“Are you saying that if the studios invested in the right kind of porn, you would watch it?” Josh conjured up the embers of his signature smolder.
“That question is negligible at present,” she said, crossing her legs at the ankles.
“Damn. You can make anything sound fancy, can’t you?”
She squinted into the darkening sky. “Surely not something completely pedestrian.”
“Are you kidding? You just did it.”
She had the nerve to wink at him. Get this girl out of the driver’s seat for five minutes and suddenly she’s a scoundrel. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman, or anyone for that matter, had surprised him so much.
Clara reached down to pick a weed. “So if you can’t get a new contract, would you quit?”
Josh covered his face with his hands and sighed into them. “I have no idea.” That question had haunted him for days. If Bennie put him off pickles for life, Josh would never forgive him.
“Lots of people transition between careers in their late twenties,” Clara said. Always striving for diplomacy. “You need to make a list. Maybe two. I wish I’d brought my notebook. What’s your primary skill set?”
Josh put his hand on her bare knee. Half challenge, half invitation. He didn’t apply much pressure, just enough to raise goose bumps. The vision of her spread out across the sofa last night made adrenaline pump in his veins. Clara didn’t look down, but he felt the tightness in her body, the rapid awareness. She immediately brought her hand to cover his, and he waited for her to push him away. Instead, she . . . held. For an incredible moment, he let himself believe she might guide him higher until his fingers brushed under the shorts of her overalls to caress the top of her thigh, light as the lazy breeze. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t move.
Clara would probably sock him in the mouth at any moment. Was probably gathering her strength for the windup. Her eyes stayed on the field as she sank her teeth into the pillow of her bottom lip. Was it possible that Clara Wheaton liked her sex with a side of exhibition? That knowledge raced straight to his cock. But before he could invest in his revelation, she cleared her throat and put his hand back in his lap. “What else?”
While his heartbeat slowed he racked his brain. “Driving. I could become a truck driver or a pizza delivery guy.” He was only half joking. He loved pizza.
“That’s a start. Keep going.” She jumped at the chance to move the conversation back into safe territory. Her family had probably hired a career counselor for her while she was still in preschool.
“Taxes. I could do the shit out of your taxes,” he said, getting into the game despite himself. He stood and started to climb between the bleacher seats. “You should see the refund I got last year.”
Clara turned to watch him and quirked her mouth to the side. “You’d have to go back to school to become an accountant.”
He’d probably have to wear a tie to work too. “Forget that.”
Just because Clara had started to see past what he did—what he was—didn’t mean the rest of the world would follow suit. Relative success in porn equaled relative failure in the real world.
His head hurt trying to process all these what ifs and maybes. He’d stayed in a shitty contract, not to mention a dying relationship, for years because he preferred the path of least resistance. All he knew was he liked working in porn. Not just the getting-paid-to-have-sex part—though he admitted that didn’t hurt—but the people and the process of making something that others enjoyed. He wasn’t ready for long-term planning, didn’t have that kind of endurance, but Clara kept staring at him expectantly. Like together they could solve all of his problems.
“I know a decent amount about production,” he said finally, making his way back toward where she sat. “Just from being around it all the time, ya know.” He ran his hand over his jaw. “You wouldn’t believe how much editing affects the tone of a piece. Or music selection. I know it’s a porno, so how emotional can ya really get, but I’ve seen some stuff that’s closer to art than most commercial blockbusters. And it’s production that controls casting, sets, even making sure that we adhere to health and safety regulations.”
“That sounds promising.” She jumped on his first sign of interest. “You should produce something.”
“No one would hire me. I’ve got a high school diploma, thirty college credits, and expertise in anal beads. Not exactly a stellar résumé.”
Clara tipped her head back to look up at him where he stood in the row above hers. “Don’t sell yourself short. I Googled you, remember?”
He swallowed hard. As if he could forget.
“One of the headlines that popped up—which I definitely didn’t click on, mind you—said you have over a million fans on your website. If you made something, I bet those people would pay to watch it.”
Josh sank back down beside her. “I don’t know. The porn industry doesn’t exactly cater to women’s pleasure. My skill set . . . if you can even call it that . . . it’s like being the da Vinci of macaroni sculptures. No one gives a shit.”
“You’re an artist, and you’ve found a way to make a living from your art.” Clara turned pink. “That’s pretty enterprising. Most people quit before they ever get a chance to fail.”
Josh couldn’t recall the last time someone had given him a pep talk, especially when the subject matter made them so obviously uncomfortable. “You’re impressive.”
Clara waved the compliment away.
“No, really.” He pulled up a handful of grass and counted the blades. “You’re a study in contradictions. A week ago you’d never heard of me, and now you’re sitting here adamantly defending my ‘art.’”
She lifted a delicate shoulder. “What can I say? I’m a desperate optimist.”
“Is this the part where birds and other woodland creatures come out and sing backup on your ballad about why I shouldn’t abandon the dream of fucking my way to fame?”
Clara let out a bitter sigh and straightened her shoelaces. “Unfortunately, animals hate me.”
“What?” Josh snorted and stood, reaching out to help her up.
“They can smell my fear.” There wasn’t a hint of a joke in her voice as she took his hand.
“It’s kind of cute that you’re such a little nutjob,” he said, more to himself than to her.
“Cute’s one word for it.” She started back toward the car.
“Wait up.” He moved to stand in front of her. “Hey. Look at what you’ve done in less than a week.” Josh spread his hands out in front of him. “Moved across the country, started a new job, got behind the wheel. Not to mention fooling around with an acclaimed adult performer.” His dimples bloomed. “As far as I can see, Wheaton, you’re pretty damn extraordinary.”