by E. S. Carter
I can feel the blood rushing out of my head and pooling somewhere on the floor leaving my brain starved of oxygen. I bend over at the waist and grip my knees, like a man that has just run a marathon and needs to catch his breath.
“You okay, Mister? You’re not looking so good.”
I lift my head enough to look him in the face, his familiar, freckled face that isn’t my brother.
“I’m good. I just thought you were going to say like Clark Gable. I knew someone once who was named after him because his mother liked old time movie stars. He had a brother called Flynn, named after Errol Flynn.” I’m breathlessly rambling to a young lad who hasn’t got a clue what I’m talking about.
Scratching his head, he gives me a once over to make sure I’m not going to keel over and says, “Cool. Wanna come to the gift shop and check out their new stock?”
I huff out an unexpected laugh at the weirdness of this whole situation, and it’s enough to clear the fog from my brain and allow me to stand up without falling flat on my arse after my ridiculous little panic attack.
“Sure, kid.” I run my hand over my face and then motion him forward with my extended arm, “Lead the way.”
An hour and around seventy quid later, Clarke with an E leaves the building to meet his mother with an Airfix model set of the Tardis he told me he’s been coveting for over a year and a few other random items. I left with a keyring and a weird sense of rightness after spending time with a kid that may have looked like my brother but was actually nothing like him, despite their shared moniker.
I’m guessing he’s going to have a hard time explaining why some random stranger bought him so much stuff and maybe I should be worried about being accused of grooming or some weird shit, but that kid gave me something precious today that I haven’t had in a long time. Fun, happiness and in a strange way, acceptance.
I wasn’t famous to him, he had zero expectations of who I am or who I’m supposed to be, I was just Flynn, his new mate.
I haven’t felt this light for a long time, if ever.
Maybe it’s time I focused on who I am and who I want to be, not who I think I should be.
Here’s to Clarke with an E.
No more ghosts, no more whys or what ifs, no more blaming, no more hating and no more expectations or ridiculous notions that my brother killed himself because of his hidden sexuality.
It was more than that.
He was more than that.
And so am I.
The first day on location is chaotic.
Having spent the last few days checking out all the local areas I’d previously scouted for the initial days of filming, now was the time to bring Jake’s vision to life. But first, I needed to meet the cast and crew. It was all good and well to know the scenery and the logistics of making this shoot work, but I needed to meet the people who would bring it all to life.
I knew Jake had, against all professional advice, hired a cast of relative unknowns, but I hadn’t yet asked who they are or even bothered to research cast members. Yeah, slacking in the preparation department again and it reminds me of the last time I was caught short on a shoot and came face to face with… Flynn fucking Phillips.
I’m not even joking right now.
Flynn Phillips is right in front of me.
He may have a freshly shaved head, a face full of impressively realistic prosthetics and a lethal looking hunting knife flipping through his nimble fingers but I can tell that man apart from any other person in the entire world.
And he’s sitting not five feet in front of me getting last minute touches to his makeup.
Almost as if he senses my arrival, his head lifts and those soulful brown eyes meet mine, instantly crinkling at the corners as his deliciously plump mouth tilts up in a warm and welcoming smile.
Fuck me. This man is devastating.
Without realising it, I’ve matched his smile and my feet, having a mind of their own, have moved me so that I now stand directly in front of him.
“Hey,” his hand lifts and he motions to his bald head and scarred face, “I thought I’d be unrecognisable looking like this.”
He’s made it too easy.
“Sorry, who are you? I’m looking for the actor playing a character called…” I glance down at the sheaf of notes in my hand pretending to scan the list of names before looking back at his freakily sexy face, “Grim. You must be him.”
His face falters for a second before he notices the slight quirk of my lips that I can’t control because he totally fell for my lame attempt at teasing.
Extending his hand to me he says, “That’s me, Flynn Phillips. Pleased to meet you and you are?”
Funny fucker.
That’s okay. I can play along with him a while longer.
Grasping his large hand in mine, I have to stifle the shudder that runs through me when our skin touches, almost like a current of energy passes from him into me and hits me right in the chest.
“Isaac Fox, but please, call me Iz. All my friends and lovers do.”
Take that. If anything is certain to get a reaction, it will be that overly suggestive comment. Only it backfires. Flynn’s grin widens as he looks from the oblivious makeup artist, who is concentrating on dusting down his smoothly shaven head and is ignorant to our exchange and the electricity that is so tangible it practically crackles in the air around us, back to me.
“I guess I’ll call you Iz, then.” He squeezes my hand as the one syllable of my nickname leaves his lips but instead of letting go he holds firm.
Well isn’t this a surprise. Gone is the uptight, closeted homophobe only to be replaced by the relaxed and dare I say flirty man before me.
And fuck if it doesn’t make him even more irresistible.
Coughing to clear my throat, I slowly extract my hand from his. Not because I want to but because if I don’t I may shut his cocky mouth with my tongue.
I’ve practically been a freaking monk for the last twelve months, and this unexpected interaction has me just about fit to burst.
“Well… Flynn Phillips, it was great to meet you. Enjoy the first day of filming. Hopefully, I’ll catch you around.”
