Breaking Masks

By Josh Aterovis and Dabeagle

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Chapter 10 - Kody

Basic English must be one of the most boring subjects known to man.

I can speak and write English pretty well, but I can't diagram a sentence to save my life. I was so bored with the droning that I spent most of my class time thinking about the disastrous night of the party and the aftermath.

Had I kissed Jake? I truly wished I could remember. If I had, it would probably be the only time I'd get the chance.

He was loaded with rizz. No one who looked that good had thoughts about circling back to the drunk boy who picked fights. Not a good look. Even if he was bi, if Nick could be believed on that score, I hadn’t given him a reason to come back to me.

After a double session of ignoring English and receiving my homework assignment, I had an hour break for lunch. I headed over to the Commons and fumbled through using the meal app at the entry. I walked through slowly while I checked out my options.

I settled on a cheeseburger with some fries, and a coke to round it all out. I started into the dining room...and immediately spun around — sending french fries flying — and ducked behind a large round pillar, pressing my back against it like I was starring in the world's worst spy caper.

Jake was eating with the not-so-incredible hulk from the party. What was he, his personal bodyguard? It seemed like they were always together these days. Maybe they were dating. Maybe Jake was into rough trade.

I snorted. Even I didn't believe that.

Had Jake seen me? He'd probably seen me. Whether or not Jake had seen me, I suddenly realized other people definitely could, and I was getting some strange looks.

Okay, be casual. You're just waiting for a friend.

I tried to relax, craning my neck like I was looking for someone. Then I felt stupid as it occurred to me that I'd trapped myself behind the column. I couldn't stay there forever. Eventually he and the Mountain would finish and leave, and I was right by the main exit.

Retreat was in order.

Moving as quickly as possible, I set my tray down on top of the garbage can, grabbed my cheeseburger — the most portable item — and darted for the door.

I chanced a look over my shoulder once, hoping and praying to all the gay gods that I hadn't been spotted as I made my escape. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me running away — again.

I felt like I was living inside of a recurring nightmare where I just kept making the same stupid choices. See Jake, do something stupid, run from him, and repeat. I should randomize some of it, maybe trip in front of a group of people while running away or something just to change it up.

I ate on a bench outside and waited until it was time to head to Western Civilization, my next class. As I was sitting there, the SS Mountain of Flesh cruised into view.

I instinctively looked for Jake and was a little surprised when I didn't see him anywhere. I was under the impression that the giant needed to be within a few feet of Jake at all times. Maybe if you’re that pretty you just need some protection? Or maybe he was the kid of somebody famous and that really was his bodyguard. Maybe he was really a European prince.

Perfectly reasonable. You know, with the complete lack of accent and all. Then again, if you’re royalty you probably can afford speech lessons. Actors change their accent for parts all the time. Why couldn’t a sexy prince like Jake be one of them? And maybe we'd fall in love and get married and rule his tiny little country together, just me and Prince Jake of the Imaginary Tiny European Nation.

Prince Jake wouldn’t wear one of those ridiculous jewel-covered uniforms with medals for accomplishments like Existing While Royal. No, he’d be relaxed royalty. Modern royalty. The kind who did charity work and got photographed rescuing sea turtles or something. He’d wear loose linen shirts unbuttoned too low and stupid expensive sunglasses while tabloids called him “The People’s Prince” because he surfed and occasionally carried children during natural disasters.

And somehow, against all odds, he’d fallen in love with me — Kody Kingsley: patron saint of panic attacks and saying the wrong thing at maximum volume.

In my fantasy, he’d see through all of that instantly. Fantasy Jake thought my awkwardness was charming. He’d grin when I rambled. He’d pull me closer when I got anxious. He’d kiss the top of my head while I spiraled about embarrassing myself at some royal dinner because I accidentally called a duchess “bro.”

“It’s okay,” he’d whisper in my ear. “They love you.”

Impossible sentence.

Still, my brain kept going. We’d escape from royal obligations and disappear to some private beach nobody else knew about. He’d stretch out beside me in the sand, golden in the sunset, all long limbs and impossible beauty, and somehow, he’d still be looking at me like I was the miracle there instead of him.

That was the real fantasy, the idea that someone that beautiful and kind could know me fully and still pull me closer instead of pushing me away.

I let out a groan and dragged both hands down my face. Jesus Christ, I'm an idiot. I needed therapy. Or electroshock treatment. Maybe both.

