Hot Cop Boxed Set

by Paige, Laurelin

  And at one point, I thought I needed to leave that emotional guy behind to be the best boyfriend I could to Devi, that I needed to be analytical and logical and even a little callous to keep our relationship strong. But now I know what Devi knew already—that it’s not emotion versus intellect or head versus heart. It’s both, complementary and balanced and all at the same time. Devi, my Devi, was the wisest of us all along, despite her inexperience and young age.

  I can’t change what—or who—I’ve done. But I can change what I will do. And so instead of shutting down my feelings or making a string of rash, impetuous decisions, I am determined that the next time I see my Cass, I will have used my love for her to make smart, determined strides towards a different and better life.

  I’m going to show her that the man she knew has come back for her, and he’s not going anywhere this time.

  Twenty-Two

  “It was twenty-seven hours of labor,” my mother says through the phone. “We’re both exhausted. But then at the end, a beautiful baby boy.”

  She’s spent the last ten minutes telling me the details of her and Baba’s latest delivery, and it feels like it’s been twenty-seven hours of listening. Admittedly, I’ve only been half paying attention, inserting uh-huhs and oh wows when it felt appropriate while I scurried around my apartment getting ready for class.

  “Your father didn’t even make it upstairs. He’s passed out on the couch. I don’t know how I’m talking to you right now, I can barely think straight.”

  “You should be in bed. I can chat with you later.” With my phone in one hand, I run my fingers through my hair and take a final glance in my bathroom mirror. God, I look tired, but I’ve looked tired for the last four months. I can’t remember the last time I slept well, the last time I didn’t wake dreaming of Logan.

  Of course, it would probably help if I didn’t fall asleep to a video of us every night. Sometimes I don’t even masturbate while I watch. It never completely relieves the knot of tension inside when I do, and it usually leaves me feeling more miserable than when I started. But I like hearing his voice last thing before closing my eyes. I like remembering what it felt like to be with him.

  It’s kind of pathetic, really. I know I can’t live like Majnun forever. Eventually I have to move on. Otherwise, why did I break up with him? Nothing’s changed. His job is still sleeping with other women. And I’m still miserable.

  Well, not completely miserable. I do have school.

  My mother dismisses my invitation to talk later. “I couldn’t miss today. Are you excited? Nervous? Did you fix yourself some of that calming tea blend I sent you?”

  I’ve been in Austin for two weeks now, setting up my apartment and settling in. Yesterday, I went to a new student orientation and a financial aid seminar, and trained for a couple of hours for my job in the bursar’s office. Then I met with my advisor. Today classes start, and though I feel a bit unprepared for what’s to come, I feel confident that I’m doing the right thing. The undergraduate astronomy program is one of the best in the U.S., and my living expenses are much more affordable than in California.

  “I am both excited and nervous,” I tell my mother, “and the tea is excellent.” I’m drinking coffee at the moment, but I don’t bother to let her know that.

  And if this is what I look like after already a cup of strong brew, then the bags under my eyes are probably going nowhere. I turn off the bathroom light and head to my bedroom to look for my flip-flops.

  “Nervousness and excitement are two sides of the same coin. You can rarely have one without the other.”

  “I don’t know that quote. Who’s it from?”

  “Me,” she says coyly. “See? I can say something useful every now and again.”

  I smile proudly, even though she can’t see me. “You always say something useful, Mom. It’s just not always what I want to hear.” Kneeling, I stretch to retrieve the shoe that got pushed underneath my bed.

  “Good advice never is. Speaking of which, let’s do your Tarot before I’m too sleepy to interpret your message. I have a feeling today’s going to be an important reading.” Every day since I’ve been gone, my mother has called to read me a Tarot card. That’s her excuse, anyway. Really, I think she just misses me.

