Just Between Us

by J. J. Scotts

  Just Between Us

  J. J. Scotts

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  Copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Copyright © 2013

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This work contains scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.

  { 1 }

  Celia read the text from Michelle quickly before tucking her cell away in her bag.

  Mr McC can give me extra credit NE time. Such a QT!

  Michelle was watching Celia, blonde eyebrows raised, from the next aisle. Celia nodded broadly, mouthed ‘hottie’ and rolled her eyes.

  “Join us, ladies?” Ryan McConnell couldn’t help grinning as both girls jumped in their seats and flushed when he spoke from behind them. He knew Michelle had a little crush. She often hung around after class, twirling her hair and trying out her budding feminine wiles on him. And she wasn’t the only one. Apparently, to the 11th and 12th grade girls of Thomas Emery High, he was considered quite the catch.

  It was flattering, he supposed. He just wished they were more genuinely interested in what he was teaching and not flirting with an older man who had no interest whatsoever in what they had to offer.

  “S-sure, Mr. McConnell. What were we talking about?” Celia spoke up, saving her friend, who’s face had gone a deep red.

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and strolled to the front of the classroom. “What a great question, Miss Waters! Can someone tell Celia what we’re talking about?”

  A few tentative hands were raised. Ryan scanned the room, taking in the faces of his students. He leaned back against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Mike?” He chose a boy from the middle of the room, one who didn’t participate often.

  Mike glanced up, eyes widening in surprise to hear his name called. “Uh. Writing?”

  Ryan laughed, the deep sound causing several of the girls in the room to sigh. There was more than one of them who daydreamed of his grey-blue eyes and dimpled smile.

  “Good call, Mike. I knew you had it in you.”

  Several of the other students chuckled at that. Mike shrugged, but he was grinning. Ryan pushed off the desk and circled around to the whiteboard, pointing at the quote he had written there before they’d arrived.

  “‘If you’re going to be a writer,’” Ryan intoned, tapping the words, “‘the first essential is to write.’” He turned back to the class, brows raised. “Sometimes we forget that writing isn’t just a calling to tell stories. It’s work. These authors whose names we talk about in here... Fitzgerald, Du Maurier, Hemingway. They put in the time to craft their work. That’s why we’re still talking about them now.”

  “So that’s why you make us do all those rewrites?” Jackson, one of the starring point guards from the school basketball team, tipped his chair back, the mocha skin of his shaved head gleaming in the overhead light. “So we’ll all be famous authors?”

  Ryan shrugged with good humor, despite Jackson’s flippant tone. “Why not?”

  Jackson snorted. Michelle sighed, cupping her pointed chin in her hands and gazing at Ryan adoringly.

  “I think that’d be great,” she breathed.

  “Well, let’s talk about that!” Ryan slid into his chair, pushing the sleeves of his black, button-down shirt up to his elbows.

  One of the few female students who didn’t cast him calf eyes, cocked her head. Her dyed blue hair cascaded over her shoulder as she furrowed her brow. “About what, Mr. McC? How great it’s going to be for Michelle to be a famous author?” The skeptical girl wrinkled her nose, the metal ring piercing her nostril reflecting an errant beam of sunlight across the room.

  “Yeah,” Ryan replied, making several of his students gape. “Only not just her. All of you. What do you think it would be like?” He rested his elbows on the desk, thumping his fingers rhythmically against the wood. “Figuring out what you’re going to do after you graduate is one of the most important parts of high school. And aside from teaching you about grammar and symbolism and how to write a decent sentence, it’s my job to help you prepare for the real world. So!”

  Ryan clapped his hands once, loudly. He was gratified to see them all paying attention. Ryan cracked his knuckles. “Of the twenty-three kids in this room, I’d bet at least one of you is going to end up in a career that involves writing in some way, shape, or form... grant writing, journalism, technical writing, academia. Maybe we’ve even got a famous author among us?”

  He looked around the classroom excitedly.

  “So, just for today, let’s speculate. What’s being an author all about? What’s it like?”

  “Uh, probably way easy.”

  Ryan raised his brows at Mike’s quick response. “Alright, Mike. Elaborate. How is it way easy?”

  “Cause writers make tons of money and can pay people to do pretty much everything for them.”

  “How much money is ‘tons’ these days?”

  Mike shrugged. “Like, at least millions. Probably billions. Isn’t the Harry Potter lady richer than the Queen?”

  “So you’d write books that are Harry Potter popular, Mike?” Ryan rubbed his chin in thought.

  “If you’re going to be a writer, why not write the best seller fiction type stuff?” Mike leaned back in his chair fairly confident in his deduction.

  Ryan shook his head. “Okay, so you’ve written a few best sellers and now you’ve got... what, billions of dollars? Is that it? Just like that?”

  “I’d get me one of those custom made sports cars. Only, like, a lot of them.” Jackson added, nodding in approval. “Plus, there’d be all that fat cash from the movie deal.” He made sure to pretend like he was throwing out dollar bills in the air.

  The rest of the class approved of his antics by erupting in laughter.

