He chuckled. "I know."

I laughed. "Modest, too, aren't ya?"

"I don't need to be modest. I didn't do anything to earn this face. It just is what it is."

I snorted. "Just when I was kinda starting to like you again."

"Does you liking me translate into more kissing?" He grinned again, shooting me that devastating smile.

"No. Now tell me why you don't model instead of… what you're doing."

"Let people primp me and put make-up on me for hours and then pose in front of them? God, that sounds a thousand times worse than porn. Shit."

"Worse than porn? So you don't like doing it then?"

He stared at me for a minute and I could see his wheels turning, but with what, I didn't know. Finally he said, "Truthfully, no, I don't like doing porn."

"Why?" I asked quietly.

"Because I like to fuck the way I want to fuck. I don't like being told what to do or moved around like a chess piece in bed. Part of the high of sex for a man is the chase. There's no chase in porn. And before you get mad, I'm not trying to push your buttons with that wording. I'm just being honest. I don't find it enjoyable. I mean beyond–"

"Right," I interrupted, "sex is like pizza and all that." I studied him for a minute. "How'd you get into it?" I finally asked.

He sighed. "Well, like I said, I kinda grew up in the business. My mom used to bring me on set with her. Not that I watched. I stayed in the dressing room, but I knew what she was doing out there and it sucked. Pun intended." He grinned, but I didn't. I just felt sad.

He stared at me for a minute, his eyes narrowing briefly. I thought he might not continue, but then he began speaking again, "Anyway, my mom had always had a little bit of a drug problem and when I was fourteen, it got pretty bad. I went to live with my grandma in Massachusetts until my mom got clean, and then I came back to Los Angeles."

"That's where you're from?"

"Yeah. The City of Angels." He raised his eyebrows, looking away thoughtfully for a second before continuing. "Once I turned eighteen, several of the producers I knew started asking me to make a film. They said it'd get big-time attention. The son of one of the biggest stars of porn, now doing films himself. I said no for a while. I wasn't interested. When my granny died, she left me a little bit of money. Not a lot, but enough to travel around Europe for a couple years. When I came back, I worked at some menial jobs for a while–doing nothing, partying. Finally, six months ago, I was contacted by one of those same producers who now worked for a company that's a little more 'soft core.' I figured, why the fuck not? What was the big difference between that and what I was doing with women I didn't know on the weekends?"

I flinched. It all sounded so… empty. When I looked up at him, he had his head resting against the back of the elevator and he was studying me. "You a virgin, Buttercup?"

I laughed. I was just about to tell him it was none of his business, but I realized that he had just offered up intimate details of his life. It would be like me slapping him in the face to say something like that now. Truthfully, it wasn't any of his business. But what he had just shared with me wasn't my business either, and yet he had given it to me regardless. I stopped laughing and sighed. "No. I've been with one person. My college boyfriend. I plan on being with one more before I get married."

"You plan on being with one more before… okay, what?"

"Well, wait, it makes sense and I'll tell you why. I still have to finish law school. And then I have to get hired by a top law firm and work for at least a year. I don't plan on getting married until I'm twenty-eight and no one wants to marry a twenty-eight year old virgin. He'd wonder what was wrong with me. So I figure, I should be with two men before I meet my husband. One to take my virginity, check, and one to teach me enough to be a good wife in bed." I smiled, impressed with my own reasoning.

He stared at me for a beat and then burst out laughing. "Shit, that might be even less romantic than my story. And that's a feat."

I frowned. "What's not romantic about that? I'm setting things up perfectly for the man that I'll spend forever with. I'm already thinking of him, and we haven't even met yet."

"What about the poor schmuck who you pick out to be sex partner number two? Destined to be kicked to the curb before you've even met him."

I scoffed. "Please. Like guys aren't okay with a couple months of sex before they're set free to move on to the next one?"

He smiled. "Well, true. Still, what happens if you end up falling for him? What happens to your plan then?"

"Falling for him? Well, no. That won't happen because it's not part of my plan. Certainly there will have to be an attraction, but–"

"I might have the perfect candidate, Buttercup." He raised an eyebrow and then shot me that devastating grin.

I laughed. "You?" I shook my head. "That's impossible, Carson. First of all, we don't even live in the same city. And listen, how would I ever tell my future husband that I had been with a porn star? No offense. Really. But that–"

"Why would you have to give him any details? Men don't want details about their women's past sexual experience."

"I guess not. But still… wait! Are we seriously discussing this? That guy is still years away in the plan. I can't forget everything he teaches me before I meet The One. Sorry. Timing doesn't work." I grinned at him. I figured he was messing with me anyway. But it was true enough.

"So you don't plan on having any more sex for the next, what? Four years or so? How old are you?"

"Twenty-three. So yes, he's about four years away in the plan." I tilted my head and smiled.

"You're going to wait four years to have sex again because of some stupid plan?"

"It's not a stupid plan! I've always had it. It keeps me focused." I frowned. Now that I had explained my entire plan out loud, it was beginning to sound less rational than it always had in my mind. "Anyway," I went on, " it's going to help me achieve my dreams."

He raised an eyebrow. "Your dreams? You sure about that?"

I snorted. "Now who's pretending to be Dr. Phil?"

He watched me. "Okay, fair enough. Let's get back to the sex then. You're planning, purposefully on a four-year dry spell? Didn't you like it the first time?"

I felt my cheeks heat as I looked down. "Sure, it was fine."

"Fine? Uh oh. Any man who gets a 'fine' from a woman on any topic is in serious trouble."

I took a deep breath. "Listen. It was fine, okay? Not spectacular. Not terrible. Just fine." I shrugged.

He studied me for a minute. "So he didn't make you come, Buttercup?"

"Jesus! I can't believe we're discussing this. No, he didn't make me come, okay? For all I know, I can't come with another person in the room. All right? Why don't you give me your email and I'll let you know in four years if things have changed!" I banged the back of my head on the elevator wall behind me. I felt embarrassed by this line of conversation, especially considering whom I was talking to. Actually, I was feeling kind of stripped down in a lot of ways. And he was making me question things I never questioned. How had this happened exactly? With this person? I started laughing and shaking my head.