by Marie James
Table of Contents
Psychosis
Copyright
Extras
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Psychosis
Matthew Hosea FanFiction
Marie James
and
Gina Sevani
Copyright
Psychosis
Copyright © 2015 Marie James
Editing by Mr. Marie James & Hale’s Harem Betas ;)
Cover design by Kari Ayasha of Cover to Cover Designs
Cover model: Matthew Hosea
Cover photography by: Shauna Kruse
EBooks are not transferrable. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Extras
Tap to link to the following:
Psychosis Playlist
Matthew Hosea
Marie James
Gina Sevani
Shauna Kruse
Kari Ayasha
Patriots of America
Chapter 1
Matthew
“Shit,” I groan as I roll over in bed, doing my best to get away from a throbbing headache that is already banging around inside of my skull. No matter which way I turn, the pain follows me, clawing and preventing me from going back to sleep. Each time I stay for the after party when the bar closes I end up in this state. My personality triples in size once I’m around like-minded people; that being people who like to get together, laugh, and have fun. What better way to celebrate the end to a successful shift than copious amounts of alcohol? I apply pressure to my temples in an attempt to ease the pain and relieve some of the pressure. What the hell was I thinking last night?
The slight movement beside me in the bed causes my heart rate to kick into to overdrive, regret already swimming in my gut combining with the obscene amount of liquor that’s still pooled in there. I’m preparing myself for another nameless face when I turn over and come nose to wet nose with the only girl I’ve allowed to maintain a permanent residence in my life; well other than my momma. Relief washes over me.
Dixie, my red, miniature dachshund licks my face in greeting as she does every morning. “Hey, girl. Go grab daddy a bottle of water from the fridge.”
She places her little paws on my chin in refusal and raises one eyebrow indicating she knows just how ridiculous my request is. I reach over and pet her floppy ears, the smile on my face always genuine where this sweet girl is concerned.
“I guess that means you also won’t be making my breakfast?” I swing my weight up, so I’m sitting on the side of the bed. A quick glance back on the bed tells me she’s already buried herself back under the covers. “Traitor,” I mutter as I stand to my full height, arching my back for a deep stretch.
I grab a pair of sweats off of the foot of the bed and slide them on, securing my morning wood in the waistband before making my way into the kitchen. The last time I walked through here, the curtains were open, and the old guy across the way stared at my johnson. As in more than just a glance; then he proceeded to give me a huge smile and a thumbs up. Since I can’t remember what state I left my living room in last night, I decide not to risk the encounter.
“Fuck,” I yell nearly tripping over a damn croc in the hallway. I swear that damn thing just pops up all over the freaking place. By this point, I’m certain the thing is possessed.
I reach the fridge without further incident, grab a chilled bottle of water, and chug it back like I’m dying of thirst. Amazing how so much drinking causes dehydration; seems backward to me. I vow to keep the drinking to a minimum as I toss the empty bottle in the trash and reach inside the fridge for another. I made this exact same vow last week; seems my ability to turn down shots is nil, even when I know the day after is pure torture.
Making my way into the living room, I notice that the curtains are in fact pulled closed, so I strip out of my sweats and just let it all hang out. Who wears clothes when they’re home alone anyways? After all, this is my castle. I collapse on the couch and grab my phone from the coffee table. Hundreds of notifications from social media and several dozen messages are waiting for my attention.
Facebook, Instagram, Snap Chat, and a few other not quite as popular apps take up most of my free time. Add that to my modeling page and I’m finding it increasingly difficult to manage it all. You saw that right….model page.
That’s me, Matthew Hosea, Louisiana born-Tennessee raised, country boy; who also periodically meets up with a photographer. Did I forget to mention I’m in the Navy and work at a store that sells nutritional supplements? Add that to the bouncing I do some nights at the bar. My point? I’m so damn busy I have no clue how I’m keeping everything straight. Thank God for the calendar on my phone. Without it, I’d be lost.
Dixie toddles up and jumps on the couch, apparently growing bored being in the bed alone. She settles down between my legs, and I absently scratch her head and run my hand down her long back while flipping through notifications. It’s Sunday and the only day I have to get my incredibly long list of shit done.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Dix,” I say not taking my eyes off of my phone. She huffs at me like I’m wasting her time and my voice is interrupting her leisure. “Sorry, girl. You’ll just have to get over it.”
I pull up my camera app and snap a picture of my sweet girl, including a good shot of my eight-pack, making sure the throw on the couch covers my crotch. I post it to my favorite Facebook group. That should get a higher notification count up. Thirsty women always love a picture with Dixie in it. I hashtag it with ‘I Love My Wiener.’ Yeah, that’ll definitely get them going. Tomorrow will be almost impossible to manage with the thousands of notifications I’ll get for Man Crush Monday. I do my very best to try and like and comment on each and every post, but most days it’s too difficult to stay on top of. Hopefully, the ladies won’t get too upset with me. Glancing at the picture one more time, I’m reminded that the unfinished tat on my chest needs to be bumped closer to the top of my list of shit to do.
