by Rosie Danan
“Do you wanna play a game?” Josh held up a deck of cards when she returned. He’d repositioned himself on the very edge of his side of the couch. Either he wanted to escape her lustful gaze or—she clenched her thighs—the dark was getting to him too.
“What kind of game?” Clara choked on her tongue. Surely he wouldn’t, couldn’t, suggest strip poker.
“I thought I could teach you Slap Jack,” he said, the picture of innocence.
A few hands in, Clara knew Josh was cheating, but she didn’t know how.
She pouted into her glass of wine. She had not expected Josh to roundly trounce her. “Are you hiding cards under your butt?”
“That statement is incredibly offensive. First of all, a Conners never cheats. We’re incredibly honest and upstanding. Second of all, and more importantly, there’s no way my ass is big enough to hide cards. I’ve put in hundreds of hours of rigorous thrusting to get these tight buns.”
Clara licked a drop of wine off her lips. She had a hard enough time sitting on this couch, in the candlelight, facing Josh, their knees almost touching, without him mentioning sex. Or his tight ass for that matter.
She reminded herself that Josh wasn’t Everett. Like at all. Somewhere around sophomore year, Everett had decided that big emotions weren’t cool. He committed himself to a “mellow way of life.” He never cried at movies or laughed so hard that beer came out of his nose. Josh, on the other hand, seemed to naturally suck all the juice out of every moment. When Josh ate something that tasted good, he threw his head back, closed his eyes, and groaned. Clara bit her lip thinking about it. “Just deal the cards.”
He did as she bade him, shuffling with an impressive flick of his wrist. Clara hadn’t anticipated how much this game would make her focus on his hands. Perhaps she was losing so badly because she couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways he’d used those long fingers to make her moan? Knowing she’d barely scratched the surface of his sexual talents made her a little crazy. According to that article, he was the Michael Jordan of cunnilingus.
Clara lost another round.
“Good thing we’re not playing for money, huh?” He gave her an impish smile.
She squirmed. Get a hold of yourself. She was doing the same thing as all of those other people who treated Josh like a piece of meat. If he were an investment banker or a plumber, she wouldn’t be imagining ripping off all her clothes and begging him to take her. His illicit profession had warped her brain into some kind of frenzy.
“How many glasses of wine have you had?”
“Two?” Oh no. Was she drooling?
“You’re all rosy.” Josh brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “Do you want me to grab you some water?”
Clara’s hands flew to her cheeks. “No. I’m fine. Must be feverish with competitive spirit.”
“I’ve gotta admit.” Josh leaned forward. “I like watching you lose.”
Heat spread across her chest at his gravelly tone. “That’s a horrible thing to say!”
“No, I mean it’s cute.”
Clara brightened.
“You get all pouty like a little kid.”
Oh. Like a kid. Of course. “I am not pouting. I’m concentrating. This is how my face looks when I concentrate.”
Josh shot a glance at the ledger. “Maybe you should concentrate less.”
Clara handed him her discarded cards with more force than necessary. “This game is rigged.”
“I offered to give you a handicap.” Josh tossed a handful of popcorn at her.
The soft kernels bounced off her nose and she gasped. “You’ve got an evolutionary advantage. Your arms are longer, making it easier for you to reach the cards, and your hands are bigger, meaning you can flip through your stack faster.”
Josh laughed. “Your ability to rationalize knows no bounds.”
“Maybe we should switch to gin rummy?”
Josh pulled a face. “Are you kidding? How about Texas hold ’em?”
Clara rose up to her knees on the couch in indignation. “What’s wrong with gin rummy? I used to play all the time with my grandfather.”
“Exactly. It’s a game for old people. I rest my case.”
From somewhere deep in the cushions, a phone beeped. Josh and Clara both stuck their hands down the seam of the sofa and their arms brushed. Goose bumps broke out across her skin and she prayed he didn’t notice.
“It’s mine.” Josh’s mouth twisted like he’d sucked on a lemon as he looked at the message on the screen.
“What’s it say?”
Josh tossed the phone behind him. “Nothing.” Then he shoved a bunch of popcorn in his mouth.
“It’s obviously not nothing. Come on. Who’s texting you?”
“H. D. Pruitt.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?”
Josh bent to pick up the dispersed kernels. “Because he’s the CEO of Black Hat.”
Clara gasped. “The one Toni wrote about?”
“Yeah. I took a meeting with him this morning and he offered me this insane deal. Six figures to headline his hardcore division.”
What the hell did they do in the hardcore division?
“Before you freak out, I turned him down. He, uh, may have threatened to blacklist me.”
“He what? Josh, that’s terrible. Not to mention illegal.”
“Pretty standard for Black Hat as far as I can tell. I figured he might try something similar when I agreed to the meeting. It’s not a big deal. I’ve got a year left on my contract with them, but I’ve fulfilled my film quota. I’ll take a hiatus. They can’t sue me or anything.”
“But what are you going to do for a year? What about your talent?”
Josh raised his eyebrows. “I guess I’ll have to go back to using my talent recreationally.”
Clara’s heartbeat skidded to a halt.
