Our favorite erotica peddler, the nearly real Eddy Casanovitch, is forced to drastically pull in his horns when a young rocket scientist Mallory and the runaway Texan teenagers Sarah and Cozette fall on him from out of the beachy California sky. "You call that a plot?" Alex's New York publisher Grace bellows. Maybe not, but then the ancient love of Eddy's life, the gorgeous Keisha, shows up as a world-class madam with her own fascinating flock. And then the other love of his life, Sarah's Mom Roxie, roars in from Texas to collect her due. All this while Eddy's doing his best to talk Mallory's irritated CEO Daddy out of killing her. The fundamental problem: Eddy's just a regular guy with a vivid, if degenerate imagination. But the more he tries to explain it to neighbors, lovers, vengeful CEOs, and publishers, the less they understand. After all, he wrote every erotic word, didn't he? But, as the exhausted man keeps repeating, there's a reason they call it fiction.