  Ryan waited for the laughter to die down. “Do any of you know how many books are published every year?” He scanned their faces. The discussion of the glamorous life of a famous author seemed to have energized them, but now they looked unsure. Ryan knew authors, and he knew it wasn’t all glamour with celebrities and throwing money everywhere. In fact, a degree of introversion was popular among writers.

  “Like... five hundred?” a student offered.

  Most of the class groaned at the ridiculously low guess. Ryan struggled to keep the grin from his face. He didn’t want to make the kid feel bad just when he started to join the conversation.

  “Good guess, but not quite. There’s anywhere from 250,000 to half a million or more books published every year. In the United States alone. Worldwide, the number is easily in the millions. Now, how many living, publishing authors can you name?”

  The punk girl blinked, chewing her lip. “Uh…like, maybe ten. More, if you gave me time to think about it.”

  “Ten’s a pretty decent number. Let’s say, for arguments sake, we can each name ten different authors. That’s 250 working authors... out of a quarter million.” He leaned back in his chair, letting the numbers sink in.

  Jackson raised his hand in the air, but didn’t wait for Ryan to call on him. “Come on, Mr. McC. If being a bestselling author was that hard, hacks like Sam Cavell and that 50 Shades chick
wouldn’t be at the top of the charts.”

  The mention of Sam Cavell made Ryan tense. He clenched his jaw around the immediate defense that sprang to his lips. Sam is no hack!

  “Oh my god,” Celia, thankfully, jumped in with a squeal. “Have you even read Firebrand? It is seriously, the greatest book ever.”

  “Those books can’t be that hard to write,” the incredulous student intoned sagely. “Chicks dig that kinky sex stuff.”

  “You’d have to have had sex with a girl before, though, so that leaves you out.” Jackson threw a pen at his buddy. “I bet Cavell gets tons of tail,” he added, rubbing his shoulder from the impact.

  “Seriously,” Celia added with a snort. “Have you seen him? Total. Hottie.” She enunciated the words to stress her point.

  Ryan frowned at the kids, his voice harsh. “That’s enough.” Aside from getting off topic, he wasn’t comfortable talking about Sam. Only a few people at the school knew Ryan was friends with the best-selling author, and he preferred to keep it that way. “Let’s get back to the –”

  “Have you read Firebrand, Mr. McConnell?” Celia asked. He wondered if the girl knew something, or was just enjoying keeping the class topic on the steamy book.

  Of course he’d read it. He read everything Sam wrote, and it wasn’t just because they were friends. Sam’s books, though they were most often shelved in the romance section, had a wide appeal. The central romance was often developed during some thrilling subplot full of intrigue and danger.

  “I have, actually.” There was no point in denying it. The book had burned up the charts recently.

  “You read romance novels, Mr. McC?” Mike looked as if Ryan had just admitted to not liking football – something that was unheard of in their small, upstate town. But he, in fact, not only liked watching the sport, he played in a pick-up league on the weekends.

  “My reading tastes are pretty eclectic, Mike. And there’s a lot to enjoy in Cavell’s books.”

  “Like the sex?” Jackson snickered. Ryan shot him a look from beneath his brows and the boy subsided.

  “There’s a lot of action and intrigue. And the character development is excellent, which I appreciate.”

  “Like, the way Thea is so guarded because of her childhood, but eventually she begins to trust Max and then, BAM, she finds out he’s a spy and she’s heartbroken?” Celia’s eyes glittered with the fire of a true fan. Ryan chuckled.

  “Yes, Celia. Something like that.”

  He glanced at the clock. The bell was going to ring soon. Ryan leaned back in his chair, grinning. “This is what being a writer is really about. It’s not about the movie rights, or whatever. That’s bonus. What an author really wants is for people to connect with their story. Trust me, Sam Cavell would much rather you talk about Firebrand than speculate about his personal life.”

  The bell rang, and the students began quickly gathering up their books. “Don’t forget your journals for tomorrow’s class! And read pages 23 to 30 in your textbooks!”

  { 2 }

  Ryan was getting out of the shower when he heard his phone buzz on the nightstand. He didn’t bother rushing to answer. He knew who it would be.

  He’d been friends with Sam Cavell since high school, and the quiet man was nothing if not punctual. It was something of a joke between them, since Ryan was hardly ever on time…well, except for class. For some people, such opposing natures probably would have made a friendship difficult, but Sam and Ryan were always thick as thieves. Ryan was the wild card. Sam was his straight man. He chuckled to himself at the terminology, scrubbing the towel over his hair.

  He had come to terms with his unrequited love for his best friend years ago. Ryan had realized shortly after going through puberty that the feelings he had for his friend were more than just friendly. There had been a few times he’d almost said something. Thirteen years was a long time to keep a secret like that from someone who he told everything.

  But in the end, he was just too chicken to take the risk. He’d never even admitted to being attracted to men. Not because he thought Sam would judge him. He knew him better than that. But if Sam knew, he might ask questions and then he’d have to admit his feelings. He couldn’t lie to his friend. Not outright, and he didn’t want to lose the friendship.

  No, it was better to maintain the illusion. Not that he dated many women either. Well, only frequently enough to throw off any suspicion by Sam.

