The storm left our loft cold, which is unusual for a summer night in St. Louis. I’d expect it to be humid and sticky, but it’s just the opposite. Plus the electricity is still flickering in and out, so the air conditioner’s not circulating the dampness out of the air. I think about putting another log on the fire but decide to slide into my flannel pajama bottoms instead. It’s less work, and I don’t want to wake Sophia, not now, when I need to take a crap. Her knowing what I’m doing, and waiting for me to come back to bed is too much pressure.

I head for our first floor bathroom with the iPad and a pen and paper to write down addresses from Realtor.com. I’ve been curious as to what’s available in our price range and there’s no better time to search the internet for houses than when you’re taking a shit. Jesus, that’s perfect. We can take a walk along the Gateway Trail in the morning, like my mother suggested, then pick up a coffee and drive around the city looking at real estate. She’d fucking love that.

I tuck in as I sit, actually relaxed for once, and excited about something other than my wife’s body and the baby. Tomorrow... tomorrow’s gonna be the best day we’ve ever had together. I’ll make sure of it.

“Cove?” Sophia taps on the door.

Fuckin’ A. Five-minutes would’ve been nice. Now, I’m gonna be pushing ‘cause she knows I’m in here. “Yeah?”

“Just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“What are you doing?”

“Soph,” I sigh. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“Are you coming to bed soon?”

“Can I finish? Or do you want me to shit in the bed?”

She laughs and I hear her step away from the door. “Do you mind if I go back to sleep?”

“I’d prefer it.”

Our staircase creaks as she walks upstairs. Women just don’t understand men’s crapping habits. We’re either gonna go right in front of them with the door open, or need a good hour of privacy to sit and think. Goddammit, we’re not a year into this marriage and shitting in the house is still kind of awkward. I never see her go, never smell her either, and I still believe women never shit. Their bodies just absorb it somehow and it never comes out.

Oh, fuck it. I close the iPad and finish hastily, and then when I’m back in the main room, check to make sure our morning coffee is prepared and the front door is locked. I start upstairs but pause when a text chimes on Sophia’s phone... who the hell’s that?

Privacy. Don’t look at it. My mind tells me to let it go and get my ass back to bed, but my inner core needs to know. Trust her... walk away... nope. Come on, everyone looks at their partner’s phones. Right?

Yeah, they do, but that doesn’t mean they should. I pick up her phone. It’s that guy Evan from her Facebook site.

Soon...

Soon what? Damn, I shouldn’t have looked. I’ll just ask her, right? Admit that I crossed some lines and read the text. No, she’ll tell me on her own. I won’t say a word.

Wait, where’s my phone?

I check the counter then the table next to the door, see my keys, and remember it’s sitting in the cup holder of my car. It’s late, but I need it in case something happens to Ivy or the Scarlett. I slide into my shoes, grab my keys, and head out the door.

The building’s dead silent this time of the night so it doesn’t matter if I’m in the elevator without a shirt. I wasn’t bothered being in just my boxers the other day with dried cum on my stomach either, and compared to that, I’m overdressed for the short trip to the parking garage. I guess one positive from working in the porn industry is that I’ve always been comfortable with my body. I overheard one of my workers at the Scarlett tell her friends that her boyfriend refuses to get undressed with the lights on, and won’t have sex unless the room’s pitch black. Fuck that shit. I want to see my wife’s body and it turns me on that she loves to gawk at mine.

The door opens and I’m in the basement.

Oh shit... cold weather shrinkage... my balls are taut and my dick disappears. This usually only happens in the winter, but the cold front has taken my body off guard. It’s too early for fall and we should have another month before we experience these dips in temperature. I shiver and my nipples are erect as I grab my phone and jog over to the elevator. Yeah, I’m starting that fire again when I get upstairs. Fuck this.

Damn it. The elevator went back to the ground floor. I hit the button and wait... wait... wait... shit, it’s creepy down here. I feel someone’s eyes are on me. No. That’s just my mind wandering. Don’t be a pussy. I look over my shoulder and almost piss my pants when a figure appears in the basement about ten yards away. It’s that guy from the street who I almost hit with my car. He’s still here. Water drips off his clothing as he walks toward the elevator just as it dings and I step inside.

“Fucking close, damn it.” I tap the button. “Close.”

The door shuts and I exhale as he disappears and I’m alone... at least for a moment. A second later the door slides open and the figure steps inside; his dark hood’s still up, wet, and obscuring his face.

Am I overreacting? Is it just someone from the building?

“What floor?” I whisper, with a shaky finger pointed at the panel, ready to push a button.

There’s no response.

He’s my height and build; standing directly in front of the door and panting like one of Haverty’s dogs.... I could take him. If this guy wants to fight I’m ready.

“What floor?” I say again, this time with confidence that I’m not scared of the prick, or at least suppressing my fears the best I can.

And then it happens. It’s true; the slow motion, life flashing before one’s eyes event that people talk about when they’re about to die really does exist. My past whirls through my head as a switchblade is pulled from his jeans and held to my chest.

I think about Sophia first, then the baby who I may never meet, my parents, and then Sophia again.

“Fuck, man,” I whisper. “You need money? I’ve probably got something in my car.” Maybe I should just give him the car.

He presses the knife’s point against my hammering heart and the suicidal thoughts I had earlier change instantly to a fierce desire to live. Screw Paul, and David, and everyone else. This fucker too. I won’t let him kill me.

“I have a wife who’s pregnant. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you. Anything.”

“You knocked some bitch up, Star?” He closes the blade and pulls off the hood with a deep laugh. “Bet you just shit your pants, didn’t you?”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me?” I bend over and place my hands on my knees and exhale a robust laugh. “Damn you, you asshole.”

“Gotcha, little shit.”

I straighten and hug the dumbass and then we pat one another on the back.

Marcus Wild, Jameson Industries number two man. I was number one, Paul’s Star, but Marcus was every bit as legendary, and as far as I’m concerned, just as adored by the fans as myself. We hit it off well, right from the start when Paul requested we work together in a few scenes. He was kind and playful, unlike some of the older guys who were brutal and beat the crap out of me. Marcus was also someone I had an unspoken connection to, close in age and rank within the business, and if I’m not mistaken, possibly one of Paul’s boy toys when he was younger. I saw him follow Paul into his office on occasion, but like myself, he moved out of the spotlight and into behind the scenes work. I haven’t seen him for a couple of years, and I suppose the life of a porn star is similar to being a cop; when you’re too old to work in the field, you get a desk job and are never seen or heard from again.

Marcus’s blue eyes, light blonde hair, pearly white teeth, and tan face make him look like a Malibu Ken doll; only he dresses a hell of a lot better.

“Congratulations on your kid. Got a wife too, or just a whore?”