts and shoved the box containing the garage accounts back on the shelf. He’d had a long day, and it was getting late. All he wanted was a cold beer, something spicy for dinner, and to crawl into his big, empty bed. On impulse, he backed his truck into the garage and searched out the keys for his battered old Harley XR750. He didn’t ride her much, but today, with the blistering LA summer still burning strong, the freedom of the wind in his face was too good to pass up.
Shame it took him all of six minutes to get home.
He parked the bike and went inside to forage in the refrigerator for dinner. He was a good cook, a skill born of greed more than anything else. It didn’t take him long to throw together some turkey-chili quesadillas.
After, he sat back on the couch and cracked a beer. He stared at the sports channel for a while, but his afternoon at the studio remained on his mind. Usually, even if he spent a few d
ays at a time shooting various scenes, he could still come home and close the door on them all. Occasionally, some buddies from the studio would drag him out to Silver, but other than that, his life as a porn star remained somewhat separate from his real life.
Not today. Today, he couldn’t seem to switch it off. Much of his exchange with Sonny echoed in his mind, but there was one thing in particular.
“Maybe you haven’t looked hard enough…”
Maybe it was time he did.
Chapter Three
Levi rummaged under his bed, searching for the box of goodies Jon had given him when he’d signed his first contract at the studio. He had an exclusive, all-access membership to the studio’s Web site. All the models did, but he’d be damned if he could remember the password. He hadn’t had the urge to use it before. Why would he? He lived the life of most men’s fantasies. Why would he need to watch it on the screen of his laptop?
It took a while, but eventually, he unearthed the box buried behind an old suitcase and a stack of CDs. The box contained a bumper strip of condoms, various lubricants, and a selection of sex toys that made even his porn-hardened eyes water. He’d never used the toys, and it had been a long-assed time since he’d touched the rest of it.
He retrieved the business card with his log-in information and took his laptop back to the couch. He brought up Blue Boy’s Web site, logged in, and was greeted by an image of his own completely nude body. Fascinated, he stared at his naked form. The image was a few years old, back when he had shorter hair and kept his face clean shaven, but the rest of him was much the same—long and strong and covered with a buzz of dark body hair. His dick hadn’t changed much either.
Though he was alone, he felt an alien flush of embarrassment creep over him. It had been a while since he’d last felt so self-conscious. He wore the cocky grin like a second skin, but somehow it didn’t seem real—like the face staring back at him wasn’t his own.
Shit, is that really me?
Levi shook himself. It felt odd to be staring at his image, too odd. He turned his attention to the task at hand, bringing up the search option and tapping in Sonny’s name. His Internet connection was slow. He got up to fetch another beer while he waited for the page to load.
A few minutes later, he came back to find the laptop screen lit up with Sonny Valentine. He set his beer down on the coffee table, picked up the laptop, and leaned closer, taking in the lithe, beautiful body that filled the screen. Sonny slouched against a pure white wall, his skin smooth, fair, and inscribed with a web of intricate tattoos. The ink was delicate and eclectic, somehow more subtle and refined than any he’d seen on others. He didn’t usually care for tattoos, but on Sonny…
Stop it.
Chewing hard on his bottom lip, he let his gaze travel up Sonny’s torso to his face, taking in his sharp, masculine jawline, high cheekbones, and mischievous smirk. Tousled dark blond hair and sparking hazel eyes completed the picture, set off by the diamond studs he wore in each ear.
Levi swallowed. The Blue Boy logo scrolled across the top of the page. He watched it go round in a loop a few times, drumming his fingers on his thigh, procrastinating. The image of Sonny was cut off just above his hips, hiding the lower half of his body. Levi took a long, slow pull of his beer. Did he really want to see Sonny’s dick? If Jon had his way, he’d be seeing it soon enough, but he felt kind of strange. Like he wasn’t sure he could face it.
Weird.
He tore his eyes away from Sonny’s sculpted chest and scanned the scant, obligatory bio information, but it didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. He glanced down the list of movies, and down, and down, and down. His eyes widened. It seemed while he’d been busy brutalizing his way through Blue Boy’s extensive list of bottoms, Sonny had been moving in the opposite direction, bottoming for nearly every top there was. He’d even done a scene—several scenes—with Cam, a fellow top Levi considered a friend.
Every top except me.
The scenes with Cam looked hot. Levi felt a stirring in his belly as his cock hardened. The feeling surprised him. He supposed it was a normal reaction for any man perusing a porn site, but for some reason, it shocked him.
Some porn star you are.
He shut the laptop with a bang. Whatever he’d hoped to achieve had been lost in the memory of Sonny’s mocking, humorless laughter. His cell phone beeped. He didn’t bother to look, knowing it was the first of many messages from Jon, pressing him for an answer over the three-way. He sighed and closed his eyes. Rex had already signed up, and Sonny had made his decision clear.
