All About the D

by Lex Martin

  27

  Josh

  We’re just friends.

  As I wind my car through the one-way streets of downtown, those words spin through my head like a deranged hamster on a wheel. I hated lying, but how else could I keep Gary the Cocksucker from snooping around Evie? As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I shouldn’t have said them. But they’re out now, and they can’t be fixed. Final. Like spilled milk. Toothpaste out of a tube. Someone’s virginity. Gone and can never be put back.

  Once I pull into my parking spot, I look over at her in the passenger seat. She’s clutching her purse like it’s a teddy bear, almost hugging it, and it breaks my heart. I hurt her by denying how much she means to me, when I want nothing more than to shout it to the world. I shake my head as I get out, disgusted with myself.

  She knows I didn’t mean it. I was saying it for her. Protecting her. It’s what she wanted, right?

  To be honest, I wish she’d spoken up for me the way she spoke up for her best friend. Told that SOB that I’m hers and he should fuck off. But that would only be in an alternate universe. Not the one we live in, where she’s an attorney and I’m her client. Where she can get in trouble for being with me.

  God, tonight sucked balls. Stupid, drunk Drew making an ass of himself. Great first impression. And then learning that Evie’s best friend chums it up with the media and dipshits like Gary? Fuck.

  Just friends.

  She’s the furthest thing from being my friend. I’m so wrapped up in this girl, “friend” doesn’t come close to expressing what she means to me.

  I glance at her. Her eyes are tight, her mouth a straight line. Is she just tired? Have I fucked us up? I take her hand, and we make our way to the elevator and up to the top floor.

  We don’t say anything in the elevator. I give her hand a squeeze when we get to the top floor and let go.

  As we reach my door, she glances over her shoulder at me with those intense eyes, which I can’t read. Is she angry? Weary? Exasperated?

  We’ve always been able to talk, but for some reason tonight the words don’t come. I know I should talk to her. Explain that we’re so much more than fucking friends. Tell her that I love her. That she rocks my world with her love of roosters and her ancient dog and that sweet little smile that makes me want to count all of the freckles on her beautiful face.

  Damn it. I still need to tell her about the article Gary wrote last week. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it at dinner. I guess I should be thankful for that. I don’t want Evie to feel blindsided by the stupid publicity my family and I get.

  But the words lodge in my throat as I study her cool expression and the way she crosses her arms over her chest like she’s protecting herself.

  By her silence.

  I don’t want to make tonight worse. Resolving to hash out everything tomorrow sounds fucking brilliant.

  Digging in the pocket of my pants, I pull out the key, unlock the door, and let her step in first to the darkened loft. Her ass swishes in that cute form-fitting skirt. Paired with a cardigan sweater, she’s got that sexy schoolgirl vibe going on. Add a ponytail?

  I’m done. I’m hers.

  I need to get this night out of my system. To reconnect with her before I go completely out of my mind. I need a reset. A redo.

  With a flick of my wrist, I turn on the low lighting of my home, bathing everything in a warm glow. The city glitters outside the windows, drops of rain trailing down the panes of glass. She sets her purse down by the door and wanders to the window to look out at the lights highlighting the tall buildings and the red and white traffic blurring in the ever-present rain. I place my keys, glasses, and wallet on their tray, my eyes never leaving her.

  I steal up behind Evie, wrap my arms around her waist, and kiss the side of her swan-like neck. Her dark ponytail swishes to the side as she reacts to my lips, exhaling a subdued sigh. Her fingertip traces the rain down the window.

  “Want a drink, babe?” I murmur.

  She shakes her head no.

  I reach under her chin and tilt it up so she’s looking at me. “Hey. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she says, her big gray eyes now tilting down. “Just… you were so quiet in the car.” It’s a statement, not an accusation.

  “So were you.”

  “I was just feeding off your vibe, the one that said stay away.”

  “I never want you to stay away.” I sigh and run my hands through my hair. “Tonight was a clusterfuck, wasn’t it? There’s so much going on right now. With Spencer’s campaign. With work. With us.”