Soon my lips ache to say. Really fucking soon.
“How about tonight? I only have a few hours on set today. I could use a new friend.”
Is it me or did the way he said friend sound more like lover?
Needing to regain some composure, I take a step backwards and answer as relaxed as possible despite the raging boner in my jeans, “Sure. There’s a pub not far from my place called The Cricketers. I’ll be there around nine once I finish up here.”
I’m steadily inching backwards probably trying and failing to dampen down my obvious enthusiasm.
“I’ve seen the place. Look forward to it. See you at nine.”
He gives me one last dick-hardening smile and doesn’t break our gaze until I turn and walk away. Even then I can feel his eyes on me until I round the corner out of sight.
Who is that man and what has he done with Flynn Phillips?
After a long but invigorating first day, I head back to my place with a spring in my step. One that my brother Jake doesn’t miss and happily brings up as soon as we are out of earshot.
“Okay, so which one of my production assistants are you shagging or planning to shag? Please tell me it’s not Callie? She’s cute but fresh out of college, and too bloody young and innocent for the likes of you, plus she’s good at her job and I’d like to keep her around.”
He’s driving us back home as our rental houses are on the same street just a couple of doors apart.
“Why do you assume I’m shagging anyone? It was a good first day and I’m excited to be back in work. Isn’t that enough of an explanation?”
He takes his eyes off the road to glance quickly in my direction, his face saying everything he’s also about to say with words.
“For anyone else, yes. For you, no. So spill it. Who do I have to keep an eye on when you fuck the
m and leave them wanting more? The ramifications will probably throw my whole production schedule into chaos.”
He’s only semi-joking, his tone of voice betraying his concern.
“For fuck’s sake, Jake. I can keep it in my pants. You don’t need to judge everyone on how you used to be before Emma made you an honest man.”
“This film…”
I don’t let him finish. He’s way off base with his theory. Well, he’s slightly off base at the very least.
“Is important to you. Your baby.” I stare at his profile now highlighted with the fading evening sun. “I’m a professional, Jake. I’ve managed to keep my cock in my pants for almost a year while I was with Josh and the kids, so I think I can keep the beast tamed a little while longer, don’t you?”
“Fair enough, but something has got you all giddy like a schoolgirl attending her first boy band concert.”
I laugh at that. He’s not far wrong. My nerves are jangling and tingling so hard when I think about meeting Flynn tonight that I can almost hear them buzzing across my skin.
“I’m just fired up about the film. It’s a new challenge and I’m getting to do something I love again after being Uncle Iz, bum-changer, dribble-cleaner and bedtime story reader extraordinaire for so long that I almost forget I’m a single, professional man with aspirations above what to watch on Netflix when the kids are finally asleep.”
That makes him laugh. Having a child of his own means he can fully appreciate everything I’ve just said.
“I hope Josh will be okay in Ibiza,” I wonder softly.
His laughter dies and he instantly becomes more sombre. “Yeah, me too. I think Mum said something about going out there for a few weeks, but Dad doesn’t think it’s a good idea. Part of me agrees with him because Josh needs to learn to live again for himself and his family, but the other part of me worries he’s not ready for it.”
“He’s not.” It’s the truth. My gut twists with concern for my brother and his children and I daily have to talk myself out of jumping on a plane and going to check on them, but I have to trust his judgment and hope this is the thing that will make him not break him further.
“But Dad’s right. It’s time for him to live, the kids need him, and not the husk of a man he’s become. Laura wouldn’t have wanted this for him, and that’s what hurts the most. He just can’t see it. He’s still so deep in his grief that nothing I said could get through to him.”
Jake swallows down the words he was about to add and silence claims us. Both of us are caught up in our thoughts and worries until thirty minutes later we pull up outside my house.
“Thanks for the ride home, bro. I’ll take the bike in tomorrow. I want to get an early start on the set up of that empty property we are using for the Billy Williams scene.”
Talking about filming breaks through the melancholy that blanketed the final half of our ride home.
“Yeah, tomorrow should be fun. It’s the start of the blood bath. I can’t wait to see it all come to life.” He grins like a kid in a sweet shop.
I open the door and step out onto the kerb then lean into the car through the opening.
“I’m gonna grab a pint in the pub down the road if you fancy it?”
Why the fuck am I inviting Jake? Please say no, please say no.
“I’ll pass. I’ve missed the fuck out of Emmy and CJ. It’s great having them here with me, so I want to make the most of coming home to them regularly. That’s the perks of filming in the U.K. for a change.”
“Don’t blame you, bro. Say hi from me and tell Caleb I’ll be over to play with his new cars sometime this week.”
“Will do. Enjoy your date tonight.”
I’m about to slam the door when he throws that out there, and I stare at him like a shell-shocked idiot only confirming his suspicions.
“Ha! I fucking knew it. It better not be one of my crew is all I’m saying and make sure to wrap it up. You’ve just played surrogate Daddy for the last few months. You don’t want to land yourself with your own mini-me.”
I shake my head and slam the door, leaning in through the open window to say, “Thanks for the pep talk, Mum.”
