Page 91 of Big Dick Energy

“Okay, so!” The studio door swung open, and a whirlwind of energy swept in, arms full of papers, a laptop, and what appeared to be a commemorative wrestling action figure. “Questions are loaded, social polls are queued, and I may have stress-eaten an entire sleeve of Oreos in the last hour, but we're ready to roll.”

I blinked at the tornado that just blew in.

“Dallas, meet Abigail,” Davina said, still not looking up from her tablet. “Abby, breathe.”

Abby paused mid-step, her eyes going wide behind thick-framed glasses. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, with a riot of red curls contained by a scrunchie and freckles scattered across her nose.

“Hi,” she said, setting down her armful. “Huge fan. Like, genuinely huge.” She extended her hand. “It's really great to meet you.”

I shook it. “Likewise. I hear you're the one who keeps this whole operation running.”

“I try.” She grinned, then caught herself. “Okay. Being cool now. Professional Abby activated.” She headed toward the control booth, a smaller room visible through a window, calling over her shoulder, “Guest chair's the one with the purple cushion. We go live in fifteen.”

“She's...” I searched for the right word.

“Essential,” Davina supplied. “And surprisingly good at compartmentalizing her fangirl tendencies when we're recording.”

“I heard that!” Abby's voice came through the studio speakers. “And it's true! I'm very professional once the light turns on!”

I settled into the guest chair, which was surprisingly comfortable, and watched Davina take her position in an identical chair next to me. She adjusted her microphone, checked her reflection in her phone's camera, and took a breath that lifted her shoulders before releasing it slowly.

“Nervous?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“I've done this five hundred times.”

“That's not what I asked.”

Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw past the professional composure to the woman underneath. The woman who'd been crying out my name this morning. The woman who'd let me see her without armor.

“A little,” she admitted. “This is different.”

“Because of me?”

“Because of us.” She gestured between us with her pen. “My listeners know me. They know my opinions. They've heard me say... a lot of things.”

“About me specifically?”

“About men like you. Or who I thought you were.” She bit her lip. “I'm about to tell them I married my own cautionary tale.”

I leaned forward, close enough that only she could hear me. “Then tell them the truth. Tell them you were wrong about me.”

“Was I?”

The question hung between us, loaded with meaning that had nothing to do with the podcast.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “You were. And I was wrong about you too. We can be wrong together.”

Her expression softened as she opened her mouth to respond…

“Five minutes!” Abby's voice cut through. “First question's a good one. The listeners came prepared.”

Davina's face transformed instantly, the vulnerability disappearing behind professionalism. But her hand found mine, squeezing once before letting go.

“Ready to meet my audience?” she asked.

“Sweetheart, I've performed in front of eighty thousand people.”

“This is different. My audience has opinions.”