  “Page of wands!” she exclaims. “I knew today was good. There’s going to be a boy.” We both know when she says “a boy” she really means “Logan.” Ever since she saw him the day she went to pick up my clothes from my apartment for me, she’s been convinced he’ll show up in my life again. “He’s growing,” she says whenever she gets the opportunity, “you’ll see.”

  But that’s my mother. She sees the good in people. I’d like to believe it’s a quality I inherited from her. But I’m also practical. And while I think that Logan probably is on a growth journey—because, who isn’t?—I can’t pause my life while he takes it.

  I have too much to focus on right now to bring up the subject of Logan, so I ignore the elephant and say, “Yeah, mom. It’s my first day. There will probably be lots of boys.”

  “Well, one boy in particular is going to be important. Maybe he’ll bring you good news.”

  My mother forgets I know Tarot almost as well as she does. While the page of wands can mean a messenger or a creative man, it is also very much like the fool card. It’s more likely my reading represents the new path I’m on, my new beginning.

  But I don’t contradict my mother’s interpretation. “Oh, yay. Hopefully that means my financial aid will finally drop into my account.”

  “It hasn’t yet? Do you need any money, Boombalee?”

  “No, no. I’m good.” Student loans and my part-time job in the bursar’s office will pay for my tuition. Revenue from Star-Crossed pays for my basic living expenses and all my textbooks. The first episode released two months ago and is currently Lelie’s number one most watched show. Critical response has been just as incredible and preliminary reports show the crossover to non-porn watchers is strong.

  I’m proud of it. Proud of Logan. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets an award or two at the AVN show. If he got nominated, maybe I’d attend the ceremony. Surely, by then I’d be ready to see him again.

  As of now it’s been four months. Four long lonely months.

  “Don’t be prideful, Devi. ‘When you are—’”

  I cut her off before she can finish her Buddha quote. “I’m not being prideful, Mom. I have enough money.”

  “Good. But I can do a distance reiki to manifest fortune for you if you need it. Just say the word.”

  “Yeah. I will.” I brace the phone on my shoulder with my cheek while I stuff my physics textbook into my bag. “Hey, I have to get to class now. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  We hang up, and I take a minute to run through a centering meditation—another useful tool I’ve gotten from my mother—and then head out for the first day in my new world.

  * * *

  Do I miss doing porn?

  The short answer is I miss the money. (It was really good money for not a lot of work. I could cover the monthly stipend for my campus job with just one shoot.)

  The long answer is I miss doing porn with Logan.

  It’s a long answer because I’d have to go into all the details of how, in my mind, they don’t exist separately anymore. Even girl-girl porn reminds me of Logan. Not because he watched me that day with Kendi, but because sex in general is now tainted because of him. Logan made sex better. He made it about all of me, and not just a part of me. Not only my body and what it could do. He made sex a whole experience. Now I can’t go back to how it was. It’s like I spent my entire life drinking skim milk, and though I liked it fine, I had no idea what I was missing until I drank whole milk. I’m sure it will change one day, that I’ll enjoy sex and porn again more fully after time and distance. After I fall in love and have sex with someone else.

  But even when it does change, I don’t think I can go back to doing the kind of erotic films I was doing. I don’
t even have an agent for it anymore. Back when I decided to leave Logan, when I decided to go back to school, I wrapped up a few assignments and then politely fired my agent. I’m not sure if I would have had trouble finding more work after LaRue threatened to blackball me, but my guess is that it wouldn’t have been the problem I’d feared since he didn’t even come after me for lost revenue like he said he would. He didn’t really want my money. He wanted me to spread my legs for his films.

  Speaking of people who wanted me to spread my legs, I did make a formal complaint about Bruce Madden to the Adult Performer Advocacy Committee. Not that it did any good. He is still offered jobs and the APAC has made no formal investigations. Sadly, women don’t have much of a voice in the industry, surprise surprise. At least I did my part.

