“Hey.” Annie swallowed.
“Are you okay?” Esther squatted so she was looking up at Annie.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just…”
“Is it Jeff?” Esther’s gasp was pretty impressive.
Annie’s laugh forced out a few more tears. “No, it’s not Jeff.” It was much, much worse.
“You want to talk about it?” Esther was good listener and a pretty good friend, but what was Annie supposed to tell her? Confessing feelings about your trainer when you were supposed to be very focused on your future with someone else fell right into the “Problems with Jeff” box of issues.
“Actually. Not really. Sorry. It’s not a talking about it will make it better kind of situation.”
“Well, here.” Esther handed Annie a tissue. “Pace told me they got some awesome footage last night.” Another reason Annie didn’t want to open up to Esther. She was dating one of the camera guys. She loved her crew, but they really didn’t need to know about her screwed up love life. Correction, her screwed up sex life. This had nothing to do with love.
Annie wiped her eyes again, trying to get herself together.
Esther rubbed her shoulder and smiled hopefully. “Meta fell off the go-go booth at The Maypole and the guys got the whole thing on tape. You wanna see?”
Annie laughed for real this time, but still felt a twinge of pain. She usually checked on the night crews, but she’d been so unreasonably upset about Oksana’s final text she’d forgotten. She had to go in eventually, and having Esther as a physical buffer might be a good idea.
“Okay.” Annie sniffled and opened her door.
*
Annie followed Esther toward the commotion in the back of the office. Her camera guys were always rowdy in the morning. It didn’t matter if they didn’t get their full turnaround or not. Between the Red Bull and cigarettes, and surely a few grams of coke here and there, they were always amped and ready to go.
Just as she found them most mornings, Justin and Johnny Dangerous, as they liked to call him, were prepping A and B cam respectively. Brad, their sound guy, was casually checking his battery packs, but unlike normal mornings where Pace was busy running around like a nut making sure his guys had everything loaded into their vans, he was cuing something up on the monitor.
Ryan, the other camera operator, turned as they entered the room. “Annie, you have to see this shit.”
“E told me.” Just then Esther handed her a cold bottle of water and another tissue.
Pace turned around at the mention of his Esther’s nickname. He caught on to Annie’s blotchy face right away. “Hey,” Pace said as he looked at her carefully.
“I’m fine,” she mouthed back, before she took a rather refreshing sip of water. Pace nodded and turned back to the monitor. He got it and he let it go.
“Okay. Brad, this’ll teach you to ditch me for the fucking Discovery Channel,” he said.
“It was more money,” Brad laughed, winking at Annie. She scowled at him. She just allocated the money; she didn’t fund the shows herself.
“Whatever. Suck my bag. You’re never leaving me again,” Pace replied. “Okay. Watch this. Six years doing this reality shit, and this is the best fucking face-plant I’ve ever seen.”
Annie watched as the unedited clip started up.
Just Dance
had the second highest ratings of their shows, coming in right behind
Single Dads
. The show followed Meta Rogers, a J. Lo wannabe who had made a decent name for herself after choreographing a major tour. She was nuts. A complete bitch, a camera whore, and the bisexual Annie never wanted to be. She was ratings gold.
On screen, Annie watched her dancing erratically on a raised block just off the dance floor. A go-go boy in nothing but a pound of Vaseline and some briefs danced behind her, but Meta wasn’t sharing the spotlight. As the camera panned up, Meta’s feet passed out of the frame, but before Pace said another word, Annie could tell that Meta was running out of space on that four-by-four box. Suddenly, Meta slipped. The crowd was already parted to make room for Pace with his camera. There was no attempt to catch her, and BAM! Meta thwacked her face right into the floor.
Annie’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God! Is she okay? Why didn’t you guys call me?” she asked as the rest of the crew laughed hysterically.
“She’s fine.” Pace chuckled. Annie watched as a few guys helped Meta to her feet then breathed a sigh of relief as Meta brushed off her jeans and revealed that all her teeth were in her mouth.