  She nods. “I know. Work is burying me. And keeping us a secret is exhausting. Today? Our first real attempt to go out in public together? You can squarely say it was a disaster.”

  “Cherry picking was amazing.”

  “Cherry picking was miles out of town,” she points out with a sad smile. Taking a step back, she looks up at me, steady and clear. “Look, there’s something that’s been bothering me since dinner. Something that Gary said that got me thinking.”

  This can’t be good. I motion for her to continue, and she bites her lip and turns to stare out the window.

  “My parents divorced because my mom was from your world, but my dad wasn’t. My father is as blue-collar as they come. And I guess I’m scared that I’m more a part of my dad’s world and not yours.”

  Her words make my stomach drop. Those gray eyes turn back to study me, and I shake my head. Nothing could be further from the truth. Fuck, did I do this to her by saying that Drew and I bonded because we had a similar background?

  “No, sweetheart, that’s not—”

  A quick trill from my phone interrupts my explanation.

  Ignoring it, I step to her. “None of that matters to me. Trust me. I know that people are more than their families. I like you for you. There’s no way—”

  Except five more messages come in rapid fire.

  And then the ringing starts and doesn’t stop.

  Goddamn it. It’s almost midnight. Which jackass is calling right now?

  I pull back as Evie rubs her arm up and down. “You have to get that?” she asks, her voice a whisper.

  “Probably.” Only Drew and Spencer are that insistent. Although, after that dinner, I suspect Drew knows better than to call tonight. Unless he’s in jail.

  Evie nods, but I can see the disappointment in her eyes. When she steps away, the cold from the night sinks back into my skin.

  28

  Evie

  Josh is sitting on the couch, his arms braced on his knees as he listens to whoever’s on the other end of the call. All at once, his voice pierces the quiet loft.

  “And you had to discuss this now?” he shouts into the phone. “Christ, Spencer, you’re high-maintenance.”

  I go to the bathroom to get ready for bed, disheartened that whatever they’re talking about is putting Josh in a bad mood again. Jesus, we just cannot get a break.

  After I brush my teeth and take a quick shower, I toss on a T-shirt and sweats that I have tucked in one of Josh’s drawers. I contemplate skipping the warm bottoms, but I’m too tired and cold to go for sexy. I want to go to bed and sleep. For about ten years.

  When I emerge from the bathroom, Josh is still on the couch, but instead of his phone, he’s cradling a glass of amber liquid.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask as I fold my clothes.

  “Other than the fact that my brother thinks I’m at his beck and call? Sure.” He rolls his eyes. “He had a design emergency, and since it’s Sunday night and his designer is MIA, he thought I needed to handle his logo crisis.”

  He stands, tosses back the rest of his drink, and motions toward the bathroom. “Gonna take a shower first before I attempt to deal with it.” I’m sure he sees the disappointment in my eyes because he stalks up to me and wraps me in his arms. “Sorry, babe. I know you need to get to bed. I can work on the couch.”

  “It’s okay. I understand.” But yeah, I’m bummed that n
othing, nothing has worked out tonight. Since we haven’t seen each other since last weekend, I was really hoping the little time we spent together today would be special.

  As Josh is about to duck into the bathroom, I realize I never sent an attachment to one of my clients, a contract I need reviewed first thing in the morning. Damn it. “Do you mind if I use your laptop to check my email? I forgot to do something for work. I should be done by the time you’re out of the shower.”

  “Of course.” He motions toward it. “Help yourself.”

  The bathroom door shuts, and I drag myself to his desk and open the MacBook Pro. I wait for it to wake up and then type in the code, which Josh gave me the last time I had to work here.

  I need to pull up my law firm’s email and click on the back door web access. Back door. I chuckle to myself.

  Except when I click on the browser, AATD pops up.

  The sound of the shower starts, and I hover my mouse to change the site when I get distracted by the gorgeousness on the screen. I start scrolling through Josh’s posts, but then I accidentally click on his inbox.

