No Sacrifice Page 6

  “No, no sorry. It’s okay. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, though, man. Sounds like hell.”

  “You can say that again,” Patrick muttered, then downed the rest of his coffee.

  Marcy brought the apple pie, and they both ate in silence, Patrick lost in thought. Bisexual. Well, that wasn’t so bad, but it didn’t change that things could still be uncomfortable with Rhys. At least he understood better now.

  “So, uh, you working now?” Patrick asked to put things on a different topic.

  “Yeah, got a TV show for a while yet. I’m actually working on some songs. I’ve got a couple that I’ve sent out, but I haven’t heard yet.”

  “A songwriter? That’s cool. I couldn’t write my way out of a wet paper bag. College taught me to sing the stuff but not write it.”

  Chance laughed. “I can sing some, play instruments, but I just don’t want to be out there. You know….”

  “Yeah, the deer-in-the-headlights thing,” Patrick said, nodding. “Right.” He finished his pie and pushed the plate aside. As he did, he glanced at his watch. “Fuck. It’s getting late. I have makeup at six.”

  “Ugh. I’m glad I don’t have to be on set that early. Usually, it’s closer to nine for sound.”

  “I envy you. And that makeup itches like hell.” Patrick sighed and picked up his check. “But… at least it’s a fight scene tomorrow,” he said and chuckled.

  “Good. Maybe you’ll figure out something else to think about while you’re in the kissing scenes by the time you do the next one.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Patrick said, handing the check and money to Marcy at the register.

  Her eyes darted between Chance and Patrick and back again. She leaned toward Patrick. “He’s a good guy. You oughta take him out for a real date—and I don’t mean here to Pablo’s.”

  “Marcy!” Chance groaned. “Stop.”

  She shook her head. “He’s good-looking! And you deserve a nice guy. He seems nice.”

  “Marcy….” Chance warned as he handed her his ticket.

  Patrick chuckled quietly. “I’m married, ma’am,” he offered, and she sighed.

  “Well, hell. There goes another one. You’d’ve made such a cute couple too.”

  “Marcy, please,” Chance nearly begged.

  “Fine, fine!” she said, shaking her head. “Have a good night, y’all! Come back soon.”

  They stepped out into the evening air, which was cooling rapidly in the February night. Patrick stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to Chance. “Thanks for… uh… listening.”

  Chance shrugged. “Glad to do it. I hope I helped, at least a little.”

  “You did,” Patrick assured him, nodding. Patrick held his hand out, and when Chance took it, Patrick had to fight to keep from closing his eyes at the feel. He had to be imagining it, because Chance didn’t seem to react at all. They shook, and he dropped Chance’s hand, stuffing his right back into his pocket. “Good to meet you… take care.”

  “Yeah, you too. Good luck with everything.”

  “Thanks,” Patrick said and waved before he started walking. It took everything he had to not turn around and look back as he walked away. He didn’t know what drew him about Chance Dillon; he just knew something did. But he’d never know what that was, because he’d never see Chance again. He was sure of it.

  Chance watched until Patrick turned a corner, then started walking in the same direction. His own hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he tried not to think about Patrick Tearney being bisexual. He tried not to think about the subtle distinctions he’d picked up on during their conversations—like the fact that Patrick had told Marcy he was married… not that he was straight.

  The man already starred in his fantasies. That was only fuel for so many more.

  Chance’s hand tingled where it was curled into a fist in his pocket. Twice he’d shaken hands with Patrick. And twice he’d felt something that had surprised him. He didn’t understand it, had never felt anything like that before.

  He turned right where Patrick had turned left, going on autopilot to his building. He was trying to figure out what was going to happen when he ran into Patrick on set. He’d already figured out Patrick didn’t realize he was working on the same show. Maybe they’d be lucky and he could simply avoid Patrick. Chance would love to see Patrick again, but Patrick had made it clear he was happily married and planning to stay that way.

  He let himself into his apartment and kicked his shoes off inside the door, then looked around. It was small—enough space for his bed, a couch, his guitars and piano, his audio equipment, and the galley kitchen off to one side. There was a closet stuffed with his clothes and a very small bathroom on the other side with a stand-up shower. He didn’t mind it, though. It had enough for him and a fairly reasonable rent. Everything in Los Angeles was expensive, and he knew it, so he figured he was lucky to get what he did.

