"I don't know," she says. "Seems like he'd like to do that now."
I can't help but chuckle. "Do it for me then."
"You can't maintain that until we're… where are we going?"
"A surprise," I say.
"It's at least twenty minutes back to civilization," she says. "Unless you have a secret place in Malibu."
"From my secret camboy career."
She falls into her seat as she laughs. "You know men are the main audience for those things."
"And?"
"You'll fuck yourself for other guys?"
"It's for me."
She laughs yeah, okay.
"My personal show. Anyone can watch."
"If they pay the fee?"
"Of course."
"Must be a pretty hefty fee," she says. "If it affords you a pad in Malibu."
"That's just one of my fans. She lets me broadcast from her place if she gets front row tickets."
"She does?"
I nod of course.
"She must be pretty rich?"
"Oh yeah. And famous."
Luna laughs uh-huh. "Would you really? If someone offered that?"
"If some rich lady said I could live in her Malibu mansion in exchange for live shows?"
She nods.
"I need details. How rich? How many shows? How hot is she?"
"She needs to be hot?"
"Those are factors to consider."
She shakes her head how ridiculous. "She's smokin'. But older. And the place is enormous. Reality TV mansion enormous. But you're at her beck and call. You whip it out whenever she asks. As often as she asks."
"Not that different than the last two months."
"Oh?" Her eyes light up.
Fuck, she's adorable. And sexy. I want to tease her as much as I want to fuck her.
I want to talk to her as much as I want to fuck her.
About shit that matters—her parents, my sobriety, the state of the goddamn world. And shit that doesn't.
I try to keep my eyes on the road. This is a windy stretch of Pacific Coast Highway. And there's no way I'm willing to die before I fuck her. I have to pay some attention if I want to avoid driving into the ocean.
"Ollie." Her voice drops to a why aren't you fucking me whine. "You were saying?"
"You're fucking adorable."
"Uh-uh. Less talk about me. More talk about—"
"My cock?"
She laughs. "Basically."
"You do want to live?"
"Do I have to choose between living and fucking you?"
"How are you going to fuck me if you're dead?"
She makes that hmmm noise. "True." Her eyes pass over me. Stop on my crotch. "It's receding."
I chuckle. "Need the blood in my brain."
"Probably." She reaches over the center console. Places her hand on my thigh.
"I thought I was the addict."
"Are you asking me to move it?"
"No."
"Good." She smiles as she runs her hand down my thigh.
Fuck. This is going to kill me.
"Oh."
"Maybe you should—"
"Maybe." She pulls her hand back anyway. "I guess I see why you're evil. It's fun."
It is.
"You were saying. About your cock?"
I chuckle. "I was saying something?"
"About your hypothetical mistress. Giving you a nice pad in exchange for constant masturbation."
Oh. "Only change is the mistress."
"You've been…"
"Fucking myself nonstop."
Her eyes flit to me. "Because of me?"
"Yeah."
"Oh." Her cheeks flush. "Just me?"
"What if I say no?"
"That's not good for you."
"You won't fuck me?" I ask.
"I didn't say that."
"You've… increased the rate."
She smiles.
"But it was already pretty fucking high."
"Since…"
"I quit drinking."
"Oh," she says.
"Yeah."
Luna settles into her seat as the album fades. She pulls her cell from her purse. Plays an old Pearl Jam album. One I blast constantly.
"You're playing this on purpose?"
She nods.
"Damn. You must really like me."
"I do." Her smile is soft. "It feels appropriate. The way this guy mumbles. How your groan could fade into the music. I've thought about it. A lot. Since the day I caught you."
Fuck, that is not what I need to hear if I want to live. My head fills with the image of Luna's wide eyes. I need that. And I need to say anything else if I want to make it back to Venice. "You know why they call it Pearl Jam?"
She eyes me tentatively. "Do I want to know?"
"I'm going to tell you either way."
She nods true. "Why?"
"Another way to say cum."
"Oh." Her nose scrunches in distaste. "Gross. I've been saying I hate Pearl Jam for the last eight thousand years."
"Do you?"
"They're okay."
"No. Do you?" I motion to my crotch.
She laughs. "You didn't answer your question. Why should I answer mine?"
"Uh, in this hypothetical pad, can I fuck other women?"
"Sure."
"Does she get a free invite?" I ask.
"No. Just the masturbation."
"Then, yeah. I'd do it," I say.
"Really?"
"You wouldn't?"
She bites her lip. "I don't think so. Only if I wanted the guy watching already."
"You want someone watching?"
"Maybe."
"Someone else?"
Her smile lights up her eyes. "I should say yes. To fuck with you."
She probably should. I deserve it after ignoring her for the last week.
"Say I want Patrick to watch."
"We both know you're not into Patrick."
"Do you know that? He's a moody tattoo artist. You're a moody tattoo artist."
"Those are my defining traits?" I ask.
She shrugs maybe.
Two can play this game. "If you're into him, maybe I should drop you back at his party. Instead of taking you someplace to fuck you."