  The screen turns a dark blue and starts loading.

  “Shit,” I whisper, not wanting to screw up something.

  I rub my face, and when my hands lower, I have a screen full of messages. My eyes automatically go back and forth across the words.

  DirtyGirl411: You have the prettiest cock!

  JezebelWillRockUrWorld: I’d do u hard bae.

  Boobalicious219: My pussy is soooo wet for u.

  KyleIsPacking: Ever done a dude?

  My pulse is surging in my ears, and sweat breaks out under my arms. I should close this because nothing good can come from reading the DM’s from Josh’s blog.

  The screen is full of messages, and every other one has a pic attached.

  My hand is trembling on the trackpad.

  Close it, Evie. Close. It. Right. Now.

  But white-hot jealousy claws at my throat. What if he messages with these women? What if there’s more than what he’s told me? Early on, we talked about it, and he said he never wrote any of these people. That he only responded to the business inquiries, which is how he landed the Caligula endorsement.

  What if he only said he didn’t message them because he didn’t want to freak me out? Were we even really dating when we had that conversation? Would he tell me something different now?

  If he does message them, am I okay with that?

  Fuck, no, I’m not.

  I don’t realize I’m scrolling through page after page of messages until the fonts look different.

  My stomach drops when I realize why. They’ve been opened. About a dozen from yesterday.

  We didn’t hang out yesterday. We didn’t hang out all week because we were so busy.

  But he probably had time to jerk off.

  Chill, Evie. Guys jerk off every day. That’s the whole point of his pet project, remember?

  Didn’t he tell me he posted something on his blog last night? He’s always posting, so I don’t pay attention to that anymore unless he wants feedback about a photo or gif before he posts.

  Okay, so is this his personal spank bank?

  Unease settles over me.

  I don’t care that he watches porn. I knew full well he watched lots of porn from the very beginning. We even laughed about the videos he viewed to make his dick clone.

  But this is his inbox.

  Women messaging him.

  Women wanting to talk to him.

  Women wanting to get him off.

  Do it, Evie. Don’t be a fool. You’ve known him two months. He’s best friends with Drew, who talked about scheduling a blow job after dinner. You wouldn’t have guessed Elliot would break things off with you like he did. What’s to say Josh isn’t carrying on shit with women online?

  Suddenly, I feel like a crazy person. I don’t want to mistrust Josh. He’s given me every indication that he’s been straight up with me.

  Except we didn’t see each other all week. Don’t some guys seek other outlets when they don’t get sex regularly? And if he’s that kind of guy, don’t I want to know now?

  Please don’t be that kind of guy.

  Taking a deep breath, I click open the message from SloppyLipsSinkShips. She’s attached a video. I maneuver the mouse over the icon of the paperclip, my heart hammering in my chest the whole time.

  I click on the video and a petite blonde with bouncy boobs smiles up at the camera. She’s stunning. Big, false eyelashes bat at me and her glossy mouth pouts. Her babyish voice coos, “I’m so wet for you, Big D. So wet. I wish I could ride that huge cock of yours. I really hope you rub one out to my video. It would make my day! I loved that gif you posted the other day. Can I rub your dick next time?”

  The camera lowers down her perfect body, down her breasts that she pinches. Down her slender stomach and narrow hips. Down her hairless crotch. One manicured finger pushes her lips apart as she starts to rub herself. A moist squishing sound fills the room as bile pushes up the back of my throat.

  I try to close the screen, but I keep missing the button as SloppyLipsSinkShips keeps moaning. “Big D, I wish you could come all over my tits. I would lick it up like this.” She takes the fingers from between her legs and sticks them in her mouth. “I bet you taste so good,” she groans. “I still want us to meet. I promise to make it worth your time. I don’t even care if you have a girlfriend or whatever. No one has to know. I’ll come to you, wherever you are. Any time. Any day.”

  Oh, God. Finally, I close the lid, not able to take anymore.