  He crossed the room and flopped down onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. He lifted his hand and stared at it for a moment, still confused by what he’d felt.

  He’d met Patrick Tearney. He’d talked to Patrick Tearney. They’d eaten a meal together, had drinks together. And maybe it wasn’t a date or anything like that, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t floating on cloud nine. Maybe, just maybe, they could be friends.

  Maybe. He just had to get through work first and hope Patrick wasn’t bothered by the fact that they were on the same show. If that worked out, then there was a chance.

  He never even managed to get out of bed to turn off the lights. He fell asleep quickly, his dreams full of one Patrick Tearney and things that were not about friendship.

  Chapter 5

  “What do you mean, not that one?” Patrick asked, frowning as he put the tunic back on the rack.

  “I mean, Jack changed the scene. Didn’t you get the message?” Thom asked.

  “No.” Patrick scowled as he crossed to the table and picked up his phone. With a sigh he opened the text—which had shown up at 5:45 a.m., when he was already on his way to the filming location—to see Jack wanted to do another of the romantic scenes, not the fight scene that Patrick had prepared. “Aw, fuck,” he grumbled, snatching up the copy of the sides on the table and looking through it quickly.

  Thom laughed. “Yeah, that’s what we thought. We had everything ready for the other one. Come on, Romeo, let’s get you dressed.”

  Patrick threw the sides onto the table, pulled his robe off, and tossed it over the bench in his trailer, taking the pair of pants Thom held out. His mind was running a mile a minute. He wasn’t prepared for this one. He hadn’t had an opportunity to think about Chance’s suggestion and figure out how to keep himself more removed from the scene.

  While he tied the laces on the pants and stamped his feet into the boots, he made a list in his head of as many unsexy things as he could think of. Nuns, kittens, baseball….

  “What?” Thom asked, holding the tunic up.

  Patrick shook his head as he slipped his arms into the sleeves. “Nothing, just thinking through the scene.”

  “Uh-huh.” Patrick didn’t have to see Thom’s face to know he didn’t believe that, but it couldn’t be helped. Patrick was trying not to panic. He was tired of reacting, tired of getting hard for Rhys. Even if he was bisexual, he didn’t want to get hard for—didn’t want to react to—his costar. It was just uncomfortable and… majorly embarrassing.

  Before he was ready mentally, he was dressed, makeup was done, and he was crossing the sand to where the cameras were set up. Chrissy stopped him to fuss with his hair once more, but his eyes were firmly on where Rhys waited, hazel eyes glued to Patrick. “Stop chewing on your lip, it’ll mess up the makeup,” Chrissy said, drawing his attention to her.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  She shook her head. “Well, it’ll come off with the kiss anyway. Just… try not to make it worse. It’s nothing to get this upset about, anyway—it happens all the time.”

  “What?”
Patrick asked, eyes widening, heart pounding, and finally fully paying attention to her.

  “You know, getting nervous over a scene,” she replied, blinking at him.

  Patrick’s heart calmed. “Oh, yeah, of course.”

  She chuckled. “But Jack’s in a mood. So be warned.”

  “Thanks,” Patrick said, sighing.

  “Okay, you’re good. Go.” She waved a hand and turned to someone else, though Patrick didn’t pay attention to who. He was too busy staring at Rhys, who was watching him approach.

  “Hey,” Rhys said, waving a hand.

  “Hey,” Patrick echoed. “So, uh, I guess we’re not fighting.”

  Rhys chuckled. “No, guess not. I don’t know why he insisted on changing it.” He shrugged. “What can we do?”

  “Kiss,” Patrick blurted, and Rhys laughed.

  “Right,” Rhys agreed, then surprised Patrick by kissing him. It was short and just a peck, but it was enough to totally blindside him.

  Patrick’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean now,” he managed, dabbing at the corner of his mouth.

  Rhys laughed again. “I know that. You’re funny when you’re thrown off like that, though.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Asshole.”

  “I don’t deny it,” Rhys said, nodding.