“The only rights not locked down in my stock agreement are for voice-over.”
Putting a pin in why she cared so much about Josh’s “recreational activities,” Clara narrowed her eyes. “Wait, so you’re saying you could narrate something?”
Josh cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, I guess, in theory. People aren’t usually looking for a narrator in their pornos. That kinda thing probably goes from zero to wildlife special real quick.”
Clara sat up straighter. “But what if you didn’t make porn?”
“Then I wouldn’t have a job?”
An idea ran like a charge down her spine. “Okay, remember that thing you helped me with?”
He raised a shoulder and frowned.
“That thing.” She looked down at her lap.
“Sorry, no.”
“Ugh. Remember that time you gave me an orgasm?”
“Ha. Yeah. I knew what you meant. I wanted to hear you say it.”
Clara rolled her eyes. Jerk. “Well, a lot of women have problems like that. I looked it up.”
“Of course you did.”
“Their partners don’t know how to get them off. Or they know like one way to do it and they ride that horse into the ground.” She’d once dated an engineer who insisted that any position besides missionary gave him a migraine. “But you could help them. You said you wanted to produce something. What if you made something somewhere between porn and sex ed?”
Josh rubbed the back of his neck. “Like an orgasm how-to guide?”
“Yes! Exactly. You could narrate tips and tricks and . . . I don’t know . . . scenarios focused on women’s sexual pleasure. Your fan base would eat that up.”
Josh bit his thumbnail. “It’s not a bad idea, but the start-up costs associated with something like that would add up fast. You’re talking hiring performers, renting a sound stage. You need a ton of expensive equipment. Lighting, editing, web hosting, marketing. I’ve got some savings, b
ut I’d burn through it way before I ever saw money back. Even if we set up a subscription model.”
“Well, I could help pay for it.” She’d always imagined that eventually, she’d sponsor the creation of meaningful art with her wealth. While this particular type of venture had never entered her mind, she found she wasn’t opposed. In fact, she could barely catch her breath for how excited the idea made her.
“What? No. I’m not taking your money.”
“Why not? Lots of projects get investors. I’ve got a trust fund just sitting there. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t believe in the concept.”
“No. Seriously. Borrowing money ruins friendships.”
Clara’s cheeks heated. “You consider me your friend?”
“Of course you’re my friend, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“Then don’t let the money thing make it weird. Women need this. No.” She corrected herself. “Women deserve this.” She stood up. This felt like the kind of moment when a person should stand up. “Women need to know that their pleasure matters. If we build the right resource, the world would no longer have an excuse not to know how the clitoris works.”
Josh stared up at her. “I can’t believe you said clitoris at full volume. I can’t tell if I’m afraid of you right now or turned on. Possibly both. Are you sure you only had two glasses of wine?”
If only his attraction didn’t extend to the entire female half of the population. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”
He looked at his hands folded in his lap and sat uncharacteristically still. “Why me?”
Couldn’t he see it? “You’re the perfect inspiration. God knows I don’t want to inflate your ego further, but I can imagine you’re a gateway to porn for a lot of women. Must be your massive . . . personality.”
A smile broke across his face. “I’m pretty sure that somewhere in that little soapbox speech was the nicest compliment I’ve ever been paid.” Josh stood up from the couch and bumped her shoulder with his own. “But don’t I need, you know, women for an idea like this? I’m not exactly an authority on the female body.”
Clara snorted. “Obviously. But you wouldn’t have to do it alone.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“Me? Oh no. Absolutely not.” Her vision swam at the very thought of tying her name to a project like that. “Just think of me as an anonymous bag of money. You must know someone, a woman someone, who wouldn’t mind being on camera.” She stared at the ceiling. “Naked.”
“I know a lot of someones like that. But someone who wouldn’t be deterred by Pruitt’s threat? That narrows the list considerably. There is one person who comes to mind, but that might make things a little complicated.”
“Well, call her.” Clara knew he meant Naomi Grant. That this business idea she’d had would likely provide the setting for their inevitable reconciliation. Attempting to ignore the panic climbing up her body, Clara realized that she’d just handed Josh a one-way ticket out of her life.
chapter sixteen
JOSH LEARNED THE definition of the word awkward underneath the disco lighting of a West Hollywood bowling alley.
“Clara, I’d like you to meet Stu . . . or uh . . . I mean, Naomi Grant,” he said a week and a half later, raising his voice over the clashing of pins as he introduced the last woman he’d touched sexually to his ex-girlfriend.
He’d attempted to be strategic with the location for extending his business proposal. Nothing corporate or fussy. Bowling seemed smart because it gave everyone something to do with their hands, but he hadn’t anticipated that the only available lane at two p.m. on a Sunday would be smack-dab between a middle school birthday party and league practice for seniors.
Clara shifted the pair of bowling shoes she held to free up her right hand and extend it for Stu to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you prefer Naomi or . . . Stu, was it?”
“If you call me Naomi there’s a better chance I’ll answer.” His ex looked around the bowling alley with a deep glower.
They all stood in a little circle staring at one another and holding shoes that didn’t belong to them. “Shall we?” He gestured for the two women to precede him in selecting their bowling balls.