All the cocky bastard does is grin before pulling away and stopping a couple of doors down the street, throwing me a salute as he walks out of sight towards his front door.
Wrap it up.
If only he knew who I was meeting in an hour’s time, his warning would be a little different. It would be more like ‘Stay the fuck away.’
Yeah, tried that and failed.
When Flynn is around, it’s an impossible task.
Less than an hour later I walk into The Cricketers pub and immediately zone in on the broad back of the man at the bar.
It’s not the way his shirt pulls tightly across his wide shoulders or the way his newly shaved head begs for my hands to smooth themselves over the recently exposed skin that makes me ache for the man before me. It’s the way his foot nervously bounces on the rung of the barstool as he tries to pay attention to the busty blonde who is doing her damnedest to get into his pants and failing miserably.
His leg bounces because of me.
He ignores the blatant advances of a hot woman because of me.
His back straightens when he feels my presence behind him, because of me.
And fuck if it doesn’t feel good.
How many more reactions can I get out of him tonight that solely belong to me?
I can’t fucking wait to find out.
Just like every other time Isaac Fox has walked into the room I’m in, I feel him before I even see him.
It’s like his essence floods the air and lands directly on the invisible ‘Isaac only’ receptors on my skin.
I’ve never experienced this with anyone else before in my entire life. Only him.
Always him.
I can’t even begin to understand it. This tangible link we have. It makes no sense; it’s stronger than attraction, and it messes with my head because he’s a man.
I’m not in denial. I’m not lying to myself. The effect he has on me is unique to him and him alone. It’s the Isaac Effect. A phenomenon I cannot even come close to explaining or understanding. It just is.
He slips onto the barstool beside me, and the slight brush of his leg against mine reverberates through my entire body.
His touch is so fucking potent that I have to physically remind myself to breathe.
“You look good without hair.” The words whisper in my ear before he leans back on his stool and instantly grabs the attention of the barmaid who had been trying quite unsuccessfully to engage me in a conversation for the last fifteen or so minutes. I don’t blame her for noticing him, he’s hard to miss.
I self-consciously rub my hand over my freshly shorn head and turn to meet his gaze. “And you look good with short hair.”
My eyes flick over his new hairstyle before landing back on his face, and this time it’s he who looks uncharacteristically self-conscious.
“Yeah, I fancied a change. I’m still not used to it. I keep trying to tuck the strands behind my ear. Old habits die hard.”
“Change is as good as a rest, or so they say.” I smile and take a sip of my beer.
“I think that applies to your occupation, not a new hairstyle.”
“Well, then that works too, seeing as we are both starting out on a new path. Talking of which, how did your first day on set go?”
Isaac thanks the barmaid and dismisses her flirty smile by turning to face me fully.
“Invigorating. How about you? Must be different playing a whole new person on screen and not yourself?”
I shrug, knocking back some more of my drink. “Who said that’s not what I’ve been doing for the last few years anyway? Doesn’t everyone play a role in life?”
Fuck, this light-hearted conversation is turning a little deep fast.
“Not me, what you see is what you get. I’m too old for playing games.” He smirks at me in an attempt to ligh
ten the mood, his entire body facing mine, his attention firmly on my face as if there is no one else in the room. The intensity of his gaze is something that has always put me off balance despite the thrill of earning a man like Isaac’s attentiveness.
“So,” he continues. “What does it feel like to play a blood thirsty killer with more ‘Mommy issues’ than the bloke in Psycho? Some of the shit you have to film tomorrow looks gory as fuck.”
Setting my pint on the bar top, I twist my body to mirror his pose and reply, “Surprisingly cathartic. I mean, what better way to break out from being Flynn Phillips the body, than to become a man with more scars inside than he has on the outside? And you’ve seen the prosthetics. He’s pretty fucked up. Plus,” I lean forward conspiratorially lowering my voice to whisper, “I’ve learned how to dismember and hide a body so if anyone ever messes with me in the future…” I waggle my eyebrows for effect, probably looking more like a pleb than a killer.
“Duly noted.” He laughs and turns back towards his pint. I watch the way his throat bobs with each swallow as he takes a long drink and when he angles his eyes to look at me and raises a brow before using his thumb to wipe froth from his upper lip, I realise I’ve been caught staring.
Needing to break this weird connection I rush out, “So what have you been up to the last year? I haven’t seen any new stuff from you.” Recognising that I’m admitting to knowing this information about him, I quickly add, “Not that I’ve researched or been looking, I mean I just…”
He chuckles and I nervously stop rambling and pick up my pint to give my hands and my mouth something to do besides digging me into a deeper hole.
“I took a year out. Family stuff.”
Huh. That’s all I’m gonna get? Fair enough.
“What about you? I saw how many companies were vying for you to endorse their products after that Wicked Water advert. Is it true you turned down an Armani campaign?”
The smile on his face lets me know that he’s openly admitted to following news on me for the last few months and I’m not just flattered, I’m confused.
Why would a man like Isaac, one who I attacked in the worst way possible, one that can have practically anyone he wants to jump in his bed, admit to following my career over the last twelve months?