  Logan did his part too. Though it’s too painful to watch his videos with other women, I still visit his website from time to time to read his blog and see the latest updates about Star-Crossed. One day, about a month after I last saw him, he’d written up a blog post about Bruce and about what he did to the women he worked with. Apparently there were other victims besides me. Logan did his research and put together a pretty in-depth tell-all about the “douchecanoe,” as he calls him. I’m not around anyone who would know those things anymore, but based on the comments the blog post got, I suspect Bruce is having trouble getting any big stars to work with him now. I’ve got to be honest—that makes me feel quite vindicated.

  It also makes me feel gooey and melancholy about Logan too, because (a) what doesn’t? and (b) I know he spoke out for me. It’s proof that he really does love me, but I never questioned that.

  Logan is the real reason I can never do porn again.

  If I tried, I would be setting myself up for the same situation I fell into with him. Even if I made the rule to not date another porn star, I’m smart enough to know that those kinds of rules aren’t always within a person’s power to keep. Besides, it would be hypocritical for me to be skim milk when I no longer want to drink it myself. It was fine once upon a time. Not anymore. Not for me. Now I want the real thing. So I’m going to hold out for the whole milk.

  As for Logan…

  Though I’d never admit it to my mother, I sometimes like to fantasize that he’ll change his mind, that he’ll decide he prefers whole milk too. But it’s not really fair to try to put that dream on his reality. He might actually like skim milk. He might not even be able tell the difference. I can’t sit around wishing for him to “fall in line” and show up on my doorstep with a box full of chocolates and a bouquet of roses. That just might not be his future.

  But my future is the stars. So it doesn’t mean that I don’t still hope.

  * * *

  After a morning of back-to-back classes, I have four syllabi to go over, five chapters of reading, an essay to write, and a page of math problems.

  It’s overwhelming and awesome.

  I haven’t been this happy since…well, since Logan.

  School, I decide, is the best cure for a broken heart. That and a busy schedule. Even though I’m eager to dive into my homework, I’m also thankful I have my work-study job in the bursar’s office to keep me truly occupied. I’m only scheduled for three hours on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but with my full course heavy with math and science classes, I’m sure it will be all I can handle.

  The job is easy, thankfully, and even though it’s my first day at the counter, it only takes half my shift before my supervisor says, “You’ve really got the hang of this, Devi. Think you can handle some students on your own while I start working on the deposit for my drawer?”

  “Yep. I’m good.” Like I said, the job is pie, and Jake’s a great trainer.

  He’s also amazing to look at—tall, dark, handsome, built, and totally gay. He’s witty and smart and likes to tease, and since there’s no sexual tension, it’s easy to tease back. We’ve only known each other two days, and he’s already a friend.

  “Coolio. I’ll be in the back. Holler if you need anything, I’ll be here in a flash.”

  I don’t need anything, but I turn my back to the counter and call after him. “Hey, Jake!” When he rushes back, I say, “Just testing.”

  He laughs. “You’re such a bad girl.” If he only knew. His expression sombers quickly. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you come in,” he says to someone behind me. “Devi will get you taken care of.”

  Jake walks off, and I put on a friendly grin and pivot to face the person in front of me. “How can I—” I start, and then my voice cuts off in a sharp intake of breath.

  Because the guy in front of me is Logan.

  My body reacts instantly, buzzing and itching as if on cue. As if we’re in production for Campus Porn and our script has us meeting and banging within two minutes. I’m ready to start shedding my clothing and I’m not above climbing over the counter.

  But we aren’t on set for anything. This is real life, and while I’m thrilled at the sight of him, I’m on pins and needles too.

  He locks eyes with mine, a host of familiar emotions present in his intense gaze. “Am I too late?” he asks.

  “What?” I ask, even though I heard him. I might even know what he’s asking, but I’m still so stunned to see him that I’ve forgotten how to use words.

  “Am I too late?” He glances toward the back office where Jake disappeared just a moment ago.

  Damn, he really is asking what I think he’s asking!

  And he’s really here. In front of me.