While Clara wore a pair of jeans and a simple white short-sleeve shirt, Naomi had on some kind of ridiculously tiny leather shorts and one of his old Metallica T-shirts chopped up until it hung off her shoulders and showed her stomach. Outwardly at least, the two women didn’t have a thing in common, besides the obvious fact that they were both beautiful. Josh fought the impulse to run.
“Next time don’t let him pick the activity,” Naomi said to Clara.
Clara dipped her head. “Noted.”
“I’m standing right behind you.”
Both women stared at him with their hands planted on their hips. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea?
Oh right, because beggars couldn’t be choosers. And, after verifying with Clara several times over the last few days that she still wanted to fund this endeavor while sober, he’d agreed to take her money. Now he owed it to her to secure the best possible “leading lady.” No one else in the industry had the lethal combination of talent, intellect, and business savvy that Naomi did. Unfortunately, she also alternately hated his guts and wanted to fuck his brains out, making negotiation rather treacherous.
After a couple of awkward rounds of both bowling and beers, Clara discreetly elbowed Josh. “Quit stalling,” she said under her breath while Naomi waited for her ball to come back out of the machine. “We’ve been over the pitch a hundred times over the last few days. Ask her now before we lose our audience.”
“Now? You think so? We’ve only bowled twenty-four frames.”
Clara furrowed her brow. “Now. I get frumpier every second I spend standing next to that woman.” She pulled the contract they’d had a lawyer draw up out of her purse and shoved the papers hard against Josh’s chest. “I’m saying this not as your friend, not as your roommate, but as your business partner: if you don’t ask her to look at those documents in the next five minutes”—her gray eyes flashed dangerously—“I’m going to make you eat them.”
Josh swallowed. “Got it.”
Naomi returned from her turn.
“Hey, Stu, will you sit down for a second? There’s something I . . . I mean, we, want to discuss with you.” He laid out the situation, hitting most of the key points from Clara’s project proposal. She only winced once when he accidentally said “resource to pleasure women” instead of “resource for women’s pleasure.”
When he finished he sagged back in his hard plastic chair. Mission complete. Maybe now they could order nachos. “So, what do you think?”
Naomi stared at Clara and Josh over the rim of her beer. “I’ve heard my fair share of wild propositions over the years, but I’ve got to hand it to you, this one takes the cake. You wanna give Black Hat the middle finger and you want to use my hand, not to mention other body parts, to do it?”
Josh leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He lowered his voice so that the birthday boy in the paper hat wouldn’t overhear them. “The concept only works if it’s got a woman at its helm. No one needs a site focused on how to get men to orgasm. Clara says we’ve gotta play to the needs of the market.”
Clara took a healthy gulp of her beer and lowered it with a shaky hand. He shouldn’t have begged her to come, but he didn’t think he’d get through this without her.
“Come on, Stu. I’m not arrogant enough to think I know everything about women’s pleasure. But lending my dulcet tones as your pretty-boy front man? It could work.”
Naomi’s fiery-eyed glare would have stripped paint off a Buick.
Clara came to his rescue. “You can hire whomever you want. Female writers, directors, editors, as many positions as you need. We’ll let them know about the risk up front from Pruit
t, but the beauty of the plan is that we don’t need Black Hat distribution. Josh can harness his Darlings, and you’ll bring your own fans to the table. That’s enough of a viewing population to get things rolling. But if our goal is to bring in male audiences too, we need a carrot.”
“I’m the carrot?” Naomi gave a little wave to the shoe attendant, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since she walked in.
“You’re more than a carrot,” Clara said. “Separately, you’re two of the hottest names in the industry, and the idea that you’re coming back together to build something for women, focused on their experience and satisfaction, will make people curious. I can help you get press coverage. I’m learning a lot at my aunt’s PR firm. The hook is built in. A site focused on women’s sexual pleasure shouldn’t feel revolutionary, but it does a little, don’t you think?”
Naomi raised a finely crafted eyebrow. “Exactly how much do you know about pleasuring women?” Her tone was civil but her subtext was pointed: Who are you and what gives you the right to walk in our world?
Clara straightened her shoulders. “Not as much as I’d like, but I’m a quick study.”
Naomi’s eyes shot to Josh. “Is that where you come in, Romeo?”
Josh knew she thought he’d seduced Clara into some kind of sex fog, but that wasn’t the case. She was just that good a person—one who wanted to use her money to help people. And he’d brought her here and fed her to a lioness because he only had conviction in his potential when she stood within ten feet of him. Sweat beaded at his temples and he tried to drown himself in his beer.
Naomi tapped her foot and the bottom of her bowling shoe slapped the linoleum. “So it’s what, porn with more kissing? Better lighting? Rose petals?”
“It’s not porn,” Josh said. “It’s sex ed with a makeover. Less clinical, more entertaining. Built for grown-ups.”
Clara picked up on his momentum. “You two could make it fun, exciting. You’re experts in pleasure. The primary focus would be instruction rather than titillation. The people on screen would perform different positions and techniques, you and Josh could explain what they’re doing and why it works. What works for everybody is different, so we’d never run out of material.”
