Diving In (11 page)

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First
Dance

Exposed

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James and Lola will return in Vice, Virtue
& Video, book one of a full-length series that follows the duo
in their adult lives. James has become an adult film superstar and
lives two doors down from Lola in the San Fernando Valley.
Everything seems to be great for these two best friends until a
crazy porn producer sets her sights on Lola and James learns the
difference between kinky fun and real danger.

Enjoy this free sample of the first chapter,
check out
First
Dance
, a free introductory short and
Exposed
,
the second short in the series.

“There you are, Lola!” My best friend James
says as I walk in the door of my apartment. It smells delicious in
here and I know he’s been slaving away on a tasty meal for us. He
cooks for me most nights and he has since I moved out to California
after graduating from college a couple years ago.

“Sorry,” I shake my head with frustration,
“of course they asked me to make, like, a zillion copies as I was
walking out the door.” I’m an Ivy League grad whose only job
opportunity is as a glorified secretary in an accountant’s office.
Thanks, economy!

“It’s ok,” James says, walking his tall,
chiseled body over to give me a hug. He’s about a foot taller than
me and built like Michelangelo’s David, so he’s all firm and muscly
as I wrap my arms around him. “I figured I’d wait until you got
home to put the pasta in so it wouldn’t get all soggy,” he adds
sweetly.

“Did you do the alfredo tonight?” My mouth
waters at the thought.

“You know it!” He smiles, flashing me his
perfect, pearly whites.

“Last night it was that delicious
mustard-thyme chicken and the amazing banana bread, today it’s
creamy fettuccine. I think you’re trying to fatten me up,” I grin
back up at him. James in an incredible cook and has been since he
was a teenager. Though I’m petite and generally pretty lithe, I’ve
gained ten pounds since moving out here and I’m certain he’s to
blame.

“You’re, like, 80 pounds soaking wet, kid,”
he teases. “Somebody’s gotta help you put some meat on those
bones.”

I smirk and roll my eyes with a laugh.

“Want a glass of wine?” He offers, heading
back to the kitchen.

“Yeah, lemme take this skirt off, the
zipper’s digging into my hip,” I reply, heading towards my
bedroom.

My apartment is small and cramped, but it’s
cheap enough for me to afford and it’s two doors away from James’
place on the second floor of our complex.

I kick off my stilettos, bringing me from
5’6” to my natural 5’2”, and peel off my pencil skirt. I pull my
blouse off and change into some yoga pants and a racerback tank
top. I twist my long, brown hair into a bun and dart into the
bathroom to wash off my makeup. I look a little tired from the long
day, but I’m just hanging out with James tonight, so no need to be
a glamazon.

“Here you go,” James says, handing me a glass
of red wine as I sit at the counter and watch him finish up the
cooking. He looks nice in his worn out jeans and white v-neck
t-shirt as he leans over the stove to stir the pasta.

James is handsome. Very handsome. Aside from
having the body of a Greek god, he’s also got a square jaw, full,
pouty lips and hazel-green eyes. He wears his hair long, but he
usually pulls it back in a short ponytail or messy bun when he’s
just chilling at home. I’ve heard people compare him to hunky actor
Jason Momoa more than a few times. I understand that James is a
hottie, but he’s been my best friend since I was six and it’s hard
to picture getting sexual with someone you knew since they were a
third grader. Apparently I’m the only girl who doesn’t see him as a
sex god, because James has been the ultimate ladies’ man since
middle school. He’s three years older than me and everything I’ve
learned about sex came from him because he was my next door
neighbor and he’d accrued a library of experiences before I’d even
got my braces off.

“So, how was work?” I ask, taking another sip
of wine.

“Good,” he nods, “I had a threesome scene,
but it was a quick one, which is why I went out and got the stuff
to make alfredo tonight.”

James is an actor … of sorts. He moved out to
L.A. with stars in his eyes after dropping out of college at age
19. With his good looks and charm, he was hoping to become an
action star or some kind of Hollywood heartthrob, but his career
took a little turn and he’s currently a huge superstar in the wild
world of adult films. Most of his friends from back home dropped
him when the word got out and his parents basically disowned him.
Sometimes I feel like the only person from his past who doesn’t
really care about his job. He’s my best friend and always has been,
so who gives a shit if he bangs chicks for a living? It’s not like
he wasn’t screwing hundreds of girls before he started doing it on
camera.

“Dude! This is so delicious!” I groan as I
take a bite of pasta. James could defeat an Iron Chef with his eyes
closed.

He chuckles and smiles proudly, watching me
savor another big bite. Aside from cooking me dinner on the
regular, James is always taking care of me. Growing up, he was like
my big brother and he always looked out for me. I remember him
fighting off bullies for me when I was going through my gawky,
tween phase in seventh grade and how he’d intimidate boys who got a
little over-amorous with me once I hit puberty and emerged with a
pair of D cups and a healthy dose of low self-esteem. He’s like my
bodyguard, my protector, and he’s the only person I can share
absolutely everything with.

“So, how’s that Eric dude?” He asks, zapping
me out of my nostalgic childhood memories.

“Oh, he’s good. He knew Peter was making me
work through lunch, so he brought me one of those portobello
sandwiches I love,” I reply. Eric is the hot guy who works at the
law firm on my floor. He’s about 6’4” and he works out like crazy.
He’s got blonde hair and blue eyes and he looks like a hulking
viking. At 38, he’s 15 years older than me—which worries James, I
know—but he’s sexy and he flirts with me all the time.

James raises an eyebrow and gives me a
look.

