Man of the Year (9 page)

“Fuck yeah!” I exhale and kiss her more passionately this time.

There’s a lot of kissing after that, probably for at least an hour, and then we take a bath together. I rub her back and kiss her neck—I can’t keep my hands off her. I feel like every time I touch her she can feel that reverence I have for her, the way I just adore her so goddamn much.

We crawl into bed and I hold her close, caressing her skin and watching as she drifts off to sleep. I’ve hit the girlfriend jackpot with this one and I’m psyched to put a ring on it.

I kiss her forehead softly and then take a very content deep breath as I fall asleep with her in my arms.

“Lo. Hey, Lo,” I hear James whisper.

Too tired. Can’t respond.

“Lo, wake up.”

“Mmm,” I grunt my disapproval.

“Lo, come on,” he says through an audible smile.

“Five more minutes,” I manage to whine.

I hear him laugh and then I feel a blanket of firm muscles cover me. He’s pushed me onto my stomach and he’s lying completely on top of my back, pressing his full weight into me. He’s messing with me to try to get me to wake up.

“Lola,” he whispers, intentionally breathing directly into my ear. “Lola Caraway, you must get out of bed,” he continues, drawing out my name for a Darth Vader effect. “Use the force, Lola. Get up and let's get a move on.”

I whine louder, annoyed but amused at his wake up attempt.

He nips at my earlobe and then puffs a big snort of air across the back of my neck like a rodeo bull, which makes me giggle.

“Mmm, too early,” I grumble.

“I wore you out last night, huh?” he teases, pushing up so he’s seated on my butt with his legs on either side of me. “You even snored. It was a total fuckin’ KO.”

“Mm-hmm,” I nod. “Congratulations, champ. Now let me sleep it off.”

“Nope,” he chuckles, drumming on my lower back. “We gotta go to the convention this morning, so you gotta get up.”

“I only need, like, half an hour to get ready. I can sleep for longer.”

At this, he launches into a full-fledged drum solo that would make Tommy Lee jealous, using my shoulder blades, my butt and my lower back as he makes drum noises with his mouth. He finishes, tapping my head with a symbol crash.

I’m tired and I hate him for waking me up right now, but I laugh. I have no clue how he has such energy after last night.

“Come on. Up. Pronto,” he says, leaning over to kiss the top of my spine.

I pout, but I can’t contest it. I knew about this and, even though I’d like to pass out until it’s time to get ready for the red carpet tonight, I know James has a few obligations today and that he wants me to accompany him.

“You have five seconds,” he smiles against the back of my neck, “or I’ll be forced to make you get out of bed.”

With that, whisks back the sheet so he can tickle my ribs.

Oh, how I’d like to smack him right now! But I can’t because I’m laughing too hard and trying to struggle out of his hold. Sometimes I think he likes overpowering me like this, just to prove that he can, and I end up having to do whatever he wants.

“Fine!” I gasp through giggles. “Fine! I’m awake!”

“That’s better,” he snickers and smacks my butt.

“You’re awful!” I laugh and push myself up off the bed.

“And just think how awful I’m gonna get when we’re married,” he jokes, giving me a big, smart-ass grin. “If you think I annoy the shit out of you know, look out, cupcake!”

I make a very dramatic grunt of exasperation and head into the bathroom.

He follows me in and leans on the edge of the counter while I take a seat on the toilet.

“Today shouldn’t be too bad,” he says. “There’s gonna be a lot of people, but we’re not gonna be down there for long.”

“And you’re doing the signing first, right?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he nods. “We’ll go to the booth, I’ll sign for a little bit, then we can walk around, get the lay of the land and we’re off the hook until tonight.”

“Did you get the badges already?” I say, flushing the toilet and nudging him so I can wash my hands.

“Uh-huh. They were with the room keys,” he nods.

He smiles at me through the mirror and I laugh inwardly at the situation. He’s shirtless with gray pajama pants and I’m totally nude. I just peed in front of him and neither of us raised an eyebrow. I have friends who were in relationships for almost a year before they peed in front of their boyfriends. I guess this is a pretty big bonus of dating someone you’ve known since they were a kid. James used to pee with the door open when he came over to my house and I remember forcing him to stand guard when I peed in the woods on camping trips. We really have no limits with each other, which should be nice when we’re married because we won’t go through that early phase where you’re still kind of putting up a front.

