TWO
EVE
I step into our shared apartment and immediately freeze.
There are dildos. Everywhere.
Okay, maybe not everywhere. They’re actually quite neatly arranged, lined up on a drying cloth by the kitchen sink, organized by color like some kind of unholy rainbow.
While I admire my roommate’s dedication to tidiness, that doesn’t mean I’m thrilled about the visual assault currently attacking my eyeballs.
“Taylor!” I call, my cheeks instantly flaming. “How many times do I have to tell you not to leave your toys out?”
She pokes her head out of the bathroom, toothbrush jammed in her mouth. Her fiery red hair has been curled into sultry waves, and she’s squeezed her hourglass figure into a sparkling, skintight, blue minidress.
“Hey, babe!” she chirps cheerfully. “Sorry! I just needed the bathroom counter to do my makeup. I was gonna wash them in there later.”
I sigh and kick off my heels. I borrowed them from Taylor this morning for my interview, thinking I needed to impress.
Turns out, it’s impossible to impress a smug, arrogant studio exec like Ryder Vane.
A stupidly hot, smug, arrogant studio exec.
Focus, Eve. That is not the point.
“What if I’d brought someone home?”
Taylor snickers. “What someone?”
“I don’t know. A guy, maybe?”
“Please. You’d combust from nerves before you ever got a guy past the doormat.”
I huff. “You don’t know that. And stop teasing me.”
Taylor gives me a teasing but affectionate look. “You know I say it with love.”
“How was your cam session today?” I ask, redirecting fast.
She ducks back into the bathroom to spit and rinse, then reappears, beaming. “I think I found my whale.”
I grin, genuinely happy for her. Taylor’s been camming for over a year now and absolutely thriving. It’s miles better than her soul-sucking old retail job.
Sure, I had reservations at first—random strangers online and all that—but she’s always respected our boundaries, and we’ve never had an issue.
We laid out some clear house rules early on. The kitchen, living room, and hallways are shared, off-limits for filming.
She only does shows in her room. Sometimes her viewers request bath scenes, and I’m fine with it—as long as she tidies up after. She always does. Well, usually. Today’s silicone showcase is a rare slip.
“What’s he like?” I ask, slipping off my coat and hanging it by the door.
“He’s so sweet. Total gentleman. Also into super kinky stuff.”
“I take it he’s rich?”
“Oh my God, yes! He paid three times my usual rate today just for a private chat. Talking, Eve. And he’s already booked me out through next week.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, and I mean it. She really loves what she does, and I admire that. A small, quiet part of me is even a little jealous—in the way you are of someone truly confident in themselves.
“You know…” she starts, voice casual, “he mentioned he’d love some girl-on-girl action. Just kissing and playful stuff—PG-13 at best. You in? I’d split the cash with you, fifty-fifty.”
My stomach does a flip. I immediately shake my head. I respect so much about Taylor—her self-assurance, how in control she is of her sexuality. She flirts like it’s second nnature
No wonder her audience is obsessed with her. She’s gorgeous—full curves, killer body, and she works for it. Squats. Lunges. Crunches. Every day.
I might have the curves, too, but when it comes to experience? I’m still on the bench.
I’ve kissed a few guys. In college, I had chances—plenty of them—to lose my V-card. But the whole thing never really appealed to me. I was focused on grades, deadlines, and graduation. Sex was barely a blip on my radar.
“I’ll pass,” I say with a laugh. “But thanks for thinking of me.”
Taylor lifts a shoulder in a carefree shrug. “No biggie, just thought I’d throw it out there.”
“Why are you dressed like you’re about to strut down a red carpet?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She grins. “Because I’m taking you out, duh. It’s time to celebrate your twenty-first birthday belatedly by getting absolutely hammered and letting strangers flirt with us. Oh, and to toast to me landing my whale.”
“My birthday was a month ago.”
“Yeah, and between your nonstop job hunt and cramming for the MCAT, I never got to give you a proper party.”
“I don’t know, Tay. I’m not exactly in the mood for a postponed celebration.”
“Bad interview?”
I wince. “Let’s just say... it wasn’t great.”
She crosses her arms, tilting her head knowingly. “You mouthed off, didn’t you?”
“I may have… slightly.”
Taylor groans. “Eve…”
“Don’t start. I’m seriously trying to land something. But I’m not about to grovel for some smug exec with a God complex.”
“That bad?”
“He actually said, and I quote, ‘When I call, you come running.’ I was half-expecting him to ask me to kneel next. Sure, he’s hot. Like, irritatingly hot. But I’m not going to work for someone who thinks he’s Zeus.”
Taylor lets out a low whistle. “Sounds like what you need is a strong drink, you adorable nerd.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m trying to be responsible, Tay. I still haven’t paid you back for the water bill. Or the lights. Or last week’s groceries.” I sigh, already dreading it. “I might just ask Dad if he can float me some cash.”
