Scoring Chance

Prologue

Dean

Dean Winchester, porn star.

It doesn’t have a nice ring to it, though my name can easily be a porno stage name. I’m sitting in makeup and waiting for my cue to join my hot wife on what is to be the most-talked about achievement in our lives.

It took me a while to get on board. I was adamant that no matter how much it was spun, no matter how much money we both made from it, it was not a porn tape; it was not a sex tape.

It is a performance art piece. Let’s face it – when you’re known for shootouts, you really don’t want to be known for your money shot.

My wife was surprisingly okay with it. I don’t know if it had something to do with that asshole manager of hers or the fact it’s not really her first time in front of a camera (and I really don’t want to know). But she promised I would hardly be featured and she would be the star. I wanted to tell her that’s pretty much what every porno is like; no one really cares about the guy.

Then I remembered people would be a lot more interested in me…and I became quiet.

We hired the best advertising agency in town, and one of Hollywood’s top directors is involved, and now I’m waiting for them to tell me when. Bobby told me not to worry about my performance. His words, ‘Don’t worry about the shot, just focus on her G-spot.’ And that’s what I plan to do.

I’m joking about this but this is a serious matter. If this idea doesn’t work, I’m screwed and became an unintentional, permanent guest in someone’s storyline next reality season. I need this to work to shut her up.

I need this to work for many reasons. In fact, I can think of 300 million of them.

SYDNEY

No girl grows up and wants to have a sex tape. If you do know a girl like that, or you are a girl like that, stop thinking that stupid shit. For every Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton, there are tons of Montana Fishburnes. You don’t know who that is? Exactly.

This is different, though. I’m making a visual performance art with my husband. No insertion will be shown and no one other than the very few on the set will see my naughty bits.

It doesn’t matter. Years from now, I can show this to our children and say, ‘This is how much your Mommy and Daddy loved each other!’ Well, I probably won’t because they’ll be grossed out. I mean, do you want to watch a video of your parents getting their freak on? Probably not.

I always wanted to do a performance art visual to show I was more than my art. I guess people are also going to see how much more *ba dum tss*. But it’ll be different than your run of the mill celebrity sex tape.

I’ll be with my husband and it’s someone I’m in love with. I want to have Dean’s babies and not name them Bobby or Betty. I’m sure many girls who make sex tapes with their partners, they probably don’t even like half of the time.

Makeup and hair is done and the artists have left. Now, it’s just me, Dean, Bobby, and a very small handful of people to watch. What’s a performance art piece without an audience to perform in front of?

I know in a few days, our world will drastically change and it’s still to be determined if it’ll be for the better. I do know, however, Becky with the Good Hair is going to flip the fuck out when she sees the footage.

And I, for one, can’t wait to see her burn.

One

Three months earlier…

The road to Vegas was a long drive. Nothing but desert, hidden cities in the nook of California and Nevada, and long thoughts. People were in a hurry, yet no one was despicable about it.

As she rested her bare feet on the dashboard of her ex’s tricked-out SUV, Sydney Walker settled back into her seat as Prince’s 17 Days blared through the speakers. The air conditioner gently blew on her dark locks and she closed her eyes to relish everything.

Everything was almost perfect.

Almost.

A slow grin spread on her face when she felt his hand cup her inner left thigh. She slowly moved her head towards his and gave a lazy smile. It was heaven being with him again. A week apart was a week too long. It was then she realized how much she needed him in her life, and not just wanted him around.

Dean Winchester.

He’d changed into a t-shirt and jeans when they went back to his home to pack for their spontaneous Vegas adventure. The clothing barely contained his lean, muscular frame and the suave masculinity inside him. His blonde hair shined in the sunlight while his beard, something he spent a lot of time meticulously trimming, was perfectly shaped.

His cologne, heavy with musk and wood scent, wafted in the contained space. Sydney took a long inhale of it and smiled. She missed the smell of him. She couldn’t describe other than it was absolutely powerful and panty-wetting. He’d often mixed his colognes but this scent was pure Dean.