“Want me to order breakfast?” he asks after kissing the top of my head.

“Sure,” I nod. “Oh, and one more thing,” I say, catching him before he turns to leave the bedroom.

“Yeah, babe?”

“I love you,” I smile.

His resulting grin is one of true elation and I make a mental note to tell him I love him more often. I know he’s sensed my hesitation, which is quite unfounded, and I need to let him know that I’m in this for the long haul too. I guess I’ve been holding back because I worried about his commitment level, but I take one glance down at my left hand and feel significantly more confident about our future together. He asked me. He said he’d been planning to for months. He really wants this and I’m grinning like an idiot right now just thinking about it.

I brush my teeth and clean up while he orders. When I’m fresh and dressed in a comfy robe, I peek out into the living room to see him on his phone in his pajama pants and a t-shirt. He holds up his finger to me and I nod, getting a complimentary water from the fridge while I wait. Our room was stocked with beverages and snacks from the hotel because James is a VIP at this shindig.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “I was really proud of it. Me and Amber worked together a lot, but that one was something special.”

Immediately, I put together that he’s doing an interview. He’s had a lot of phoners like this lined up over the past couple weeks. Everybody wants to ask him about retiring and about his movie, Collared, garnering so many nominations. It’s like the Thriller of the ceremony and it’s up for an award in almost every category, even the technical ones like Best Editing and Best Marketing.

I pretend not to listen, because I really should give him some privacy, but I’m too nosy and I end up eavesdropping.

“No, I don’t think I’m really gonna miss it that much,” he says, taking a glance out the window at the Strip. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved making movies and I’ve loved almost everybody that I’ve ever worked with, but I’m just not there anymore. I’m really starting to look forward and to think about my future. I’ve got this awesome girl now and my focus is on that.”

It takes a considerable effort to freeze my face and suppress a smile. I’m supposed to be pretending not to listen, after all.

“I totally get it, and I know some people can do it. My best friends have been dating for, like, ten years and they still work in the business, but I’m starting to realize that I’m kind of a true love guy and that I want to be with just one girl, you know?” he continues. He laughs at whatever the journalist’s response is and then smiles, “I know, right? Who would have thought that I’d fall head over fuckin’ heels like this? But she’s great. If people knew her, they’d understand immediately. They’d be like, ‘Yeah, I’d quit my job for that girl too.’ Shit, if I was President, I’d resign just to be with her.”

I have to turn away because my lips are starting to twitch and my face is exploding with a joyful expression.

“Yeah, totally excited for tonight,” he continues. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up too much, ‘cause you just never know with these things, but I have a pretty good feeling about it and I think me and the gang might not be going home empty handed.” He laughs. “We’ll see. If it happens, I’m just gonna wing it and try to speak from the heart.”

There’s a knock at the door and I know it’s room service.

“Alright … for sure, man. Well, thanks so much … you too,” he says before hanging up.

I stare at the cart of food James has ordered as I let the waiter in. James signs for the meal, hands him a big tip and the man smiles and nods, heading back out into the hallway.

“This is a feast,” I laugh, uncovering the plates.
Did he order everything on the breakfast menu?

We’ve got omelets, pancakes, bacon, sausage links, home fries, waffles, French toast and a variety of juices from classic orange to Naked Mighty Mango.

“Did you just tell them to bring you one of everything?” I laugh, cracking open one of the pomegranate açaí smoothies.

“I couldn’t decide what I wanted,” he smiles. “Plus, I was hungry as hell, dude. Had to get back some of what we burned off last night.”

I blush, my senses remembering everything that happened last night with such clarity that it’s like it’s happening all over again.

He might have a point about the calorie count. I tear into the pancakes and scarf down half my omelet before I can blink and the two of us sit there in silence, the only sound coming from forks clinking against dishes as we devour everything in front of us.

I’ve noticed that I eat a lot more now, but that I’m not gaining any weight. In fact, I’m looking more toned and athletic. I thought about it the other day after eating four slices of the large New York style pizza we’d ordered and I think it’s because I’m getting a lot more exercise these days. James seems to have boundless energy, particularly when it comes to sex, and I’ve discovered that a few hours of rigorous fucking can be great cardio.
Can’t get that from a treadmill
, I think to myself as I look him over.