  My stomach flutters with nervous exhilaration, and I have to swallow before I can respond. “You mean, are you too late for me? That in the short time I’ve been in Austin I may have fallen madly in love with my supervisor? Because, number one, he’s gay.”

  “He’s gay?” Logan tries to play surprised but mostly he sounds relieved.

  “Mm hmm.” I lean against the counter to be nearer to him but also because I’m shaking like a leaf.

  “Huh.” He leans forward too, his elbows on the counter, and he’s so close I can smell the familiar clean scent of his skin. “What’s number two?”

  Number two, I’m still madly in love with you.

  I almost say it. We’re flirting, and it’s easy and natural and like we’ve never been apart. But I’m trying to be cautious because what is he doing here?

  “Number two, I don’t just give my heart to everyone I work with.” Speaking of my heart, it’s pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

  His eyes are back on mine, his gaze deep and penetrating. “I know that about you. It’s one of my favorite traits of yours.”

  It’s funny how, out of the hundreds of amazing things he’s said and done to me, a simple statement like this can still twist me in delicious knots. Maybe because a part of me had feared that he hated me after I left. That there would never be anything about me that he thought of as his favorite again.

  But he doesn’t hate me. And he’s here. And I’ve missed him so so much that just seeing him makes me all sorts of crazy happy. But if nothing’s changed since I last saw him…“What are you doing here, Logan?” My tone is demanding and I don’t try to hide the bite of desperation. “You come all the way to Austin like this, and I’m going to start to get my hopes up. Is there any reason why maybe I should get my hopes up?”

  His eyes fall—nervous maybe? He digs in his back pocket. “I don’t know if it’s worth getting your hopes up over. But as for what I’m doing here,” he pulls out his wallet and flips it open, “I came to pay a tuition bill.”

  Understanding settles in, and my heart literally sinks. “I don’t need you to pay my tuition bill, thank you. I’m doing fine on my own.”

  I wonder if he talked to my mother or if he just decided to come do this on a whim of his own. I’m not sure how he ever got the notion that I would want this, as if he owed me. As if I were his whore. I’m pissed and my eyes are stinging, and how the hell is it still possible for him to hurt me like this?

  But then he says, “Not y
our tuition, Queen Cass. Mine.”

  My throat goes dry. “What?”

  “Yeah, see,” he runs a hand through his hair, and I have to bite my lip to keep myself from doing anything rash like, oh, molest him in a public space. “It took me a little while to get all the details sorted out, but I’ve wrapped up all of my prior obligations and sold a portion of my production studios to Vida. And as of about three days ago, I’m officially a student at UT Austin.” His expression is somehow both bold and boyish. “In other words, you are looking at a man who is no longer a porn star.”

  In a flash, all sense of propriety goes out the window and I’m crawling over the counter to leap into Logan’s arms.

  And then we’re kissing, greedily, desperately, our mouths clashing awkwardly with eagerness. My ass is still on the counter, but I wrap my legs around his waist, and his hands thread possessively through my hair, and I can’t even think because my feelings are so big and consuming.

  “You’re crying,” he whispers when I pull away to catch my breath.

  “I can’t help it. You enrolled in school for me.” I watch my thumb sweep across his jawline, too overwhelmed to look him in the eye.

  “Hey.” With two fingers, Logan pushes my chin up to meet his gaze. “I enrolled in school for me. I rented out my house and am living in a one-bedroom in Texas for you. Got it?”

  Even better. I’m grinning, but I rein it in to give him a look of mock seriousness. “Got it.”

  He swipes away my tears with the back of his finger then wraps a hand behind my neck. “Awfully convenient that the same school you chose has a fairly decent film program, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Convenient. That’s what that was.” I like the idea of fate and everything, but I’m not one to rely on it alone. So I nudged the universe a little. Can you blame me?

  “You knew I’d follow you here, didn’t you?”

  My mind flashes to that Tarot’s star card, the card that I’ve held close for all these months. “I didn’t know. I hoped.”