  I don’t know how long I sit there freaking out. Wondering if this is the kind of woman Josh really wants. Someone with perky boobs and defined abs. Someone petite and perfect. Someone like Tiffany.

  Eventually Josh walks in, with water dripping down his shoulders and a towel wrapped around his waist. He studies my expression. “Hey, you okay?”

  Swallowing past the knot in my throat, I shake my head. “No, not at all.”

  29

  Josh

  Evie’s fuming at my desk, the laptop closed, glaring like she’s about to nailgun me to the wall.

  Did something happen at her work? I tuck my towel tighter around my waist and grab my glasses off the bedside table.

  “What’s going on?”

  Stepping closer, I see her eyes are welling with tears.

  Her voice, that sexy, sweet voice, lowers to a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Do what?” And what happened in the last fifteen minutes that has her looking so unhinged?

  “This. Us.” She shakes her head. “I thought I could handle everything you do for your blog, but now I’m not sure.”

  “Whoa. What’s going on?”

  “I accidentally launched your blog’s inbox.”

  My stomach drops.

  Oh.

  Fuck.

  She saw the kind of shit I get.

  But she doesn’t understand. I can explain it to her.

  “It’s not what you think—” I begin, but she interrupts me.

  “I saw it, Josh. I saw the tens of thousands of messages you have from your blog. They’re not unread messages—you look at them. I saw Miss Sloppy Lips Sink Ships. And I know you did too, because the message was already opened. The woman not only got herself off to you, she offered to fuck you. You, not some anonymous blogger. You. She wants to fuck you. And she makes you porn. And as your attorney, we’re gonna ignore the fact that I violated the federal Electronic Communications Act of 1986 because as your girlfriend, I’m entitled to know.”

  A flash of annoyance pulses through me that she snooped through my email, but I don’t really care. I have nothing to hide. An unexpected benefit of being in the porn industry is that sex is normalized and not taboo.

  I’m more concerned she doesn’t trust me.

  “What have I ever done to make you question my commitment to you? I know I post stupid crap on my blog, but all you had to do was ask me. A
bout any of this.”

  So my inbox is always full with messages from fans. The guys are particularly aggressive, and I normally delete those unread.

  But I can’t help but look at the women sometimes, and I really don’t understand how that’s any different than the videos she and I both watched together the night we did the Clone-a-Cock. I honestly thought we were on the same page here, but judging by the tears in her eyes, we’re not. Shit.

  “Those mean nothing, Evie. The sole purpose is to get off. It’s not real. It doesn’t matter. It’s just porn.”

  “No, this isn’t the same thing as scrolling through PornHub and clicking on videos. Those women specifically get naked for you. They’re looking at what you post and referring to it and getting off to it and talking to you.” She shakes her head. “This is not normal. In a normal relationship, when a man gets naked pics from another woman that she takes for him, it’s called cheating.”

  She did not go there. There’s no way in hell I’d ever cheat on her. Not after I’ve been cheated on.

  Besides, she owns me. Doesn’t she know that?

  “Babe, in the internet age, you get unsolicited pictures all the time. I’m sure if you check your Facebook messages, you’ll find unbidden dick pics.”

  “It’s not the same thing.” She spins around in the chair and opens up the laptop again, then clicks and pulls up my messages. “You read these last night. You posted last night. Did you use these videos from these women propositioning you to get yourself off?”

  I can’t deny it. I’m mortified, but I mean, who wouldn’t look? “Yes, but it didn’t mean anything,” I repeat.

  She pales, and I hate that I’m hurting her, but I will always tell her the truth.

  “Look,” she says softly, “I get that you look at porn. All guys do. Hell, I was there the day you streamed porn and made your dick clone, but this… this is different. I can’t share you with thousands of women. Women who are making porn just for you. Women who are propositioning you and asking to meet you.” She wipes a tear, and her chin quivers. “I don’t want an open relationship where you get off on everyone and the shit they say specifically to you. Where you belong to them instead of me.”