Page 5 of Saving Pookie

"Can I please talk to my boyfriend alone?" She pleads with Talon.

Talon shakes his head and coldly says, "We're rolling."

"Okay," she sneers, throwing her hands into the air. "Fuck this."

And then she's gone like all the others before her—with a slamming door behind her.

In the quiet that follows, I find myself standing frozen in place. The adrenaline simmers, and for the first time, I can feel my heart racing. There's a cloud where my thoughts should be.

"Good job," Talon says, patting me on the shoulder. "I know that wasn't easy."

"Thanks." I feign a forced smile because I should feel something other than relief. Something other than freedom. And then I laugh it off with a joke, "At least I won't be at risk of being fired like Luke and Paul."

But the truth is that it was easy. Too easy. Tamra and I have been together for the better part of two years, which is by far my longest relationship. I don't feel anything ending it. I don't feel sad. I don't even feel betrayed. It all felt performative, as if I was acting for the cameras. I feel this sense of relief that swelters in my gut and rises through my esophagus. It's easier to breathe.

We've been saying "I love you" for almost as long as we've been together, but they never felt like anything more than words we were supposed to say. Like you spend so much time with someone that you don't have a choice, like you're stuck in the fucking mud together. For better or worse.

"I need to do some shopping before the shoot tonight," I say, lying through my teeth. That's something else I'm good at: lying. I've been lying since I was old enough to talk, and it's become both a skill and a pastime. Sometimes, I lie for the hell of it. It amuses me. Small lies. Big lies. Never life-ruining lies, though. I don't think so, anyway.

"Try to be on time," Talon says with a smirk. "You'll find out pretty fast that the quickest way to make enemies with your friends and the crew is by consistently showing up late."

I wait for Talon and the small crew to pack up their gear and leave before heading out the door myself. They take the elevator while I take the stairs. It's a quick jog down three flights of steps before I'm knocking on my friend's door.

The door opens, and Dixon peeks between the cracks, his eyes shifting to the side. "Are you being followed?"

"I certainly hope so." I push the door open, sending him piling backward against the wall. "I just broke up with Tamra."

"It's about fucking time," he sneers. "That girl is awful."

I close the door behind me, welcoming myself into his humble abode. It's slightly smaller than my apartment but looks mostly the same, with high ceilings and exposed brick walls with oversized pipes snaking around the ceilings. His is a one-bedroom apartment he shares with his long-term boyfriend, Mike. Tamra and I opted for the two-bedroom in case family or friends ever wanted to stay, but visitations never panned out. Instead, the space was co-opted to be her makeup room and spare closet.

Fucking women.

I grab a cold beer from the refrigerator and sink down on the white leather couch. Excuse me, fake white leather couch. Dixon glances down at me, the shadow of his head falling over his bare chest. "Are you sure you're okay?"

There's a difference between life-long friends and newishfriends. Dixon, or the other boys for that matter, weren't around for my peak womanizer days. He doesn't understand exactly how easy this was for me, twisted knots in my stomach be damned.

I take a sip of beer, relishing the familiar soft burn at the back of my throat. "Break up with your boyfriend. I'm bored."

He furrows a brow and crosses his arms. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"That depends on what you think I'm thinking, but if you're thinking I'm about to flip on the gay switch, then you're thinking incorrectly and should change the way you're thinking." I tap the space on the couch beside me, gesturing for him to join me. He does as expected, dipping down onto the worn couch. "I'm saying we could hit the town together. I can pick up chicks and you pick up dicks."

He slaps his hand on my thigh, resting precariously close to the hem of my too-short shorts. "No."

I take another swig and watch him intently. "So you want to be boring? Remember, a few of our..." I raise my free hand to make air quotes... "friends were fired for being boring. The people want sex, partying, and fighting over dumb shit." I drop my head in the groove of his shoulder. "You're my best friend, Dix. I'd hate to see you get fired for being boring."

He combs a hand through the curls of my hair. "You're the sweetest himbo that I know."

"Thanks." I pat him on his bare chest. "If you tell anyone our little secret, you won't be my best friend anymore."

Secrets are typically salacious. The very uttering of them from the lips of one person sworn to secrecy could theoretically burn friendships and relationships to the ground. This secret though? I'm afraid it's rather boring.

Fire me now.

It's that I have a sweet side.

Let me just suck those words back into my thoughts. The urge to gag is not quite so theoretical. This sweetness is typically reserved for my bros. Bros before hoes. Totally normal thing. Sure, I've bought many girls roses before. I've taken them shopping and out for fancy dinners, but almost never because I absolutely wanted to. It was more like an obligation, that this is how I'm expected to be—on occasion.