“Don’t worry about it. Tonight’s on me.” Taylor offers a soft, reassuring smile. “You need this, Eve. All you do is study. And hey, I’m fully invested in your future as my personal surgeon-slash-bestie since I can’t afford health insurance. But even doctors need to unwind sometimes. College taught you that stress kills, right? Cortisol, baby.”
She’s got that look—the one that means she’s already decided for the both of us. My dad always says I inherited my iron will from Mom, but Taylor’s a firecracker in her own right.
We’re like an immovable object and an unstoppable force destined roommates. I usually stand my ground, but today’s different. My run-in with Ryder really threw me off.
I’m still thinking about him. His commanding voice, those hands, that sharp jaw. The way my entire body flushed just from standing near him.
It’s so wrong, I know it. He’s known me since I was a kid. He’s more than twice my age. I shouldn’t be imagining what his lips would feel like or how good he probably smells or how easily he could—
I force a swallow, cheeks burning. Maybe Taylor’s right. I need a drink and a serious change of scenery.
“Fine,” I mutter. “One drink.”
She squeals. “Yes! I already picked out a dress for you. One of mine, because your closet is a tragedy.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“Babe, you dress like a retired nun. No one’s buying you a drink in a dress that goes past your knees.”
“I dress practically,” I defend.
“You dress like a prude,” she shoots back.
I sigh. “Let me just call my dad, then I’ll get changed.”
Taylor claps her hands like a delighted child. “This is gonna be epic. My Pilates friend got us VIP access at Sensational.”
“The club downtown that charges ten bucks for water?”
“The very same,” she says, giving me a wink. “But I told you—I’ve got my whale now. Leave the bill to me. Tonight’s about cutting loose. So hurry up and get ready!”
“Okay, okay,” I say as I shuffle toward my room. “And put your dildos away, please!”
My bedroom is my sanctuary. It’s like a little book lover’s cave. I converted the headboard into a bookshelf, filling its square compartments with colorful hardcovers and well-loved paperbacks.
Sure, the room’s tiny, but it’s mine—cozy and packed with character. There’s enough space for a modest desk tucked in one corner, and my vintage walnut wardrobe stands like a sentinel across from it.
Laid out on my bed is the outfit Taylor picked for me. It’s nowhere close to anything I’d voluntarily wear—a blindingly pink mini dress with enough side cutouts to show off my ribs and the curve of my waist.
Resting at the foot of the bed are her black suede thigh-high boots, which look like they belong to someone with at least three sugar daddies.
"Are you trying to get me mistaken for a high-end escort?" I shout in her direction.
She howls from across the apartment. "Babe, that’s couture slut. You’re welcome."
"I seriously doubt that," I mutter, but I still start getting dressed.
Peeling off the one sad business suit I own—interview armor—I reach for my phone to call Dad. He doesn’t pick up, so I leave a voicemail.
“Hey, Dad! Just checking in. I know you’re knee-deep in organizing your new movie, so I won’t keep you. Taylor’s dragging me out for some much-needed chaos, so if I miss your call, that’s why. Call back when you can. Don’t forget your meds, please. Love you!”
I hang up, feeling that familiar twinge of disappointment. Lately, Dad’s been all ghost and glitter—texting when he remembers, but never around long enough to really talk.
He keeps insisting this film will be the one—his big, blazing comeback. And I want to believe him. I really do. The man’s a genius behind the camera, and there’s no one I know who loves movies the way he does.
But then again… he said the same thing about his last six projects.
Ever since Mom split, it’s like the universe handed him a lifetime supply of bad luck. He lost the house, half his money, and most of his spark.
Mom took off with the assets and vanished like a magician—no forwarding address, no guilt, not even a goodbye text. And I got to be the grand prize of that whole mess. Lucky me.
Still, I hope someone up there gives him a damn break. He’s due for one.
A knock sounds before Taylor strolls in without waiting for an invite. She lets out a low whistle and eyes me up and down like she’s appraising a prize cow at auction.
“Damn. You look hot.”
“I feel like I’m one bend away from giving the entire club a free show.”
“Front or back?”
“Honestly? Both.”
“Good. Keep 'em guessing.”
A fresh wave of anxiety rolls over me. “Tay, I really don’t know if this is such a great plan.”
She waves me off like I’m being dramatic. “Stop overthinking. Here.” She Vanes over and adjusts my posture with the precision of a dance mom. “Shoulders back, boobs proud, butt like it’s trying to get a raise.”
“I feel like I should be charging admission just to walk down the street.”
She grins. “Exactly the vibe.”
Despite everything, I crack a smile. And when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I have to admit—Taylor might be a chaos goblin, but she’s not wrong.
“I mean… I kinda look like a snack.”
“Bitch, you look like the whole damn buffet.”
Taylor gives my butt a playful smack. “Damn right you do! Like a sexy little flamingo strutting her stuff.”
I snort out a laugh. “Has anyone ever told you that you’d make an amazing professional hype woman?”
She throws me a wink. “Not nearly enough—feel free to start a fan club. Now come on, our Uber’s downstairs, and I’m in the mood to get stupid drunk! let's get wasted!”