Page 55 of Something Spontaneous

“Well, duh, Josie. No one’s coming in here and talking about getting their boobs and god knows what else pierc—” She trails off right as the bells on the door jingle.

The four of us all look to the door as Mr. Stein walks in with his wife. This time, it’s Maribel who blushes when they walk up to the counter. Grace and Taylor snicker, clearly enjoying how flustered she is trying to collect herself after nearly letting them hear the tail end of our conversation.

I, on the other hand, go quiet and feel my palms get sweaty. I’ve managed to avoid seeing Mr. Stein again since that first morning at the diner. In fact, other than Meredith, I’ve managed to avoid seeing any of the people who I know have a bone to pick with my family. I’d be more than okay with not having to interact with any of them at all before I leave for the festival, and I know better than to test my luck—or maybe fate, since Grace is here after all.

“Hey,” I say with a hushed voice to Grace. “We should get back to the motel if you’re still planning on heading out tonight.”

Grace gives me a funny look, her eyes drifting between me and the couple at the counter. Fortunately, she knows my tells well enough to not question me and nods. “Yeah, I do need to get packed up and on the road to meet Tommy.”

Standing with Grace by the pastry case, I watch the Steins at the counter while she says bye to Taylor. Mr. Stein is still talking to Maribel with his back to us, but Mrs. Stein has already ordered. She looks me up and down, and I know she recognizes me. Then again, her husband probably told her that I’m in town, or she heard it through town gossip.

There’s a look on her face that I can’t place, and I don’t want to stick around long enough to find out what it is.

We walk past them and stop at the door. Maribel smiles and waves at us before turning back to Mr. Stein.

“Okay, do you want to tell me what that was about?” Grace asks once we’re out of the bakery and walking down Silver Street back to the motel.

I shrug. “My former next-door neighbors, who also happen to be my old high school teacher and ski instructor, neither of whom I want to talk to.”

“Got it,” she says, dragging out the words. “You sure you don’t want me to stick around?”

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s fine. They’re easy enough to avoid.”

She lets out a soft hum. “Alrighty then.”

Over the years, the two of us have gotten ourselves into enough shady situations, and by comparison, this is harmless. While I know the Steins don’t like me, I’d prefer to avoid revisiting any of my past with them.

After Grace left this afternoon, I took a much-needed nap. I had an open bottle of prosecco in my fridge, so I poured myself a glass while I edited some short videos I made the other day, needing to post them. It’s Sunday after all, so I’m telling myself it’s a late Sunday funday mimosa—sans orange juice.

Editing my own videos has always been an exercise in self-love and empathy. Seeing myself intimately on video alone can feel cringy and requires a level of self-confidence and body positivity that I didn’t know I had in me years ago. Couple that with trying to get into the heads of my subs and think of what angles and views they’ll want to see at certain points—yeah—while I don’t need a glass of wine, I certainly enjoy having one or two.

Early on, a glass of wine or a spicy margarita with some music or a TV show for background noise made the whole process into my own goofy version of happy hour, where I’d ask myself the hard questions.

Does this view show off my ass better, or is the sparkly gem in the base of my butt plug too distracting?

Does bending myself at that angle make the tattoo on my ribs look like a frumpy old man instead of a pinup girl?

All of those are things that, at first, seemed absurd to consider are now just part of the job.

On top of being a necessity to maintain my privacy, I also simply couldn’t afford to pay someone to do it early on. I do pay for the premium video editing software subscription someone on an influencer forum recommended years ago, so I could learn to do it myself. Between that advice and taking a few online classes in video editing, I’m proud of how adept at it I’ve become over the years. I’ve even had other OnlyVans creators ask who my editor was and if they were taking on new clients. That alone was such a compliment I almost considered doing it, but I enjoy having time for myself too much, and I make plenty of money to support the lifestyle I enjoy.

That includes treating myself to nice wine and top-shelf drinks when I feel like it. Unfortunately, when I go to pour another glass to wind down, my bottle is empty.

“Dammit,” I mutter to myself.

I peer into the neck of the bottle to confirm what I already know—if I want another glass, I’m going to have to go raid Sisi’s stash. There’s only one crappy liquor store in Sterling Springs, and they aren’t open on Sundays. Not that I would go there anyway because I’m already in my comfy flannel shorts and cropped sleep shirt.

I grab my room key and phone, resigned to bugging Sisi, and hopefully avoiding the conversation about what I’ve been doing for the last two hours.

While she’s already shown so much about her character by the way she’s forgiven me for basically being a ghost for a decade, I don’t know if she would be accepting. Outside of Grace, TJ, and Sly, none of my friends know how I make money, and I’m fine keeping that circle of people very small. That’s if I would consider Sly a friend, which is questionable at best right now.

Is he still the person who hurt me? Yes.

Has he been surprisingly nice since I’ve gotten here? I look back at the stocked fridge and add that to the yes column.

Is he still the best sex of my life? I groan when I step out of my room because my stupid, horny body doesn’t hesitate to answer that question. Just thinking about last night makes my core pulse, and tells me the answer to my question is a yes as well.

Yes, Sly Sterling still very much turns me into a needy puddle.