The jolly pale giant was heading my way, looking down at the front of the notebook clutched in his meaty paw. I imagined he had a list of instructions written on the front: Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

I sat quietly, schooling my face to neutrality, pretending to read so I didn't get stomped in public.

As he passed by, he literally blocked out the sun. Well, at least he was good for shade.

After a moment, I realized that I was still in his shadow. I looked up from my book to find he was staring down at me with what could almost be called a thoughtful expression on his blocky face.

“You hit Foster at the party the other night,” he said.

Oh shit! He was friends with the guy I went after!

“I, uh, really don't remember,” I said quietly.

He shrugged. “He deserved it.”

Atlas Shrugged, I thought crazily.

“I don't usually fight.” I said meekly. He continued to look at me in silence until I grew uncomfortable with his gaze. “Is...is there something I can do for you?”

“Nope.”

“Um, okay.” I tried to look away, but felt as though a spotlight were on me.

“You're Jake's friend?” he asked.

I looked up at him sharply. “Not really. He buys coffee at the place where I work.” Why would he ask about that?

“Jake's a good guy. He's nice.”

“Um, why are you telling me this?” I asked, trying not to be nervous. It wasn't easy. He was intimidating just standing there, and I certainly didn't want to piss him off.

“I don't know. Jake's my friend, and he helped you the other night, so I guess he's yours too.”

I glanced at my watch. “Wow, look at the time. I'm going to be late to class. I'd better go.” I stood up and nodded to the big guy. “It was, uh, nice talking to you.”

“You too, Kody. See ya.”

I rushed off to class even though I was in no danger of actually being late. I just couldn't take any more of that bizarre conversation with Jake's weird friend. I arrived in the room first — even before the professor — and took a seat near the back so I could observe everyone else.

Something weird was happening, and I really didn’t know what it was. The only real clue was that it seemed to involve Jake. Everywhere I went, there he was...and the campus wasn’t even that small. Everywhere I looked, something reminded me of him. I'd think I heard someone say his name and turn to look for him. Or I'd see some random blond guy from behind and briefly think it was him.

It all seemed too much to be a coincidence, but maybe it was just one of those things where you start noticing something in particular — a number, a color, a brand or something — and then you see it everywhere. It didn't mean anything except your brain was looking for patterns.

But I have a masochistic streak, so my mind kept going back to that day in the coffee shop. I couldn’t help but wonder what he had been about to ask? I looked out the window and got lost in the question that hadn’t been asked. What if he’d wanted to ask me out?

More likely, he'd been about to ask what the fuck was wrong with me. In that case, he got all his answers at that party.

I’m not sure I’d ever run into someone who had seen me be so unmitigatedly stupid so many times. There really was no excuse for me to have run like a coward in front of Max and then follow it up with getting sloppy drunk and starting a fight.

So why had he taken me back to my dorm? That was the part my brain kept snagging on, like a loose thread I couldn’t stop pulling. No one is that nice, right?

Okay, objectively, maybe some people were. Somewhere. Probably in inspirational videos or those little stories people reposted online about humanity being beautiful.

But not most people.

People didn’t voluntarily choose inconvenience unless they wanted something out of it. That was just basic human behavior, wasn’t it? If somebody went out of their way for you, there was usually a reason. Attention. Gratitude. Control. Favors later. Ego. Something.

So what did Jake get out of helping me?

I tried to replay the night in fragments. Me drunk off my ass. Me apparently starting fights. Me maybe trying to kiss him like an idiot. None of that exactly screamed worth the effort. And yet he’d still made sure I got home safely.

Jake barely knew me. I was basically just the awkward coffee guy who kept humiliating himself in increasingly creative ways. By all rights, I should have been forgettable. A funny story to tell his friends. Instead, he’d taken care of me.

Why? It genuinely didn’t compute.

Pretty people especially weren’t supposed to be nice. That sounded terrible and shallow, but life experience had taught me that people who looked like Jake existed in a different social ecosystem than the rest of us. They didn’t need to develop patience or kindness or empathy, because the world just handed them things with a smile. When you're beautiful, life is a piece of cake served on a silver platter. Which usually meant that the beautiful people were spoiled as hell.

Not always in obvious ways, necessarily. Sometimes it was subtle. They were used to people laughing at their jokes harder, forgiving them faster, wanting their attention badly enough to overlook behavior the rest of us would get crucified for. Doors opened for them — literally and metaphorically. Teachers liked them more. Employers trusted them more. Random strangers wanted to help them. Even when they were awkward or rude, people bent themselves into pretzels pretending it was charming.