  “Oh good, you’re on time for once,” Jack said, approaching them.

  Patrick and Rhys exchanged looks. They were both usually quite early. Jack really was in a mood. Great.

  “Now, for this scene, I want you to really show that… passion that Cyrus and Nadir have for each other.”

  Fuck, Patrick thought. So much for nuns and kittens.

  “This is the scene where you’re supposed to be practicing your fighting instead of thinking of sex,” Jack continued.

  “Yeah, which is so different than every other scene,” Rhys grumbled, and Patrick snickered.

  “Make sure you look like you’re in love. Bring that extra something you two seem to have for each other to the scene.” Jack waved his hands a little wildly.

  Patrick had to work extra hard not to look at Rhys over that last comment. He wondered if Jack knew something, but he wasn’t about to ask.

  “You mean the fact that we know to brush our teeth before kissing our costars?” Rhys asked, and Patrick snorted.

  Jack actually growled, which wiped the smiles off their faces. “Just get it right early. There’s a lot to do today. I still want to do the fighting scene later.”

  When he walked away, Rhys mumbled, “If they hadn’t turned this show into little more than soft-core porn….”

  Patrick coughed to cover the laugh. “Be fair, Rhys, there’s plenty of other stuff to the show.”

  Rhys sighed. “Yeah, I know. Just seems like this is all we’ve been focusing on. I was supposed to be a fighter, sneaky and badass… so were you, for that matter.”

  “We still are,” Patrick said, looking up into Rhys’s face. “Honestly, we’re working and making pretty good money on this show.” He shrugged. “I sincerely doubt we’ll be typecast as gay porn stars or something.”

  With a laugh, Rhys shook his head again. “Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed. “Okay, so… fighting practice….”

  The prop assistant, George, met them at their marks to hand over the sword and knife, and they turned to each other. This part, for Patrick, was easy. He’d done fighting scenes on stage, and he’d been working with swords, knives, shields, and the like for as long as he could remember. The show’s boot camp had worked with him on the few things he wasn’t familiar with, and the choreographer filled in the rest. He liked spears because they reminded him of his tribal heritage, but the current scene didn’t call for them, so he held a knife instead.

  “Okay,” Jack called, and the weapons master stepped forward. “Let’s do this part in one take, can we?”

  That was ridiculous, Patrick knew, but he’d try.

  They did well, though. His spin, steps, knife swing, and parry were right on. Rhys countered like he was supposed to. “Good,” Rhys said, nodding. “Now, Nadir, remember to keep your eye on the enemy,” he instructed, “and watch for openings.”

  Patrick gave his own nod and stepped forward. “Like this?” he asked, thrusting his knife toward Rhys’s relaxed pose.

  Rhys laughed. “Indeed, my love,” he agreed, and Patrick stood back, grinning up at him. Their eyes met, and Rhys stepped closer. “We don’t really need to practice, you know. You are as good a fighter as I am,” he said, voice pitched lower. One hand came up, and Rhys brushed the backs of his fingers over Patrick’s cheek.

  Patrick sucked in a breath and felt his stomach jump. Nuns. Kittens. Baseball, he told himself. “You know that is not true, Cyrus,” Patrick managed, hoping it came out the way it was supposed to. It sounded too breathless to his own ears, and he waited to hear Jack complain.

  But there was no call, and Rhys shook his head. “It is, Nadir. You are as good as me, maybe even better.” Rhys dropped his sword, and his now-free arm came around Patrick, pulling them closer together. “I can think of something much better to do with this time, anyway.”

  “Cyrus,” Patrick said, shaking his head. “His Highness expects us to practice, and despite what you say, I do need it. I have been away from it for far too long.”

  “I have been out of it as long as you have, and you don’t seem to think I need it,” Rhys countered, opening his hand and threading his fingers up into Patrick’s hair, loosening the tie. The thick locks spilled around his shoulders. “Let me…,” he started to say, gave up and closed the distance.

  When their lips met and Patrick’s eyes closed, he started chanting in his head again: Nuns. Kittens. Baseball. As Rhys’s mouth moved and Patrick did his best to return the “kiss,” he kept up the chant.

