Something Like Want

  Something Like Want

  By Kris T. Bethke

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 Kris T. Bethke

  ISBN 9781634869249

  Cover Design: LC Chase

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Something Like Want

  By Kris T. Bethke

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  The Lounge was a trendy upscale bar I liked to frequent. A good place to be seen—as an actor, being seen was necessary—but not overcrowded or too loud. I was comfortable there, and a few gin and tonics with my friends put my picture on the gossip sites and got my name circulating on social media. Staying relevant in this business was not easy. Since I was on the wrong side of my twenties, I had to take care. There was always another pretty face with a modicum of talent trying to make a name for himself. I liked to think I kept getting roles because I was more than just a little talented. A few outstanding roles meant my name and face were known, but if I wanted to keep acting, I had to play the game. Which was why, even though I was feeling morose, I’d agreed to hit the Lounge with a few friends.

  I hadn’t expected to see him there. Though I should have considered it. How many times had his circle and mine overlapped? In the past year, how many times had we sat on the low, padded benches in the corner, huddled around a table of drinks, and talked? That’s how That Night had started, after all. So I really shouldn’t have been shocked. But after what I had just learned, seeing him was like a punch in the gut.

  Spencer Johns. Tall, built, blond, and utterly gorgeous. His skin seemed to glow in the low light, and as he lifted his glass of beer, his big hand drew my gaze.

  From my position across the room, I had no trouble making out the line of his throat as he swallowed. No problem seeing his teeth flash as he offered his companions a wide grin. He was delicious and beautiful, relaxed and enjoying the company of his friends. For a painful moment, I remembered the dark pools of his eyes as they stared into mine, the gentle way he touched my arm whenever he wanted my attention, his low, husky laugh. And then all the rage I’d felt earlier in the day came swarming back, and I went from admiring his beauty to wanting to stab that motherfucker in the throat.

  I slammed my glass on the table and was up and stalking across the floor before good sense could prevail. It only took me a few moments to get there, and he glanced up as I approached. He gave me a warm, easy grin, which quickly morphed into a concerned frown as he stood.

  “Alex?”

  “Fuck you, you fucking son of a bitch!” I spat, and before I even knew what I was doing, I’d hauled off and punched him straight in his perfect nose.

  He stumbled back, eyes wide and watering. His friends stood too, getting between us, and someone tugged on my arm.

  “What the fuck?” Spencer asked, the shock and surprise evident. He stared at me as though he’d never seen me before and couldn’t possibly fathom why he deserved the punch. Considering what he’d done, he probably had no remorse whatsoever.

  “Alex!” My friend, Jordan, said earnestly. He was the one tugging on my arm. “Come on, man. Security is headed over this way. You need to step back, okay?”

  I jerked my arm loose of his hold and stared at Spencer. No one moved, and I had the crazy urge to hit him again. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw the burly bouncer striding toward us, and I came to my senses. I turned on my heel, pushed through the crowd that had formed, and stormed out.

  It was only after I was in my car and speeding down the 101 toward my house in Los Feliz that I realized what a colossal fuck-up I’d just made. Giving in to that anger—rage was a better word, really—had been one of the stupidest things I could have done.

  I had every right to be pissed at Spencer Johns, but I’d just punched him in a room full of Hollywood A-listers. And their guests. Who, I was sure, all had smartphones. By the time I pulled into my driveway thirty-five minutes later, I knew I was in deep shit.

  I coasted the Lexus into the garage. Once the door shut behind me and I’d turned off the engine, I sat there for a long moment. I’d been fucking stupid, and now I was going to have to pay for it. Which meant I was going to have to call my agent, confess my sins, and hope he could put enough spin on it so I didn’t come out too worse for wear.

  With a heavy sigh, I exited the car and clomped into the house. As I removed my Prada ankle boots, followed swiftly by my socks, my cell phone started ringing. Only a handful of people ever actually called, and most of them lived on the East Coast where it was three o’clock in the morning. Which meant it had to be my agent, Lou Salvatore.

  I ignored the ringing until I’d poured myself a healthy dose of scotch, then sat on my leather couch and pressed the glass to my forehead. When the phone started ringing for the third time, I leaned back with a sigh and took a sip, savoring the smooth, smoky flavor before relishing the slight burn as it went down. Then I swiped my finger across the screen and lifted the phone to my ear.

  “What in the ever-living hell have you done?” Lou roared before I even had a chance to offer a greeting.

  Another sip, and I closed my eyes as I swallowed before answering. “I punched Spencer Johns in the face.”

  Lou growled like some kind of big cat, before heaving out a very put-upon sigh. “It’s already all over the web. Headlines about your redheaded temper.”