  Sam was the only person he spent time with on a regular basis. They rarely went more than a couple of days without talking on the phone, even when the popular author was on tour. They attended baseball games together during the season. Sam was a Mets fan and Ryan was a Yankees fan—yet another difference between them that just seemed to add dimensions to their relationship instead of causing problems.

  They had dinner together every week or so when Sam was in the city. Like tonight.

  Ryan had no doubt the buzzing of his phone was either a call or text from Sam inviting him out. He’d just finished a big tour for Firebrand and had a few months before he went out again. Ryan knew Sam was probably about to start another book and that Sam would be around to spend more time with him.

  Ryan felt a flush of heat at the thought, his skin becoming hypersensitive. When Sam was in town, whatever time he didn’t spending writing, they spent together relaxing and shooting the shit.

  Ryan knew he could never have his friend the way he really wanted to, but getting to hang out with him, to experience the wicked sense of humor that few were aware of and enjoy the laid-back camaraderie they’d developed over the years, was enough.

  He slid on a pair of briefs, tossed the towel in the hamper, and scooped up the phone. Sure enough, there was a text from Sam.

  Up for dinner? I’m 30 mins out

  Already on his way from the city. Ryan wondered if he was driving himself or taking a car. Both had their advantages. He couldn’t deny himself the sight of Sam behind the wheel, confidently shifting, dark eyes intent on the road, and occasionally flashing him a white-toothed grin. It was enough to have him at half-staff.

  But if Sam had let his driver bring him up in the car, then they’d be in the back…alone together. There was something intimate about it. It was just the two of them, able to focus on each other and not have to worry about the road, or other drivers, or where they were going. He always felt as if the heat of Sam’s body burned into him in the back of the town-car, even if they weren’t sitting any closer than they would in the sports-car.

  Ryan hit redial and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he tugged on his jeans. If Sam was driving, he wouldn’t answer, but if he was being driven...

  “Rye.” Sam’s deep voice rumbled across the line, warm and full of pleased affection.

  “You on the road?” Ryan pulled open his closet and grabbed one of his vintage t-shirts.

  “We’re coming up on the exit now. You got plans for tonight? I’m in the mood for a Broker burger.”

  “Mmmm.” Broker’s had the best burgers in town; delicious, heart-stopping, artery-clogging, mouth-watering burgers. They were Ryan’s favorite. Of course Sam knew that. “Good thing I got some time in at the gym today.”

  Sam laughed, the rough chuckle sending a stab of want deep into Ryan’s gut. “Is that a yes?”

  “You kidding? To a Broker burger?” Ryan pulled the t-shirt over his head, momentarily muffling his voice. “That’s a fuck yes.”

  “Rye? You there?”

  Ryan could picture the frown on Sam’s face, his straight, dark brows drown over his slightly crooked nose – broken in 11th grade when he’d gotten hit in the face with a pop fly ball during a championship game. Ryan remembered the incident vividly. He had been the one who’d hit the ball.

  “Yeah, here.” He yanked the shirt the rest of the way down. “You want me to meet you there?”

  “Steve’s almost at your place. You about ready?” Sam mumbled something to his driver that Ryan couldn’t hear.

 
Ryan sat down to put on his socks and shoes. “Now that I’ve got my shirt on, I’m good to go. I’ll be out front.”

  Sam’s car pulled up a few minutes later, gleaming black beneath the streetlights. Ryan was already locking his door when his friend stepped out of the sleek luxury vehicle.

  “Holy shit, Ryan McConnell actually ready when he says he’s going to be.” Sam grinned, clutching at his chest in mock surprise. A lock of black hair slid over his forehead. “This has to be a sign of the apocalypse.”

  “Screw you, Sam.” It was a common comeback between them, and Sam had never picked up on any hint of just how much Ryan would like to do just that.

  This time, he raised one dark brow and the corner of his sensual mouth curled upward. “You wish.”

  Ryan’s mouth dropped open. That was a new one. Sam’s usual response was an eye-roll and flat, ‘Real mature, McConnell.’ Ryan snapped his mouth shut, trying to hide his surprise, and coughed. “What?”

  Sam just laughed at Ryan’s stunned reaction. “Get the hell in the car. I’m starving.” He held open the door for Ryan, his grin wolfish. Ryan studied his friend’s face, wondering if he was reading too much into Sam’s comment. Sam cocked his head a little as Ryan remained standing a few feet away. “Coming?”

  Ryan’s dick twitched at the low tone of Sam’s voice. He swallowed hard. “Yeah, of course!” He ducked past Sam, surreptitiously adjusting his crotch as he slid into the seat. Sam slid in beside him, closing the door and pressing the button to lower the partition.

  “You remember where Broker’s is, Steve?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Cavell, but uh...” The driver trailed off, meeting Sam’s gaze in the mirror with a sheepish grin. “You sure it’s gonna be safe for you there?”

  Steve had a point. Firebrand had catapulted Sam to super stardom. There was no doubt he’d be recognized, even at the hole-in-the-wall eatery. Ryan had seen the reaction of fangirls to the author’s presence. Their fanaticism for his characters was only exceeded by their adoration for Sam himself.