Hidden behind dark sunglasses were his light green eyes and Sydney briefly wondered what was going on in that head of his. Was everything a mistake? Were they just a couple who should quit each other but simply can’t? What was the real deal?

Maybe he’d forgiven her sooner than she’d realized. When he was in the shower, she packed his bag and got everything he needed, just like she used to do when he had to travel for a road series. She waited downstairs and kept herself entertained with T.V. when he suddenly appeared, shirtless and wet.

Did you want anything to drink? His baritone voice interrupted her viewing time.

Um… She swallowed as she struggled to maintain her composure. Water beaded on his muscular chest and a steady, but small trail crawled over his six-pack. She blushed at seeing his physique, though she’d seen it a hundred times.

It was different because even though they weren’t together, her body and heart reminded her why she would always belong to him. No, I’m good.

Sure? He took a long gulp of water. I have plenty to offer you here.

Sydney’s chest tightened with hope. What was Dean really saying? Are we still talking about beverages?

Dean smiled and shook his head. His green eyes danced with love and his dimples formed in both cheeks. No.

They both knew he didn’t have to come down to the kitchen, let alone almost-naked. But he did, anyway. It was a silent but powerful gesture to Sydney – he wanted her around.

They stopped by her loft so she could pack her things and it was the first time Dean stood inside it. He was impressed by the length their boss went through to make sure the couple was happy with his purchase, though Dean still didn’t believe the loft was ever for him.

Floor to ceiling length windows. An open foyer. Sleek kitchenware and appliances. Large bedrooms with generously sized bathrooms. If Dean wanted to believe the billionaire magnate Ian Ferguson, he would say it was a very nice purchase for a betrothed couple.

Dean – as well as Ian – knew the purchase was for Sydney and Sydney only.

It didn’t matter. A cordial phone call to Ian a few days ago made sure Dean would be the sole owner of the million-dollar property with Sydney’s name in all of the bills.

They broke up a week prior and needed the time away from each other. They moved too fast, they admitted. They didn’t trust each other enough, they accepted. They needed to work on themselves before they could be together, they acknowledged.

They also realized – they were nothing if they weren’t together.

Music changed to A Tribe Called Quest’s Can I Kick It? and Sydney watched Dean slowly nod his head along to the hip-hop beat. He mouthed along Q-Tip’s rhymes and felt more at ease.

It didn’t matter where they were. As long as she was with him in some form, she was content.

Now what?

I’m cutting my hair and dying it, he turned down the stereo, something different.

You’re what? She questioned. What color and why in the hell are you ruining my fantasy?

Your fantasy is right here, he chuckled, something different. Dying it a darker color. Just something different for once.

You’re honestly going to keep that up during the season? She asked. That’s a lot of upkeep.

It’s for Nike, he replied, they want me to do an ad where different sides of me are being shown. Kinda like a stripped down and naked type of venture. Everyone keeps talking about my hair and my eyes and we thought it would be fun to do something different. Freak people out a little. He glanced over at her. She still wasn’t sold on the idea. I see it’s working.

They have wigs, you know? She ran her fingers through his hair. It was as soft as corn silk and just as shiny. You don’t have to cut and dye it!

It’ll grow back, Syd.

That’s what they all say, she shook her head, and then you’re going to be channeling your inner Britney Spears meltdown and shave it all off before you beat up a poor van with a defenseless umbrella.

And what the hell? Dean laughed and Sydney joined in. He wagged an index finger at her. No more pop music for you!

Sydney touched Dean’s thigh and he moved his hand on top of hers. He gave it a quick squeeze before moving her hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss. Things felt right. They felt…normal.

There was still unfinished business they needed to discuss before they moved on. They lived in the same city, but it was too far. They needed space from each other and not be a distraction. They never did distract each other but there was more fights than they both wanted to comfortably admit.

Still, Sydney’s decision to be with Ian during her time of weakness weighed heavily on her. If she wanted to be with Dean, if she wanted any chance of them of being together again, she needed to come