1
“So, Brian said you used to be a porn star.”
In retrospect, it was a hell of a way to start a conversation.
After I realized he wasn’t answering, I looked up and saw that my friend, Charlie Ryerson, was not breathing.
“Breathe,” I suggested, smiling at him.
As soon as he did, he sucked hot coffee down the wrong hole, burned his throat, and started coughing. Maybe air was overrated.
I got up to get him some water, gave him a pat on the back as I walked by, and when I returned, placed a tall glass down in front of him. “Sorry.”
His eyes were huge, and as I took my seat back down across from him at the table in the crowded diner, I noticed, like I didn’t usually, that his lime-green eyes were the prettiest color I had ever seen in my life. I was also a fan of his short, closely cropped curls and his thick, perfectly curved brows. Normally, I didn’t really see the individual parts of the man, but instead, the whole that was my friend.
I saw Charlie’s face when he smiled, heard his voice when he yelled at me, and noticed the space he took up when he was sitting beside me in my truck. I was aware of him peripherally, but I didn’t focus on him. Today I was really looking at him. Today I noticed the fluid way he moved, the delicate cut of his features, and how fine-boned his hands were. The scrutiny had been brought on by something Brian had said.
My old high school friend was back in town to see his family and had looked me up just to have drinks and dinner. Or so he had said initially. I didn’t know he needed money at that point. So at the time, we had been walking out of the office when Charlie was on his way in from another job site. There were ten men, plus me and my partner, Paul, so any number of us were coming and going through the office at all hours. The only person who never left the office was Alison Reynolds, Ali, who looked like she was sixteen but was actually ten years older than that. So I had waved, and Charlie had waved back, and Brian had been flash-frozen beside me, suddenly unable to move. When I walked around in front of him, he had pointed.
“Chaz,” he stated.
I pointed to myself, chuckling. “Actually, it’s Leo.”
“No,” he choked, swallowing hard, finally turning his head to look after Charlie. “Chaz. That’s Chaz Ryder.”
“Charlie Ryerson.” I smiled at him. “But Chaz is close, I guess.”
“No, no, no,” he exhaled. “That’s Chaz Ryder; I’ve seen all his movies.”
“His movies?”
“Holy shit.”
“You totally lost me.”
“I’m just… I can’t believe it’s really him.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“He’s a porn star.”
I snorted out a laugh. “No, he’s really not.”
“He is,” he insisted.
“That would be hard, since he works for me,” I assured him.
“Maybe now he does,” Brian agreed. “But I swear to God, Leo, all he used to do was go to the gym, pose for pictures in magazines, and fuck.”
But there was no way.
“I can show you.”
But that didn’t sound like a good thing.
When we got back to my house in Easton, just outside Carson City, Brian took a seat in my office, opened up my laptop, opened Chrome, and after a few keystrokes, I was looking at a website for Dreamland Productions. There, dressed in black leather shorts that buttoned up the sides, leather boots that laced up to his knees, a leather harness, and nothing else was Chaz. His hair fell to the middle of his back, his manicured goatee lined his jaw, and matching stubble adorned his upper lip. His neon-green eyes were lined in dark forest green and narrowed in half. The full, pouty pink lips were twisted into a gleaming, wicked smile, and every defined, rippling muscle on his carved physique was oiled. He looked like some Greek god playing at bondage. I had never in my life seen a more beautiful man. I wanted to lick every inch of him.
“Huh,” I said instead of moaning. “I bet he wore braces when he was a kid.”
“Who the fuck cares about his teeth?”
But the smile was made that much better because his teeth were pearly white perfection.
“You see? It’s him. You wanna see a video? I have a membership.”
“No.” I winced, because really, the idea of seeing any of my friends have sex was revolting. And I had put Charlie Ryerson firmly into the “friend” category three years prior. He had started out just driving but quickly moved up with his work ethic and desire to learn. Once I knew he was going to be permanent, I stopped checking out his ass and started being his buddy. If he was going to be around, I had to stop being polite. Surprisingly, like the rest of the men who worked for me, he seemed to be able to handle me being me. I was glad.