  “CUT!” Jack shouted. “What the hell was that, Patrick?” he asked, and Patrick frowned.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said, though he was pretty sure he did know.

  “You looked like a fucking statue! I think I saw a totem pole with more emotion on its faces than you showed in that kiss.” He shook his head. “Let’s try that again.”

  Patrick nodded, they reset, and Chrissy came in to put his hair back. When it was in place correctly, the calls were made. Then the click of the clapboard and finally Jack shouted his “Action.”

  “Let me….” Rhys said, and then they were kissing. Patrick didn’t try the chant again, too afraid he’d be stuck kissing Rhys all damned morning. Instead, he focused on getting through it, trying to show the emotion he was supposed to while still keeping himself from reacting to the hand in his hair, the arm around him, the lips on his.

  “CUT! Dammit, Patrick!” Jack shouted again, and Patrick sighed.

  “Dammit, indeed,” Patrick grumbled, and he heard Rhys chuckle. “Sorry, Jack. I’ll try again.”

  “Yes, you will. I’ll keep us here all fucking day if I have to!”

  “Damn, he’s in a mood if he’s dropping the f-word so much,” Rhys muttered in Patrick’s ear, and Patrick nodded.

  “No kidding.”

  They reset to give it another try. Chrissy added her grumbling this time when she had to fix his hair. But still, as he fought with the reactions, the things his body wanted to do, Jack cut the scene. Again they reset. Again Patrick fought it, trying desperately to just not feel the things he was feeling. He reminded himself it was worth it to stop getting hard when he was in Rhys’s arms.

  But of course, Jack stopped them. Again and again. When they reset the next time, Chrissy threatened to box his ears if she had to fix his hair anymore, and Jack looked about ready to pick up the sword next to them and run him through. Thank God it wasn’t real.

  He glanced up at Rhys. “Sorry, I don’t….” He shook his head a little helplessly.

  “It’s okay. Let’s just try to get it right this time?”

  Patrick nodded. He took a deep breath when they got in place. When Jack called “Action” and Rhys
closed in again, Patrick gave up fighting things. Instead, he gave as good as he got, returning the “kiss” and putting himself firmly into Nadir’s head, trying to focus on the things Nadir felt.

  Of course, he felt himself stir. He remembered himself enough to drop the knife on cue, but that was almost more accident than deliberate because he wanted to touch, to feel more of Rhys, when he did. He returned the kiss with the same intensity Rhys was giving him, their mouths moving, nearly devouring each other. He leaned into Rhys, his hands moving over the half-naked body in his arms, and before he knew it, he was getting hard again.

  But then he felt something that surprised him. Rhys’s hands cupped his ass and pulled him even closer. And when they ground against each other as the script called for… he felt something hard against his own cock. He pulled back in shock and looked up into Rhys’s eyes.

  “Please, Nadir,” Rhys murmured, and Patrick was grateful Rhys seemed better able to keep his head and stay on cue, though it almost sounded like the words had a real plea to them. “I need you…,” he added, and Patrick remembered to nod.

  “Yes, Cyrus… need you too.” Then he was kissing Rhys again, holding nothing back, their bodies straining together, and Patrick couldn’t quite tell how much of it was Rhys’s acting and how much was the real thing. All he knew was they were both hard, and it felt way more real than it should.

  “And cut!” Jack shouted. Patrick and Rhys nearly jumped apart, and neither seemed willing to look at the other. Patrick opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t think of what. Before he could come up with anything, Jack shouted again. “Finally! Let’s take a break and get some food.”

  Chance melted back into the crowd and turned to find Selia and Randy to make sure they didn’t need anything before he got in line. He didn’t even make it to the sound tent before she waved him away. When Chance found Randy, he was already walking toward the catering tent too.

  Chance followed, lost in thought. He briefly considered skipping lunch, heading toward the truck, and messing with cabling instead. There was always something to do there—more testing, more organizing. But his mama didn’t raise him to be a coward. Chance may have spent the better part of his young life in the closet, but living in the Bible Belt, that was smart, not cowardly. When it came down to the rest, his mama had taught him to go after what he wanted, and despite his deer-in-the-headlights behavior in front of a camera or on stage, he did just that.