“So, when we get down there, I’ll show you around. I think you’ll be impressed. It’s a lot like Comic Con, but with more cocks and tits,” he says, describing today's Adult Entertainment Convention.

In my brief Google search of the AEC, I learned that it’s the largest porn convention in the country and that it’s the number one place for fans to meet their favorite stars. It’s attended mostly by men, but there is a growing segment of female attendees, especially with the rise in popularity of male performers like James and Ethan Dane. Typically, fans pay for day passes or for the three-day pass that gives them access to a special meet-and-greet room. They bring stuff for the stars to sign and check out new products, like James’ recently released sex toy line, and it’s a great opportunity to boost sales.

“I’m psyched for you to meet Shawnna too,” James says as he eats a bite of toast. “She’s super cool. You’re gonna like her.”

Shawnna Hendrix was James’ first co-star, an incredibly famous performer at the time who requested the young buck by name after seeing some old modeling shots on an agency website. James said the scene he shot with her was the best he’s ever done and that she was a true professional who made him feel completely at ease with having sex in front of a massive crew of experienced filmmakers. They’ve stayed in touch over the years and they frequently talk on the phone.

Shawnna is 36 now and she’s been retired for several years, but she started her own production company, Electric Lady Entertainment, and she helped James out of a major quagmire by purchasing the rights to his back catalogue of films from Sin Cinema after his feud with Rick. She also fast-tracked his sex toy line, something Rick from Sin Cinema had been dragging his feet on for ages, much to James’ annoyance.

We’re going to the convention today as a way of saying thank you to her for all her help. James will be signing at her booth, which will draw a huge crowd given his Man of the Year nomination, and he’ll be talking up Electric Lady and what fine, high-quality porn they produce. In truth, they really do make good shit. Shawnna seems to favor high production value and all her performers are beautiful—Hollywood beautiful, not just porn beautiful.

James and I finish breakfast and dawn some real clothes. I opt for skinny jeans, which I have to cuff at the bottom because they’re too long for my annoyingly small body, and a thin, navy blue t-shirt with a modest v-neck, nothing too cleavage revealing. I dress it up a bit with a silver lariat necklace, another reluctantly accepted gift from James, and an airy cream sweater, which, when combined with my brown t-strap sandals, gives me an earthy, pseudo-bohemian vibe.

James goes for jeans that flatter his heartbreakingly perfect ass and an olive green tank top meant to show off his broad shoulders and bulging biceps. He’s sexing it up, trying to look extra hot for his fans. It’s working big time on me, so I can only imagine the effect it will have on the ladies at the convention.

When we hit the convention floor, I try to take in the expansive array of booths in our immediate area. Most people have a simple table in front of a curtained off square, boxes of products visible between the sheets of black fabric. There’s money changing hands, credit card sliding, receipt signing, plastic bagging and big smiles as happy customers purchase everything from lube to latex apparatuses like the ones in our gift bags last night.

The larger companies have elaborate setups with stages and lighting. We pass one area where three girls twirl around poles as a crowd of eager male fans cheers them on.

“See that?” James asks me, pointing to the stage. I nod. “That shit is a great marketing tool,” he explains. “They do that, kind of tease those dudes, then they do a meet-and-greet, but you can only get a ticket if you buy something. So, if you want to meet the girls, you have to shill out some cash.”

“Good method,” I nod my head in agreement.

“Totally, right?” he smiles.

“You gonna shake your money maker on a stage before you sign your stuff?” I tease him.

“My money maker will only be shaken for you from now on,” he says with a grin before giving my butt a little squeeze.

We walk past the endless rows of booths and I decide to check out the crowd. These guys seem to fall into two distinct types. First, there are the older men, the ones who look a bit pervy and have thick mustaches or t-shirts with their favorite sports teams. These guys are the old school porn fans, the ones who still buy DVDs instead of wanking to webcam girls online. The second group would be politely classified as douchebags—the popped collar, gelled hair, puka shell neckless crowd. They look like frat boys and they seem to travel in packs of three or four, roving the floor scoping tits and making comments about every woman who passes by.