After a while, wouldn’t that kind of thing warp you a little?

I’d seen it happen online constantly. Gorgeous people posting videos where they were objectively being assholes, and the comments would still be full of people thirsting over them like having nice cheekbones somehow trumped bad behavior. Pretty privilege was real, and I think if you grow up with the whole world constantly reinforcing that you’re special, eventually you start believing ordinary rules don’t apply to you anymore.

That was why nice beautiful people felt suspicious to me. Because there had to be a catch, right?

Maybe they liked being adored. Maybe they collected people the way some people collected compliments. Maybe kindness was just another way to keep everyone orbiting around them.

But Jake didn’t feel like that.

That was the problem. He didn’t flirt with every breathing organism in a five-mile radius. He didn’t seem attention hungry or aware of himself in that exhausting way really attractive people sometimes were. He just...helped people. Listened to them. Smiled at them like they mattered.

Like I mattered.

And honestly? That was way more dangerous than if he’d just been a cocky asshole.

If he’d been arrogant, I could’ve dismissed him. If he’d been an asshole, I could’ve turned the crush into annoyance and moved on with my life. But every interaction just made him seem more genuine, and my brain did not know what to do with genuine kindness that wasn’t asking something from me.

Maybe he just pitied me. Honestly, that explanation made the most sense.

Maybe I’d looked so pathetic that basic human decency kicked in and he couldn’t leave me alone, drunk and miserable at a party. Maybe he was just one of those naturally helpful people who rescued stray animals and held doors open and helped old ladies cross the street.

Still, though...most people would have dumped me in a chair somewhere and called it a day. Jake took me home.

The more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed. How did he even get me there? Was I talking the whole time? Oh God, was I crying? Had I thrown up on him? Did he have to drag me up the stairs? Had I clung to him?

I hated not remembering.

But underneath the embarrassment and panic was something even more unsettling. A tiny, traitorous part of me kept circling back to the possibility that maybe he’d helped me because he wanted to. Not out of obligation or pity, but just because he cared.

And somehow that scared me more than all the other possibilities combined.

I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of the seat next to me creaking, and I glanced over to see the hulk settling into it. Oh no! We have the same class, and he's sitting next to me! I think he likes me.

He waved with a big goofy grin. “Hey, we're in the same class.”

“So we are,” I said with a forced smile that probably looked like more of a grimace.

I was distracted as the class began. Our professor was a man who truly loved his subject, and I found myself drawn into the class quite easily. He assigned reading and chapter questions due back for Wednesday's class, which I noted, and we were dismissed.

The giant caught up with me as we were filing out of the room. “You work in a coffee place?”

I sighed. “Yeah.” Oh god, please tell me he isn't a caffeine freak.

“Working tonight?” he asked.

“No,” I said with some relief. “Two days off.”

“Oh, enjoy them,” he said with a smile, showing large square teeth that looked made for crushing gravel.

I smiled weakly back as he ambled out the door. I headed to my last class of the day, Basic Algebra. All I can say is math will always suck, and I was still mad that I had to take this class, since I hated it so much in high school.

I decided not to risk the Commons for dinner, in case Jake was eating there again. Instead, I headed off campus to get some take out from a Chinese place.

I let myself into my dorm, near total darkness enveloping me as soon as the door closed behind me. Why was it so damn dark? All of a sudden, a light switched on, and I saw Nick sitting on the couch, a blanket over our window.

“You talk to Jake today?” Nick asked from his perch.

“No,” I replied. “What’s up with the—”

“Chicken. I don't want to hear lonely incel music coming from your side of the wall,” he laughed. “Did you bring me some dinner too?” he asked. “Where's mine?”

I grinned. “I left it down the street, about a block up. Chinese place.”

“That smells good. I'm going to go get some.” He ducked back into his room as I took over his seat on the couch. I put my food on the TV table and pulled my shirt off, tossing it toward my room. I sat on the couch with my food, picked up my Western Civ book, and began to study while I ate.

Nick just had to whistle at me before he left. He was a goof, but it was nice to get checked out, I guess. He was back quickly and settled in next to me with his computer. We largely ate in silence, each occupied with our work. The food didn’t last long, and we eventually both felt like we’d put in enough time being good students and switched to gaming.

As we played, my phone rang. I answered without thinking and immediately heard, “Hello, this is Monica calling from the loan department. We wanted to let you know that you've been approved—”

I hung up. Assholes. I need to check and see if it’s a spam call before picking up.