  I let the redhead thing go. Despite the fact that it was more dark auburn than red, having a temper wasn’t actually one of my problems. Usually.

  I addressed the rest of his concern. “I figured as much. Since you’re calling and all.”

  “Don’t be flip!” Lou was back to being mad. That was okay. I liked him better when he was a little pissed off. “Do you have any idea how much fucking damage control I’m going to have to do because of this? It was a stupid-ass thing to do! All the news sites have it, and so do the rags. The consensus is clear, Lockhart. You attacked him unprovoked. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t press charges!”

  Sitting there on the couch, the good scotch in my hand and Lou raging in my ear, everything suddenly felt normal. And as the liquor warmed my stomach, my ability to care diminished. I should be worried about him reporting the attack and the police issuing a warrant for my arrest. I should be anxious about what that w
ould do to my image. Instead I actually felt a little vindicated because I knew that fucking liar had gotten what he deserved. I’d just have to take the consequences as they came.

  So I told Lou as much…and then had to listen to him screaming and ranting for close to ten minutes before he’d calmed down enough to formulate a plan.

  “Okay, let me see if I can find out whether he’s reported the assault. If I can’t, you’ll probably have to make a call to Bob.” He sighed heavily at mentioning my lawyer’s name. The two men didn’t get along all that well. They often had conflicting opinions about what was in my best interest. “In the meantime, how do you want me to handle the punch? Go with the bad-reaction-to-prescription-meds excuse? Too much drinking coupled with exhaustion?”

  “No.”

  There was a beat of silence. Then Lou asked impatiently, “No to which one?”

  “No to both.” I quickly continued before he could start yelling again. “I don’t want to blame this on a lie. Just…no comment, okay?”

  “That’s not gonna fly well, Alex,” he warned.

  “Yeah, I know.” I took a deep breath. “But I don’t want to make this worse. Let it be. Story will die down in a few days. Somebody will do something stupider.”

  Lou gave a humorless laugh. “Well, you’re right about that. And if we’re lucky, they’ll do it sooner rather than later. But you have to lie low for a while. Don’t go out unless you absolutely have to, at least for a few days. Don’t answer the door unless you know the person on the other side. Don’t answer your phone unless you know who’s calling. Don’t—”

  “I know the drill, Lou. I promise I’ll be good. I’m not trying to make your job harder.”

  “Could have fooled me,” he grumbled. “All right. Let me get to work. But before I do, I gotta ask, is this because of the movie?”

  “No,” I answered honestly. I really didn’t care that he’d been cast in a role I’d wanted.

  Okay, I cared. But not for the reasons Lou thought. Or at least, not only because of those.

  And then, of course, I couldn’t have stopped the assault of images from a week ago if I tried: Spencer in my bed, on me, in me, the two of us together; the long talk afterward as we cuddled, our limbs tangled until we fell asleep with the sun creeping over the horizon; the sweet way he kissed me before he left…and the crushing hurt and disappointment when this morning I’d gotten the call with the news from Lou.

  “I didn’t think you were that guy,” Lou muttered. Then he let out another one of his big sighs. When I was in a good mood, I teased him that he should be saving all that breath for his birthday candles.

  “It’s personal, Lou,” I said, because I felt like I needed to give my agent something.

  Lou had been with me since the beginning of my career, and I definitely wouldn’t be the semi-popular actor getting fairly regular, well-paid work that I was if it weren’t for him. I paid him well, of course. And it was his job to take care of shit like this in addition to getting me auditions and negotiating contracts. But in the ten years he’d been representing me, we’d developed a sort of friendship. I owed him a little more than the “no comment” he was going to be giving the press.

  “Fair enough,” he said after a lengthy pause. “Get some sleep. Don’t go near any windows. I’ll clean this up as best I can.”

  “Thanks, Lou.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  That was all the dismissal I got before I heard the double tone of a call disconnected. I locked the phone, then tossed it on the cushion beside me and pushed to my feet. I drained my glass and left it on the coffee table, then crossed the living room toward the back of the house. It was floor-to-ceiling glass, and I reached for the hidden switch to turn on the backyard lights. I loved it out there and had taken great care to create an oasis of tranquility. The trees, ferns, and koi pond with its bubbling fountain all added to that sense of peace. As I slid the door open and stepped outside, I took a second to just admire.

  The concrete patio was cool and rough on my bare feet. I took a deep breath of the night air, then another, and then crossed to the lounge chair closest to the pond. I sank onto it heavily and scrubbed my hands over my face.

  I shouldn’t have punched Spencer; I should have walked away. But he’d made me think we could start something, be something, and then he’d crushed it all by lying to me.

