“You’re not very good at swimming,” she points out as I make my way closer.
“Never liked it much,” I say, swimming past her and moving to where my feet can touch. With a sigh of relief, I set my feet down, examine the scotch bottle to make sure no pool water leaked in, and then take a long drink. I’m on my way to being drunk, and I’m intent on sealing the deal. What can I say? I’m a finisher.
Devi drifts up next to me, holding something in her hand. It takes me a minute to realize that it’s my phone, the entire reason we spontaneously jumped into the pool in the first place. And somehow, miraculously, the pricey case the Apple Store girl talked me into buying has saved the phone. The screen still glows with my unwritten text message.
Somehow, between the pool and the scotch and Devi Dare with no pants on, I’ve lost the urge to talk to Raven. I take the phone and toss it carelessly onto the concrete and then turn back to Devi.
“You, on the other hand, seem like quite the swimmer,” I say with a smile, offering her the scotch. She takes it and raises the bottle to her lips.
“I was raised in California, you know,” she says and then takes a drink.
“Well, so was I. But my parents are Boston transplants, so I guess they never saw swimming as a priority for me.”
She hands the bottle back to me. “I think I had floaties before I had a bicycle. My parents are very, uh…” She searches for the right words. “Natural people. They think it’s important to be periodically cleansed of negative energy, and flowing water is one of the best ways to do that. So we went swimming at least once a week.”
I can see the faintest blush coloring the apples of her cheeks, as if she’s embarrassed by what her parents believe. And then I wonder if she’s embarrassed because she believes it a little too.
God, that blush is so sexy. I want to lick it right off her face. And then pin her down and lick her everywhere.
She tilts her head to the sky. “You can see Cassiopeia tonight.”
I look up, following her gaze, but I see nothing other than the golden glow hovering above the city and a smattering of faint, twinkling stars. “Is Cassiopeia a constellation?” I venture.
She laughs and nods, and then she reaches over and takes my head in her hands. My pulse thrums, that warmth in my chest explodes into flames, and I want her to kiss me kiss me kiss me, but before I can turn my head to her, she trains my face to the sky, facing the right direction this time.
“Do you see it?” she asks. Her mouth is close to my neck, and I wonder what it would feel like if she bit me there. “It looks like a letter M.” She traces the shape of it with her fingers, until finally I see it—an underwhelming handful of tired stars.
“You can’t see it this far into the city sometimes,” she continues.
“Cassiopeia sounds like a porn name,” I say frankly and she laughs again.
“Ptolemy named it.”
I give her a blank look. I got pretty good grades in school, but it’s been more than ten years since graduation, and anything not intimately related to film or the kind of math I need to run my business has been filtered out of my brain.
“Ptolemy was a Greek astronomer,” she explains, giving me an amused glance. “He named it after a famous queen in Greek mythology. She was so beautiful and vain and boastful that she brought the wrath of Poseidon down on her kingdom.”
Beautiful, vain, boastful. My mind swerves back to Raven, possibly still in this very house, possibly still being screwed with that evil smile on her face. Where is Poseidon when you need him?
No.
No, I won’t let Raven crowd into my happy, drunk moment with Devi and the scotch. I speak as much to drive away thoughts of my ex as to comment on Devi’s astronomy knowledge. “You know a lot about this shit,” I tell her, turning my eyes back to her face completely.
And now she really blushes. “I really like astronomy. Stars and galaxies and stuff. It makes life feel so...big...you know?”
The thing is, I do know. That big feeling, I mean. I get it every time I watch an amazing film, every time I imagine my own films with just the right setting and just the right cinematography and just the right score.
“I’ve never met a performer who’s told me anything like that,” I say. And it’s true. Not once have I been around another adult film star and had them confess a purely impractical fascination. A call toward something that makes them feel like life is magical.
She blinks, and the way her long, thick eyelashes brush against her wet cheeks is arresting. “Really?”
“Really. Devi Dare, I do believe you are my first.”
“I don’t think any guy has ever said that to me before,” she teases, as I take a step closer to her. I’m not sure why I do it; we’re already so close. But the water is so pretty and clear, and the world is so soft from the scotch, and all I want on this earth right now is to count the water drops on her eyelashes.
Devi moves a little and her shirt pulls almost completely open, exposing those sweet breasts and even sweeter nipples. I’m suddenly very grateful for the pool, which hides my aching erection. It does not, however, hide the way I’m now staring at her tits, nor the way I bite my lip to keep from leaning forward and sucking one perfect tip into my mouth.
Her lips part, and she doesn’t bother pulling her shirt closed. We are so close now, and I feel her bare toes brush against the front of my shoes. Her eyes are pure amber, liquid gold and warm, and they search mine now. Something has shifted with my step closer, and I feel like I’m going to combust, a pillar of flame in the middle of this sparkling pool.