The phone rang again. This time, I checked the Caller ID before answering. I didn't recognize the number, so I sent it to voicemail.

When the phone rang for the third time, I was ready to scream. Luckily, I saw my dad's name on the screen, so I knew it was either him or Charlie. All our phones were under Dad's name.

“Hello?”

“Run out of underwear yet?” It was Charlie.

“If you left them in my bag to start with, I wouldn't have had to go out to get more yesterday.”

“And what would be the fun in that? Sorry you had to buy more, though. Dad still has the box sitting on his desk to send you.”

“Gee, thanks, Charlie.”

He giggled. “Hey, I needed space for all those condoms and lube!”

“You had an entire separate bag for those.”

“Details. So are you still hung up on the straight guy?”

“Why do I like you again?”

He laughed again. “So you are.”

“Well, I... Yeah, I am.” I decided not to mention the possibly bi part.

“That sucks, Kody. Why are you still hanging on? Usually, you get over these things pretty fast, once you find out what the deal is.”

“Okay, it's like this. See, this guy is so cute, and he's so freaking nice to me. He even helped me the other night after I had too much to drink.” And he might be bi.

“You were drinking?” he asked in a stage whisper. Obviously, my father was somewhere in the vicinity.

“Yeah, and I paid for it the next day.”

“Did you get a hangover?” he asked with curiosity.

“Yeah, a bad one. Threw up and everything, just like Dad said I would.”

He snorted. “What does that have to do with this guy?”

“Well, I might have had the right to remain silent, but I didn't have the ability.”

“Oh my God! What did you say?”

“I don't really remember, but I punctuated whatever I said by trying to kiss him.”

“Holy shit! Can this get any worse?”

“Yeah, I'm afraid so. He has this huge guy who is like a stunt double for Arnold Schwarzenegger who always seems to be around. Well, he came to talk to me today.”

“Why is that bad?”

“Let’s just say I was nervous in his presence.”

“Well, he could have other qualities that make him cool,” Charlie suggested through his giggles.

“Yeah, he probably bites the heads off live chickens — very cosmopolitan.”

“And he's friends with the straight guy?”

“Jake. His name is Jake, and yes, he does seem to be his friend.” And he might be bi.

“Well, unless Jake has really bad taste in people, then this guy is probably okay, right? I mean, I'd be more worried about his judgment if he liked you.”

Charlie cracked himself up, an unending stream of guffaws and snorts, until I told him goodbye and hung up on him. Little brothers are possibly the most annoying pests on the face of the earth.

The phone rang again, and I snatched it up in annoyance. “Charlie, why don't you wait until I get home to make fun of me, you asshole?”

Silence greeted me and I growled in frustration as I stared at the phone. Huh. Not Charlie’s number. Not one I knew, either. The phone said the call was from Maryland, so probably another spam call.

Nick was just looking at me, both our screens displaying our dead characters.

“Uh...what's up?”

“I'm sick of spam calls, and I'm tired of studying, and I’ve died six times to that boss. You want to go to a movie or something?”

He gave me a smirk. “Um, sure. Do you want to put some clothes on first, or were you planning to go like that?”

I looked down to see I was still shirtless. “Oh, uh, yeah.” I started back towards my room.

Nick chuckled. “Not that I'm complaining. You know, if you showed up on Jake's doorstep like that, you'd get his feelings sorted out really quick.”

I stopped long enough to fix him with a glare. “Maybe I should just stay in and turn off the phone.”

“Hurry up. Let's go get your mind off Jake.”

Over the next two days, I repeatedly ran into the Hulk — or, as I learned in class, Brayden. He was like Visa: everywhere I wanted to be. He became a constant shadow in the few basic classes I had with him. He seemed to be quite comfortable dwarfing me, though I often wondered what his purpose was exactly.

Eventually, I discovered at least one reason he was hanging around me. One afternoon not long after the party, I saw Jackhammer Face looking at me from a bench, glaring, with one eye all purple and black going to green.

Wow! Did I do that?

I barely had a mark on me. I tried to remember the guy's name. Brayden had mentioned it the first time he talked to me, but it wouldn't come to me. He glared until Brayden glowered at him and then he suddenly found something fascinating elsewhere. Interesting.

“So, are you my bodyguard now?” I asked Brayden.

“He's mean. You're not,” he said, as if that explained the universe in general.

Maybe it did. I accepted it with a shrug. It was the best reason I could think of. I was starting to think that Brayden wasn't so bad after all. Watching over someone he didn’t know just because actually seemed sort of noble in a way.