  We’d been circling each other for months, whenever our paths crossed, and just a week ago, we’d taken that final step. We talked all night, and a good portion of that had been me, going on and on about Shadow Jumper and the part I wanted so badly. He’d never once said he’d read for the same role, never even hinted at being up for the part. I must have sounded like an ass to him, talking so much about it. Until Lou told me this morning that I’d been passed over for Spencer Johns, I hadn’t known a thing.

  The anger, now coupled with a healthy dose of humiliation, roiled in my gut. I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of the lone cricket and the burbling fountain in the pond. Between the soothing sounds and the alcohol, I calmed enough so that I no longer felt like doing physical harm to the fucker. Knowing that was the best I could do, I got up and headed inside.

  Chapter 2

  Six months later

  “I just got a call from Vincent Stevens, and—”

  “Yes.” I cut Lou off, sitting up straighter and reaching for the remote so I could mute the TV. “Whatever he wants, yes.”

  Lou chuckled, and the sound made me smile. “You don’t even know what it is, though.”

  “I don’t care if he wants me to sit at his feet like a dog and hand him coffee,” I teased.

  Vincent was one of the best directors I’d ever worked with. Kind of a hard-ass, but he had an inspiring work ethic and got shit done. His vision was refreshing, and if he was asking for me, I knew I needed to be a part of it.

  Two years ago, we’d worked on a miniseries for HBO together, and it had been one of the best experiences I’d ever had with a director. Whatever he wanted, I was on board.

  “Can I at least tell you about the project?” Lou asked.

  “Please do.”

  Lou huffed at my overly conscientious tone and then told me about the independent film Vincent was proposing. Vincent would be directing and producing. The premise—about five close friends coming together to mourn the loss of one of their own, who may or may not be communicating with them as a ghost—sounded intriguing. And if Vincent was passionate enough about it to be taking it all on himself, it would be amazing.

  “Again, I say yes. Tell him yes, Lou.”

  “The money is shit, Alex. Super low-budget.”

  “I don’t care. I can make money elsewhere.”

  “They’re shooting on location in the Pacific Northwest. In autumn. It’s gonna be fucking miserable.”

  I tried not to growl out my frustration. “So I’ll bring a coat and an umbrella. No big deal.”

  There was overwhelming silence that stretched on a beat too long. Then “There’s a gay relationship. Alex, your character is involved with another man.”

  I closed my eyes and counted to five before I answered. I didn’t make a big deal of my sexuality, but it was no secret I was bi and had dated both men and women over the past decade. “And? You know I don’t have a problem with that. I think there needs to be a fuck-ton more representation in films and media, and I’ve made my thoughts on it well known. I’m not seeing the problem here.”

  “Spencer Johns is the problem.”

  The name stopped me cold. For all that it had been six months since the incident at the Lounge, the anger and hurt were still very much living inside me. I’d been lucky Spencer hadn’t reported the incident to the police, so charges had not been pressed. But I’ll readily admit that I hadn’t been able to let it go—not internally, and not in public either—even after I told myself I’d take the consequences of my actions. After the punch hit the news, Spencer had been heard to say I was an asshole, and I’d been qu
oted on more than one occasion making disparaging remarks in regards to his talent and personality. I couldn’t let it go, and every few weeks something new would pop up, keeping our feud in the public eye.

  But the chance to work with Vincent again? To make something amazing? I couldn’t pass that up. Vincent had a true eye for the potential of things, and he’d take something good and make it great. He’d done wonders for me: my star had definitely risen a few notches after that miniseries aired.

  “We’re professionals, Lou. We can handle working together.” I kept my voice calm and even, despite not feeling it. Lou didn’t say anything, and I knew what his weighted silence meant. I blew out a breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I can handle it. I won’t cause any trouble—I’ll just do the job.”

  “Even if your character and his are the ones romantically involved?”

  I sucked in a breath. Shit. Could I work with him under those circumstances? Could I put aside my hate for the asshole long enough to shoot romantic scenes with him? My gut said no. I should walk away and forget the project existed.

  But in the end, the chance to work with Vincent again won out. Well, that and the fact that I wasn’t going to let that prick keep me from a project I really wanted to work on. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Yes.” I was firm. “It won’t be a problem.”

  Lou still didn’t speak, but I heard the tapping of fingers on a desk. Finally, he let out one of his huge, gusty sighs. “Fine. I’ll tell Vincent you’re in. I’ll get you the details and the script. Right now, I know they intend to start shooting in a couple of weeks. He’s got accommodations set up. You just need to show up. You’ll have to fly into Seattle and then hire a car service, or rent a vehicle to drive to Oak Harbor. I’ll get Mindy to make the arrangements.”

  “Sounds great. Thanks, Lou.”

  “Are you sure, Alex?” His tone was soft—something I didn’t hear from him often. Every once in a while, he reminded me he actually had a heart.