“Wait. Pace, you turned in your tapes last night, right?” Annie frowned. As hilarious as this footage was, it should have been on its way to the post-production office a good eight hours ago.
“Busted,” Justin snickered.
“Pace!” Annie nearly popped a blood vessel.
“I did. I did. I just made a copy of this.” He smiled like the network wouldn’t fire his ass then sue the shit out of him if this footage was leaked prematurely.
“Delete it. Now.”
“What’s going on?” Jewel, the office assistant, came flip-flopping into the room. Annie couldn’t stand the twenty-year-old brat, but she was great on the phones, and as long as she was blowing Sergio, their executive producer, she wasn’t going anywhere.
“We’re watching Meta eat shit.” Johnny laughed with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. Which reminded Annie. She reached into her bag and tossed him a fresh pack of menthols. Amends for the shitty day rate they were getting.
“Ma’am.” He nodded with a smile and slipped the pack into his utility bag.
“This time. In slow motion,” Pace announced, and like that, they watched as Meta went down at a thousand frames per second. It was brutal. “I will delete it. I know legal’ll shit a fucking brick if they find out.”
“Oh, wow.” Annie shook her head while they watched Meta’s face meet the floor again. That had to hurt. The viewing audience would love it. “Where was this?”
“The Maypole, that gay bar over on Crescent,” Jewel answered.
Right, The Maypole, the trendiest gay bar in town. Esther had gotten location clearance the week before, but Annie had been so wrapped up with Miss Fantasy Fulfilled that she’d been letting simple details like where her crew was going slip. All the more reason to wrap her mind around these feelings, toss them in the ocean, and never think of Oksana again.
“The Maypole…” she muttered to herself as Pace played the clip at double speed. It was funny every time.
Annie had never been there before, but…she had an idea.
She turned to Jewel.
“Do you know if they have a ladies’ night?”
Jewel gave her that duh look that made Annie feel old. “Yeah. Thursdays I think. So today. Have you been crying?”
“Shush, Jewel. Are you going to have a bachelorette party?” Esther smiled in the most unnerving way.
“No, I was just wondering.”
“Bummer.”
But she was going to head out for more ladies only entertainment. She did need to know for sure. Was it Oksana she craved or women in general? If her relationship with Jeff had even the slightest chance of being in danger, she needed to figure that out and fast. Throwing herself into a sea of women seemed like the best place to start. Or the worst place ever for Annie to be when she was emotional and vulnerable. Either way, she needed to put herself out there while she had the chance. And if that didn’t work, if Oksana was truly the thing, the ugly man trainer idea was still on the table.
*
“Who do I have to fellate to get another day?” Stewart asked. Oksana watched her client mop the sweat off his face. He was more than ready to pump up his sessions, but she’d been waiting for Stewart to make that decision for himself. That was their deal; he’d bust his ass if Oksana wasn’t a complete bitch during their hour together. They’d expanded his comfort zones together. He worked like crazy, shed a ton of weight, safely, and slowly, Stewart became the first client Oksana considered a friend.
Oksana smiled and whacked him gently on the leg. “I think you might enjoy your sucking time with Paulo a little bit more than with me.”
“Mmhm, you know that’s right. I’m still too big boned for him, but just give me one chance.” Oksana’s laugh barely covered her grimace as Stewart licked his lips. Stewart was awesome, but the thought of him on his knees—gross.
She kept her bone jokes to herself and helped Stewart up off the mats.
“I’m headed back there now. What’s your best day?” Oksana asked. She rocked on her heels a little, thoughts of Stewart porn overshadowed by how proud she was of him. Sure, vanity was at play, but Stewart was genuinely trying to change his life and his health for the better.
And not trying to
fuck
you—again. Or making you crazy with his bottomless blue eyes. Or kissing you right out in the open. And you definitely wouldn’t be worrying about if he is going to text you again tonight while you lie awake in bed thinking about those bottomless blue eyes.