“So. Brayden. Uh, how are you liking college?” Oh, I am the rizzler.

“It’s been different than high school.”

“More freedom?”

He frowned a little, and I started to wonder if I’d broken him.

“The classes are a little harder. And there are more people than there were in my high school. I didn't really have any friends there, though.”

Something about the way he said it hit me weirdly hard. There wasn’t any self-pity in it or a dramatic pause waiting for sympathy. It was just a statement of fact, delivered in that deep rumbling voice like he was telling me the weather.

I suddenly felt kind of bad for assuming Brayden just bulldozed through life on sheer size alone.

“People can be assholes in high school,” I said quietly.

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “Mostly they were nervous around me.”

Honestly? Fair. The guy looked like he could accidentally kill someone by hugging too enthusiastically.

Still, there was something unexpectedly gentle about him. Underneath the size and the intimidation factor and the whole Lurch from the Addams Family aesthetic, Brayden seemed almost painfully earnest. Like someone who genuinely didn’t know how to connect with people but wanted to.

Which, unfortunately, made him a lot more difficult to dislike.

“That sucks, though,” I added. “Maybe you'll make friends here at college.”

His eyes flicked toward me then, and he smiled, completely transforming his face. Suddenly he didn’t look intimidating at all. Just...happy that somebody had said something nice to him.

And, horrifyingly, I realized I understood that feeling way too well.

Wait, did he think I meant we could be friends?

I guess it was better than being his enemy, but I wasn’t sure what we had in common besides Jake. I didn't want to be rude, though, and say anything to hurt his feelings. On the other hand, I also didn't really want to dig any deeper into his lonely school days.

Thinking back to the fight and Brayden kind of defending me, I wondered if Jake had set that up, but I didn't have the nerve to ask. How do you even bring something like that up without sounding like an idiot?

Speaking of Jake, I'd been ducking him all week, including one day when I had nothing more between me and him than Brayden, who was waving and calling to Jake from across the quad. I could hide behind Brayden as easily as a mouse stepping behind an Escalade. I knew in a galactic sense that what I’d done was too small for history to care about, but every time I saw Jake, I was both attracted and embarrassed all over again. It was really confusing.

Thursday morning found me waiting in front of the Morning Rush bright and early, unhappy at being awake. An Economics assignment had kept me up half the night, basically because the text was so dry it practically self-combusted near any form of light. I leaned against the side of the building wishing I had some coffee in my hand already while I tried to keep my eyes open.

“You look bright-eyed this morning,” Marla commented as she approached the front door, keys in hand.

“Economics.”

She gave me a knowing nod and unlocked the door. “We’ve had a lot of kids from the school work here. Some good, some bad, but one universal constant was that Economics was no one’s favorite.”

“Was there a favorite?”

“Usually art classes. We’ve had a few very artistic types, and they could really go on about their art form, and they did the best chalk art, but they were less helpful at slinging coffee.”

We set about getting the store ready to open and making ourselves that all important first cup of the day.

Shortly after opening, I was pleased to see Nick come in to get his morning coffee, our first customer of the day.

“Mornin', Kody,” he mumbled.

I smiled at him. He was cute when he was sleepy.

“Morning, Nick. How are you?” I replied in as chipper a voice as I could manage.

He eyed me evilly and ordered his coffee. I took pity on him and gave him an extra-large instead of a large. He lingered a bit, and since we were slow, I took a few minutes to talk to him. This business was all about rush and recover, and we hadn’t had that first rush yet.

“You look more tired than usual. Didn’t you sleep last night?”

“I kept waking up for some reason.” He shook his head. “I go through that sometimes. Just have a couple days in a row where I don’t sleep well, then I crash for one really good night’s sleep and I’m fixed again.”

“You have a full day of classes?”

“Unfortunately. Sophomore year seems to be a step up from freshie year. I remember one professor telling us on the first day of freshman year to look around at how many people were there and then to take another look at the end of the semester.”

“Do a lot of people just drop out?”

“Big chunk. Some classes, like half. Most of them at least a third.” He shook his head. “High school was a joke compared to this. I mean, I like to learn, so maybe I don’t mind the challenge as much as some people. They think you just show up and they give you a diploma. I’m like, Bitch, this isn’t high school.”

“I know what you mean. My dad had me in advanced classes in high school, but there was this kid who was bragging that the administration had him turning in ‘assignments’ that were nothing more than what he’d had for lunch that week. They gave him credit just to graduate him!”

