She searches my face. “You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?”
I blink. She’s not angry or upset, but there’s something strange in her tone. Strange and cautious, and I’m reminded of everything I still need to say.
But first, “Yes, I’m super excited,” I say. I take her free hand because I just can’t help it, I want to touch her and feel connected to her. “I love this project. It’s porn at its best, you know? Forbidden and hot and a little emotional, a little artistic.”
I hear my voice—energetic and full of optimism. Loud in the quiet, dark living room. I lower it as I gesture to the rug and to the camera equipment on the floor. “Don’t we have the best job ever, Devi? The best life? We get to fuck for a living. We get to feel good and make other people feel good for money. And yes, sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes the money is thin and the jobs aren’t great. But how many people get to love what they do for a living? How many people get to work their dream job? And Star-Crossed is exactly the kind of thing I want my dream job to be.”
I can see her turning this over in her mind, and it encourages me to be the logical, compartmentalizing guy I need to be right now. “Hey,” I say, catching her chin with my finger and meeting her eyes. “I need to say some stuff.”
I can see her wrestle with something, and God, I wish I knew what she’s wrestling with. “Okay,” she agrees after a minute. “I think that might be good.”
I lick my lips. I spent a good three years of my life constantly apologizing to a girlfriend who I was never political or intellectual enough for, and so you’d think I’d be good at it by now. But instead I’m insanely nervous. I have to get this right. If I get it wrong, if I lose Devi…
I’ll lose everything.
But that won’t happen, I tell myself. I’ve got it all figured out now.
“So,” I start clumsily. “I, um. I’ve been doing some thinking since yesterday. And part of it was about how smart you are, how logical and careful you are. And I’m not naturally that way, I guess. I’m more of a ‘chips all in’ kind of guy, more of a lover than a thinker. And I’m…”
Devi is staring at me, and I realize I’m babbling. I cast around for the clearest way to say what I want to say.
“I think we should stop mixing our love life and our careers.”
Her lips part. “What do you mean?” she asks.
“I think we shouldn’t be boyfriend and girlfriend on the camera. I think we should just act like two performers. And then have our personal life completely separate. And that way it won’t be like it was when I fucked Bambi yesterday—because I know that hurt you, and because it hurt you, it hurt me too. We’ll be able to keep working, keep making porn with other people with zero weirdness, which is what we both want. Right?”
There’s no answer. Even her dark gold eyes are still and frozen.
“Devi, right?” I repeat.
Still no answer. My pulse starts to thud in my neck as the silence stretches out, and then I feel my stomach begin to twist as I realize that maybe all of the assumptions I’ve taken for granted about Devi and me, and what we both want, have been very, very wrong.
20
I stare at him, silent. There are things to say—lots of things—but I’m not sure where to begin when I’m not even sure to whom I’m talking at the moment.
The Logan who greeted me today, who fucked me with his clothes still on because he was so eager to be inside me, who whispered I love you as I came—that Logan is not the Logan who had sex with me on camera for the bulk of the last two hours. I don’t know this version of Logan. He’s cold and clinical, and though he was still able to make my body respond to his every whim, he is not the man I’m in love with.
And this bullshit about adding more couples to Star-Crossed?
Hell no.
I mean, this show has been one of the special things we’ve shared, the thing that has just been ours. And he wants to open that up to others?
I don’t understand.
I’m not sure I want to understand.
I gather my clothes as I gather my thoughts, mulling over everything he’s said, trying to figure out how I feel and what to say.
My lack of response seems to make Logan sweat. “Let me back up.” He stands over me as I start to dress. “I think I understand why you left the set yesterday and I know how to fix it.”
“By being an icy, distant asshole?” My tone has bite, but I manage to keep the volume level.
He laughs awkwardly. “No, no. I should have explained beforehand. I’m sure I came off that way because you didn’t get where I was coming from. See, I realized I haven’t thought about us in the right way. I'm learning that from you—you are so good at using your head. And I always do this, I always jump in heart first.”
I pull my T-shirt on, then turn to face him. “I still don’t get where you’re coming from, Logan.”
“I’m saying I was wrong to try to make it real. The show, I mean. I know it will be good art, but it was bad for us.”
I stop, one leg in my skirt, the other in mid-air. My heart thunders in my ears, and there’s a bitter taste in my mouth. “You regret that our relationship is real?” He can’t mean that, can he? Because if he does…
“No. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I regret that I let the real parts cross over into the work parts and now, of course, the lines are blurred. I didn’t see that this would be a problem, but I get it now. Right now, you think when I’m touching someone else that it’s the same as when I’m touching you. Because of the camera. But it’s different, and the way to prove that to you is to take away the camera from the real us. Then you’ll be able to see what’s the job and what’s not.”