Great.
Oksana rolled her eyes at herself.
Made it a whole twenty minutes not thinking about Annie. Oh, God, please ask for Saturday morning. Please. I’ll bounce Annie in a heartbeat if it’ll help me shake these fucking meat sweats she’s giving me.
“Let’s do—what’s that face, chickie?”
“What face?” Oksana snapped her spine straight and frowned down at Stewart.
“You have a time in mind?”
“No. No. What’s good for you?”
“Let’s do Saturday…”
Oh God, yes!
“Let’s do Saturday afternoon. Noon work?”
Three months ago, the answer would have been no, but she’d taken on Saturday mornings for Annie. Damn it. “Yeah. Noon is perfect.”
Stewart smiled wide, showing off a massively chipped tooth. He had a few million dollars to fix it, but he never had. He had his reasons, which Oksana totally understood and respected. That didn’t stop Oksana from staring at it constantly, which she knew was rude, but the imperfection comforted her for some reason.
“No, noon is good.” It would put her home by the time Kat finally decided to roll out of bed, and they could still have the rest of the day together. Saturday morning would have been better. Stupid Annie.
“Good. I’ll see you then. And stop scowling,” Stewart said, tapping the corner of his eye. “You’ll line.”
*
Paulo was behind his desk, pretending to work. He didn’t keep the books, and outside of the seasonal classes, the four trainers on staff arranged their own schedules with their clients. Odds were he was cruising the Internet or playing poker. Oksana lingered in the doorway until he looked up from his monitor.
“Come in. I hate when you do that,” he said, letting his Italian accent slip a little. It was always strongest during business hours.
“Sorry.” Oksana collapsed on his couch and stretched her legs out in front of her. It always took a little while to get out of stand and encourage mode. She watched the subtle light changes from the monitor dance across Paulo’s bronze face for a few moments, and then she stopped being a punk.
“I slept with Annie Collins.”
Paulo froze, but he didn’t turn. “Will she be a problem?”
For me, yes. For the gym
… “No.” Oksana thought of that final text. It hurt like hell, but Annie had gotten the point, and as far as Oksana knew, they were on for Saturday. Annie’s wedding was still on.
“Good.” Paulo relaxed and spun his chair in Oksana’s direction, his running shorts bunching a bit over his muscular thighs.
Paul Taylor was a dark-haired, corn-fed, farm boy from Missouri. After a career in acting didn’t pan out and he realized fucking other men was much better when it wasn’t in exchange for bit parts, he took on a new persona: Paulo, Italian fitness master.
Oksana, one other trainer, and Paul’s partner, Bettino, an authentic Italian, were the only ones who knew the truth.
When he spoke again, Paulo was gone. “Was she any good?” he asked with a glint in his eye. Oksana liked it when he let his Midwest out. He seemed more honest in their conversations then and she felt less like the only foreigner in the room.
“It was fucking amazing.”
“How’d that happen anyhow? Her wedding’s what, two months out?”
“A little more. She…” Oksana hesitated before she told the whole truth. “She kissed me last night in the parking lot.”
“Okay
that
kind of shit can’t happen.”
“I know. I know!” Oksana groaned, rubbing her face. “I told her last night. No more of, I don’t know, whatever it was. It’s over.”
“Good. I hate straight people.” Paul rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Well, at least you got some. It’s been a while.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Paul replied, flashing a handsome grin. “How about a new victim?”
“Stewart asked for Saturday, noon,” she told him before he committed her elsewhere.
Paul grabbed a pen and scribbled that down. “Won’t be a problem. I got a call from Overhouse this morning. They are casting
Angels of the Prairie Run
.”
Oksana had heard a while ago that the film adaptation of the
New York Times
bestselling novel had started pre-production. She’d actually read the book. The historical drama was a quick break from the biographies she’d been gobbling up in her free time. The book was pretty good. Hopefully, the movie would be good too.