Chapter 2: Chapter 2

With a heavy sigh, I got out of bed. My dick was still hard, but I ignored it. A good workout would take care of it, and I needed to start my morning. The small house I’d bought when I moved us to Seattle nearly five years ago didn’t boast much room, but it actually had a basement. I’d finished off a section of it and set up a weight bench and a treadmill. I was no longer an active duty Marine, but I was a reservist, and that meant I had the responsibility to keep myself in top shape.

An hour, seven miles, and a few dozen reps later, I was done and feeling more centered. I jumped into the shower to get rid of the sweat. I’d learned the art of a short, efficient shower in the Corps, and it took no time to cleanse myself. Hell, my dark brown hair was barely a half an inch long, and was practically dry by the time I toweled off. I wrapped the towel around my waist, and stood at the sink to shave. I made quick work of the task, going as much by touch as by sight.

I dressed in the black cargo pants and black polo shirt that was the uniform of Riverside Security before I headed into the kitchen. The laptop on the table booted up while I made my standard breakfast—a cup of black coffee, two pieces of wheat toast, and four scrambled eggs. By the time I sat, the computer had done its thing and every alert I’d set up pinged into my email. I scanned the news while I ate, making sure I was up to date on anything I needed to know.

Lucas Logan was headlining the gossip sites. Again. They always seemed to have one story after another featuring the lead actor. Not a single one ever got anything right. It was a little surprising actually. The laws of probability meant gossip should have to hit on something true eventually, even if they were making it up. But by some stroke of luck, or some miracle, the only thing the media ever got right about Logan was his home address. And they sure didn’t know he was living with Aaron Zeller. I got the impression that Logan and Zeller wanted to keep it that way. In fact, they didn’t act like a couple at all when they were together. If it weren’t for my keen observation skills, and my uncanny knack of knowing exactly when to eavesdrop, I wouldn’t have known they were lovers either.

Truth was, they looked good together. And they were certainly good for each other.

Satisfied that I hadn’t missed anything important that would negatively impact my duties, I stood from the table and crossed to the sink. I washed the dishes in short order, and by oh six hundred, I was out the door and climbing into my Tahoe. I’d get to the warehouses that housed the soundstages and production offices early, but that was better than late. First makeup call wasn’t scheduled until oh seven hundred. But most of the cast was on the call sheet today. Including the prominent guest star.

I wanted to do a sweep of the building to make sure everything was secure.

* * * *

My task was to remain silent and vigilant. I had no problem with either aspect. I’d been on set for a couple of weeks, and I knew how things worked fairly well by now. I continually searched the soundstage, looking for anything that could be construed as out of the ordinary. It was habit now, the track my gaze made, and I knew exactly what I was looking at as I made my circuit.

I had no problem pulling my attention away from Brandon Culpepper. Where I did seem to have difficulty, though, was keeping it from straying back to him.

The moment the director called “action,” a transformation the likes of which I had never seen took place. Brandon went from sweet and angelic to psychopathic serial killer in an instant. It was as complete as flipping a switch, so absolute was the change. Gone was the guy I observed barely able to complete a sentence without blushing red and stuttering, and in his place was a man even I would be afraid to meet in a dark alley.

It was creepy as hell.

And, inexplicably, utterly arousing.

I chalked that second part up to the fact that Brandon was everything I wanted. He could have been reading from the phone book and I would have still gotten hard. But to watch him in a scene, his presence so commanding, I was fascinated.

A hush fell over the set as the director, a competent, and no bullshit woman named Constance O’Meara, called for “places.” Within moments, the cast and crew were ready. I let my gaze travel another circuit of the entire set before retuning my attention to the small space where the filming was taking place. Just a corner of the set had been transformed to look like an empty warehouse. The extra on the ground was covered with fake blood, and waiting patiently for the scene to begin. Brandon was looking everywhere except at the woman at his feet. He fidgeted, and lifted a hand to touch his hair before he remembered himself and aborted the movement. He took a breath, then slowly blew it out.

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