With his momma’s bills still stacking up, one way or another, he was going to get fucked.
* * * *
A week or so later, Levi drove forty minutes outside of the sprawling city to check up on his ailing mother. Leaving the clutches of LA behind, even for a few hours, usually refreshed him, but not when he paid his momma a visit. Bella Ramone was hard work; she always had been. A decade of liquor and gambling had hardened her bitter heart and made her tongue impossibly sharp.
He let himself in the back door of her ramshackle home, following the trail of early-morning chaos to the living room where she sat on the couch, drink in hand, and watched talk shows. The house stank of gin, her drink of choice these days. With her car gone and her license suspended, neat vodka was old news.
“Mornin’, B.” He leaned against the door frame. He’d stopped calling her Momma a long time ago. “Liquid lunch?”
“Very funny.” Bella tore her eyes away from her dusty TV. “What are you doing here?”
Levi sighed. What did she think he was doing here? The same thing he did every week—checking she wasn’t dead or homeless. “Lookin’ in on ya. Not a crime, is it? Where’s the mail?”
“Over there.”
He retrieved the mail and flipped through it, setting aside the envelopes that required his attention. At the bottom of the pile was a handwritten note addressed to him. It was from Mr. Draper, Bella’s ridiculously tolerant landlord. It simply read, Call me. Levi frowned and stuffed the note into his pocket. Perhaps the old guy had finally seen the light and was kicking her drunken ass out. He considered what would become of Bella then, picturing her on the leather couch of his apartment.
No fucking way.
He walked through the small, split-level house, scouting for repairs and any obvious hazards. He’d once found Bella passed out in a bed of broken glass—sleeping on a wine bottle she’d taken into her bed. Some days he figured it wouldn’t be a bad way for her to go, but not today. Today, he had other shit to do.
Bella intercepted him on his way back through the living room. The kitchen was his last stop. After scoping the refrigerator for actual food, he was getting himself gone. “There’s some soup on the stove. Take it with you. You look like crap.”
His chest ached, a distant ache that reminded him she’d once cared enough to try to be his momma. “Thanks. What are you doing today?”
“What do you think I’m doing? It’s all right for you in the city, throwing your cash around, partying and living it up. Did you stop to think about me? Do you ever stop to think about anyone other than yourself? If your daddy was alive, he’d…”
Her tone was acid, and just like that, the ache was gone, and a cold, dead weight settled over his heart. His daddy had been gone eight years, and with Levi at college in another state, she’d locked herself in the family home and run up huge debts playing online poker. The drink came next. By the time Levi dropped out of school to pay her debts, he barely recognized her. They’d loved each other once, he was sure of it, but these days, they’d forgotten how.
He left Bella to her gin and talk shows, shutting the door on her tirade. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. He pulled out his cell phone, punched in the number for Bella’s landlord, and rummaged in the glove box of his car, searching for cigarettes. He didn’t smoke much, only when he was pissed off and tired. Visiting with his momma typically left him with a whole lot
of both.
“Hello?”
Levi paused in the action of lighting a Marlboro. He slammed the glove box shut and sat up, chuffing a lungful of smoke out of the open car window. “Mr. Draper? It’s Levi Ramone. I got your note.”
“My note? Oh, yes, I remember. I left that for you last month. I wasn’t sure it’d reached you.”
“Sorry, man.” Levi rubbed a hand over his face. He picked up all the mail he could, but sometimes shit got lost. “I got it today. Everything okay? I don’t owe you any rent, do I?”
“Oh, no, it’s not that.” There was a scratching sound at Mr. Draper’s end, and the click of a closing door. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to catch up with you for a while. It’s not about the rent, son. You’ve never been so much as a day late.”
Levi took a drag on his smoke, enjoying it like the guilty pleasure it was. Savoring it. “So what is it? Is there something you want me to fix up? I haven’t got a lot of time at the moment, but I’m sure I can work something out.”
That was the other reason Mr. Draper was so tolerant of the abuse Bella inflicted on his property. They had an unwritten agreement that Levi would handle and cover the cost of any repairs. A promise he’d made good on more times than he cared to remember.
“Levi, I’m selling the house.”
The pleasant warmth of the tobacco smoke in his mouth turned acrid and bitter. He choked on it, coughing it out of his lungs. “Wh-what? When?”
“Don’t panic, son,” Mr. Draper said. “I wanted to talk to you before I did anything. I don’t want to kick your ma out, but Peggy’s health isn’t what it was. We’re going to need the money tied up in that house to take care of ourselves. I know you do your best with your ma, son. I’m giving you six months to find her somewhere before I put the house up for sale.”
Levi couldn’t really complain. Mr. Draper and his wife were fast approaching their eighties. It wasn’t unreasonable of them to want to release their assets into real cash. Besides, what other landlord would give six months’ notice before the house was even put up for sale?
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