“What?” I laugh, feeling my cheeks starting
to flush.

“He likes you, you know?” He grins with a
teasing undertone in his voice.

“Maybe he’s just being nice,” I reply,
knowing very well that it’s not true.

“He’s been really ‘nice’ for the past three
months since you met him,” he teases. “I’m telling you, Lo, dude’s
trying to hit that.”

I laugh and continue to blush before
retorting, “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take advice from a
guy whose relationships with women begin with ‘action’ and end with
someone yelling ‘cut’!”

“Cold as ice tonight!” He laughs, grabbing
his heart.

I shoot him a smirk and then impersonate the
girls in his videos. “Yes, Master Langdon,” I mock, “I’ll be a good
girl. Don’t give me a spanking.” I chuckle and roll my eyes. “I
swear, how these girls can let you boss them around like that!”

James has done videos that fall under every
category and appeal to almost every fetish, but his most recent
genre is BDSM porn. His scenes usually involve a buxom woman tied
up or hand cuffed or bound in some other fashion while he goes to
town on her with a riding crop or a flogger or whatever instrument
is the tool of the day. There’s a lot of “yes, Sir” and “please,
Master,” and I’ve never really seen the appeal.

“I guess I just don’t see the point of
spankings and all that,” I shrug. We’ve had this debate since he
first got into this particular genre, but he’s never managed to
sway me on the whole Dominant/submissive thing.

“It’s acting,” he chuckles at my eye rolling
and mocking.

“Is it?” I laugh. “Because you don’t see
Meryl Streep doing movies that involve ball gags and nipple
clamps.”

I can see him trying to resist it, but he
laughs hard at that comment. I’ve spent over a decade sassing James
about his extraordinarily active sex life and, now that he’s doing
porn, I have so much more material.

“Hey, some girls dig it,” he shrugs. “They
like giving up all control and being totally at my mercy.”

“Yeesh! Not me,” I shake my head.

“Ok, like you have room to talk!” He teases.
“You’ve never had sex at all, so how would you know what you’re
into?”

Immediately, I blush. It’s true, I’m a
virgin. Pretty funny considering my best friend is a porn star,
right? People can’t wrap their heads around the fact that I made it
through my horny teenage years without falling pretty to my
Casanova best bud. In truth, James was always very cautious when it
came to me and he never made an attempt to seduce me. Now he likes
to pull the purity card on me every time I tease him. I can joke
about his sex life a million times a day, but when he turns the
tables around, I go all pink cheeks and giggles, and he loves
it.

“Shut up!” I say, trying to sound stern
despite the fact that I’m giggling like a Japanese schoolgirl.

“Ah, there’s that blush,” he chuckles,
tipping his wine glass to me. “Not so tough anymore, huh?”

“This is about you and all the fake-titted
girls you screw on film,” I protest, still laughing uncontrollably,
“not about me and who might or might not be between my legs.”

“I certainly hope no one’s between your
legs!” He says with surprise. “Otherwise I’d have to kick
somebody’s ass.”

James is always protecting my virtue like
some kind of knight. He’s done this all my life and I’m sure he’s a
big reason why guys were too intimidated to ask me out in high
school. Who wants to date a girl with a big, hulking badass just
waiting to beat the crap out of you if you hurt her?

He yawns and stretches in his chair, his
t-shirt lifting up just enough to reveal a glimpse of his toned,
tanned stomach. The sight of his six-pack is so commonplace that
it’s almost boring to me at this point. I’ve lost track of how many
times I’ve seen him naked, so his bare skin is like wallpaper,
always visible, but not all that noticeable until you focus your
attention on it.

“Sleepy? Must have been a very rigorous
scene,” I say with a smirk.

He chuckles and gives me his patented
devilish grin. “Two girls can wear you out, dude, you don’t even
know. We had to stop for stills, like, a zillion times and they
fucked up an entire section of close ups so we had to do those
over. Plus, I had to do, like, seven pop shots,” he says casually
like he’s talking about sending some faxes instead of ejaculating
all over some poor, shackled starlet.

“Well, isn’t life so hard for you,” I
tease.

“You try coming seven times and see if it
doesn’t wear your ass out!” He chuckles. Suddenly, his eyes flash
on me and he gives me a cartoonishly exaggerated version of the
James Laird Sex Laser Beam, the look that might as well be a gamma
ray burst of pure sexuality. “I could show you, if you want,” he
says, his voice filled with overplayed sensuality. “I’ll put your
ankles behind your head and show you exactly what it feels like to
come seven times in a row.”

“James!” I squeal with laughter.

He throws his head back as he laughs at my
shy response. He loves riling me up like this. We’ve never really
been sexual with each other before—our relationship has always been
a brother-sister, platonic one—but there were a few times during
our teenage years when my highly skilled friend served as a lab rat
for my sexual experimentation. James was responsible for my first
orgasm, his was the first penis I ever saw and he was the first boy
to touch my breasts, but that was a log time ago. We haven’t done
anything like that in years.

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, kid,” he chuckles
and stands up to clear the table.

I help him put all the dishes in the
dishwasher and we move into the living room to watch TV. This is
how we spend most evenings. I lie back against the arm of the couch
and stretch my legs over his lap. By the second commercial break in
The Colbert Report, I’m nodding off. I’m half asleep when I hear
him turn off the TV and I feel his strong arms scoop me up as he
carries me off to my bed. I remember how I always used to fall
asleep before him every time I stayed over at his house when we
were little kids He’d opt for the air mattress on the floor and
he’d pick me up and get me comfortable in his bed. Some things
never change.