RJ Scott - Two Plus One.pdf

(415 KB) Pobierz
Two Plus One
683526513.001.png
Two Plus One |
RJ Scott
2
Want
E VEN as Connor sat watching the approach to Vancouver
airport, he could hear his friends’ voices telling him he was
losing it. You’re a teacher, not a writer. What about your
career, your pension, your prospects? You realize we’re in a
recession? The education system is job safe; people always
need teachers . He had given the same answer to every one of
them. Just the weekend, just three days. I want to take the
script to them personally. It is just something I have to do. And
so he sat, in a window seat, 23A, looking down at snow-
covered Canada, his heart in his mouth, his script in his
carry-on bag, and an address for the set in his head.
This was possibly his only shot at getting his work seen,
maybe even getting the creator of the show to read his
words. He could possibly be holding the next big hit to be
filmed in Vancouver in his hands, the next X-Files , the next
The Vampire Diaries , and it was a thrill he would never, ever
feel again. His script was a story of a man—a gay man—
secret organizations, life in a small town, and the tragic
death of a lover all rolled into one; it was edgy and new, and
his nerves twisted in his stomach as the plane touched
down. Maybe it was pushing it too far. Maybe the world
wasn’t ready for a gay hero. But unless he handed the script
to the director or writers of the current super-hit End Game
himself, he would never know.
Two Plus One |
RJ Scott
3
Finding where the production head office was based was
easy. It seemed a few carefully placed questions on various
Internet communities brought forward a raft of information,
not just production HQ for End Game , but the bars that
technicians and stars visited and even a home address.
Connor wasn’t really impolite; he was a well brought up kind
of guy, and the thought of approaching someone in their own
home was not on his to do list.
So the production office it would be, and after a quiet
night in the Days Inn, he felt he could handle anything. He
delayed a little, psyching himself in front of the bathroom
mirror, pulling at his blond hair, trying to get it to stay
spiked, hazel eyes gazing back at him from what he
considered to be a very ordinary face. He wondered what it
would be like to meet the people behind End Game ,
wondered what the writers of the popular buddy cop show
were like. Would they laugh at him? Think his ideas were
nothing? He sighed, slipping on his jacket and straightening
his tie. This was going to be easy. That was what he had to
believe. Easy.
Of course, he hadn’t completely counted on the security
on set being as tight as it was, watching as some fifty girls of
various ages hovered at the gate. It was close to eight a.m.,
and he assumed they were here waiting for the arrival of
Darin Ramírez or Rob Kelly, the male stars of the show. He
smiled at the thought of maybe catching sight of them in the
flesh. After all, there wasn’t that much of a call for an End
Game convention in the middle of Tennessee, and both men
were gorgeous. He stood back. While catching sight of Darin
Ramírez, in his opinion one of the most stunning men on the
planet, would be a bonus; it was the director or script writers
Two Plus One |
RJ Scott
4
he was really here to see.
There was a buzz in the group of girls: a black truck had
been spotted approaching the main gate, and a sudden
surge of excited girls pushed at Connor. The force of the
group moving en masse was enough for him to fall flailing
into the slush at the side of the road, the script in his hand
flying under the wheels of the sliding truck. In slow motion,
he saw his work ruined in water and mud and the truck stop
inches from his outspread fingers reaching for the loose
papers. He heard, rather than saw, the crowd of girls gasp in
horror, a door slam, and heated words, and then a man,
squat, built, and in an irritable hurry, pulled him one-
handed to his feet, snapping out a hurried “Are you okay?”
Connor didn’t know what to say. He felt like his whole
life had just been stomped on. The script was ruined. Of
course, he had a copy on his laptop. He wasn’t stupid. But
this script had been specially bound and had his notations
on it, ideas in pencil he had added on the flight, which he
could never recover. Still, he nodded he was okay. His elbow
hurt like a bitch where he had landed on solid asphalt, but
other than that, he was just fine. Shaky and shocked, but
fine.
“Jim, is he okay?” a voice from inside the tinted
windows asked, and the girls moved in a swarm, all shouting
the same things: Darin, it’s Darin, OH MY GOD, Darin, Darin!
The man holding Connor swore, pushing the girls back and
pulling at Connor, even as Connor was trying to reach for his
script, which was now torn up under fifty pairs of shoes.
Without ceremony he was shoved into the truck, and he
sprawled on the floor, the huge workhorse of a bodyguard
following him and pulling the door shut behind him, locking
Two Plus One |
RJ Scott
5
all the doors in seconds. Connor felt other hands pulling at
him, helping him up from the floor.
“Jeez, dude, you okay? Did we hit you?”
Blinking, Connor looked at the man helping him to the
seat. Freaking Darin Ramírez . Just under six foot of muscled
limbs and an athletic build, short dark brown spiky hair,
concerned brown eyes, and that body: broad-chested and so
damn big. Connor knew his jaw had dropped, and he
realized he probably looked like a dork, soaked to the skin
with slush, holding his throbbing elbow, and his probably
limp blond hair damp and curling round his face. It didn’t
help that he didn’t know what to say, actually being in the
same space as Darin freaking Ramírez, whose face at this
moment was screwed up in a concerned expression.
“No, no, you didn’t, you didn’t hit me. That is… I just
got pushed…by them,” Connor managed to force out despite
the shivering cold, focusing his gaze on concerned eyes and
not for the first time lusting after the completely straight
actor.
“We’ll get the on site medic to check you out,” the man
of his right-hand fantasies said quickly.
“Medic,” Connor repeated, wishing he could actually
string a sentence together instead of sounding like a
hopeless idiot.
“Yeah, we have a medic. She’ll look at you, sort you
out.” The truck came to a stop and Darin unrolled six foot of
muscle and stepped lithely to the ground, holding his hand
out back to Connor, who grasped it without thought and
climbed out of the truck to stand next to the taller man, only

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika:

Zgłoś jeśli naruszono regulamin