“Then they get here and are like, uh, uh, uh...” We both broke into laughter, and he thanked me for the extra coffee and headed out.

My first class wasn't until eleven on Thursdays, so Marla and I would be working together for the entire morning rush, which hit shortly after Nick stumbled out. It sounds a little counterintuitive, but I like the rush. Not only does it feel like time is moving faster, but it also feels like something got done. The sounds from the machines, the slap of the seal on the fridge doors as we withdrew or replaced ingredients that needed to be kept cool, orders being called — it was like a little symphony.

As things fell off a little after nine, Marla ducked out back for a cancer stick while I wiped down the counters and started a wash cycle for the porcelain cups for people that stayed to drink. I saw Brayden's shadow before he actually made an appearance. When I saw that Jake traveled with him, I practically sprinted to the back door before he could see me.

I popped outside to find a surprised Marla.

“What?” she asked.

“Jake just walked in.” I gave her pleading eyes.

“Is he the cutie-patootie who was behind the counter with you?”

I nodded.

“You are too funny,” she said.

She went inside to deal with our new customers while I put my head between my knees and tried not to be sick.

I was thankful that Max wasn't the one working with me. I figured I was pushing my luck with her. That was about all I was grateful for at the moment, though. The stress of avoiding Jake was getting just a bit ridiculous.

Maybe I should just stop worrying about him. It's not like he knows I'm interested in him anyway.

Except for that whole might-have-tried-to-kiss-him thing.

What I really needed to do was find a way to get my mind off him. Sometimes, I managed for brief moments with school work or video games, but it was like my brain was some kind of evil clown that was always waiting to bring up Jake the second I let my guard down.

He was just so perfectly my type. Not that I was locked in on one single type, but he pushed a lot of my buttons really hard. It didn't help that he was as nice as anyone I’d ever met. He had to know how pretty he was, and when you're that pretty and you know it, usually your ego develops to match — or exceed — how pretty you are.

I saw it all the time on the socials. I thirst-followed plenty of guys just because they took their shirts off or worked out in tight shorts. The thing is, if you followed someone when they just did relatable stuff — talking in their car about some trouble they were having, some issue they saw in the news or heard about from a friend or family member — then you got to see a person, even if it was a curated version. Or, at least, it felt like it.

But that wasn't enough for some people, especially if the creator was attractive. Some people feel like just seeing someone online gives them some sort of ownership. It creates a sense of entitlement, as if posting a video or photo is enough of a reason to expect — or even demand — way more than what’s being offered.

I don’t post many pictures online as it is, but I've even had one or two instances where someone started asking for feet pics or if I’d send them my underwear or open an OnlyFans account.

The most common of these was usually one word: X?

My point being these relatable creators would get some people complimenting them on their looks, and they’d start to transition from their normal content to making something where they were still talking, maybe, but now their shirt was off. Then, gradually, there would be more and more pool shots or tanning pictures or GRWM vids where they start off in their underwear, until eventually they were just one big thirst trap.

And it all started because of the attention, people telling them how good looking they were, and once people buy into that, they think it translates to success in life. It no longer matters if you’re smart or strong — good looks equal power and money.

And sometimes it does. Sex sells, and online culture trained people to commodify themselves. If you went viral or built up enough followers, you could get people to pay for nudes...and other content.

But what then? How many times can you show your junk on the internet and get paid for it? How long could it last? There’s always another pretty face connected to a set of abs waiting to take your place. Everybody was always looking for the next big thing, the flavor of the month.

That’s what made Jake kind of rare. He was objectively pretty. He looked like he'd stepped out of a surfing poster, for Christ's sake. He had great hair, gorgeous eyes, he was tall-ish, great tan — he was literally the Golden Boy.

And yet he didn’t act like that made him special. He didn’t come across like he was full of himself. He never seemed performative. You can tell a lot about people by how they treat someone behind a counter, and Jake had passed that with flying colors every single time.

I let my shoulders relax as I returned to the private beach with Prince Jake, where he would hold me while the sun set. We inhaled the salt air as the warm water lapped at our feet. The dying light bounced from the ripples in the water, a million little golden points of light.

And God, the way fantasy Jake touched me.

Not sexually, even. Not really.

Just...constantly, like he couldn’t help himself. A hand at the small of my back. My head against his shoulder. His strong arms wrapped around me. Fingers laced through mine as we walked along the shore, sand scrunching under our feet. The shadow of a palm tree covering us.

Wait! I wasn't imagining that shadow…

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