I shake my head, make a quick Snap Chat video, but delete it. I make a mental note to do it again once my towel from the shower is wrapped around my waist. I rise from the couch, and as I’m placing the fleece blanket back down, Dixie’s small squeaky ball hits the floor. She springs into action and jumps off the couch, scooping it up in her mouth. I bend over, pat my legs, and tell her to bring the ball, but
she just looks at me like I’m stupid and takes off in the other direction. Fetch…we’re still working on it.
I drop my phone off on the bedside table and make my way to the bathroom for a quick shower. Ignoring the erection I’m in a battle of wills against, I turn on the water and stand patiently while it warms. And by ‘stand patiently’ I mean I flex my muscles and try to figure out the best area to work on this morning at the gym. My focus keeps returning to my abs; damn they’re sick! Hard work and dedication really pay off. Looks like my legs are getting my undivided attention for my first visit this morning. I fucking hate leg day.
I climb in the shower, sudsing up and rinsing off with economic ease. I give into the unflagging erection, if only because squatting at the gym would become quite the talking piece if my shit was pointing at everyone and bobbing all over the place. Maybe I should have taken that blond up on her offer last night. The thought stays about two seconds in my head because I’m more than tired of women who only want to gawk over my body and give no real credit to me as a person. Needy, desperate women bore me. I turn some music on, and Sam Hunt drifts out of the speakers; which reminds me, I need to record another clip of me singing at some point today to post later this week. If I can ever get caught up on everything else, I can start getting around to some of the song requests from my fans. Fans. That word still floors me. I never thought I’d be doing anything like this.
Chapter 2
Leia
I saw online where lifting weights even for a woman actually burned more calories than cardio does. I don’t know if I believe it completely but I’m willing to give it a try. I assess myself in the mirror before hitting the gym floor. If I'm honest, I’m extremely nervous. This place is entirely different than the second floor of the last twenty-four-hour gym I was a member of. I didn’t really like that gym, so it doesn’t bother me that much that I got kicked out.
Being nervous is the whole point after all. I’m ‘getting out of my comfort zone’ as my therapist recommended. I suffer from what she has diagnosed as a ‘mild’ case of social anxiety. Mild. That is her word, not mine. I don’t think mild is accurate considering my heart is about to pound out of my chest at the thought of stepping out of this locker room and into the gym. I nearly had a stroke getting to this point in the first place.
The therapist asked me what I thought would be a natural step for me to work on my anxiety condition. I mentioned something about enjoying working out, and she recommended a group class like Zumba or spinning. Sure that would work. Except for the whole feeling like I’m performing for others. “Hi, I have social anxiety how can you help me?” “I think it would be best for you to dance to sexy salsa music and shake your ass in front of a large group of people.” Now that I’m thinking about it I may need to find another therapist.
I only mentioned going to a new gym because I discovered a few weeks ago a man on Facebook that makes my heart skip a beat. Call me crazy but I tracked that man to his gym. You guessed it, the one I’m currently standing in. I had gone to over a dozen gyms before I found the exact one that matched up to the background of some of his selfies. It was exhausting tracking him down. Maybe I need to be institutionalized, but I just want to watch him in person rather than waiting with baited breath for him to post another picture or if I’m lucky a ten-second clip of him singing.
I love who I can pretend to be online. It’s amazing how easy it is to build the image of a person with the opposite type of personality from yours on Facebook. Different picture, different bio, no one knows the real me. I don’t even have an actual page. I tried that, and things turned ugly. It’s incredibly hard to stalk people online when you’re using your own personal account. I have several accounts I use on a regular basis. I’ve internet stalked more than my fair share of men, but I was wildly surprised just how close this man was to me. Just my luck he’s right here in my hometown. It’s like the universe wants us together.
Matthew Hosea has been forthcoming enough with his information online that it only took me about six hours of research and footwork to track him down. Now I get to sit on the leg press machine in the corner of the gym and wait to see if he shows up. After the adorable picture he took of his puppy this morning, he said he was going to the gym. I only hope this is the only one he’s a member of. The anticipation is killing me.
I straighten my shirt in the mirror and count backward from thirty, building myself up to head out onto the floor. I spotted the machine I know I want to use on the way in. It’s a leg press type thing, and it’s stationed on the far side of the room away from everything and everyone else. Perfect for going unnoticed.
I walk out of the locker room with my head held high doing my best to appear relaxed even though that’s the exact opposite of how I’m actually feeling. I step around the corner and spot my machine. I count my lucky stars that it remains unoccupied as I stride across the floor with purpose.
I duck my head a bit when I get near two men talking and joking around. My hands begin to sweat immediately, and I hold my breath when I see the man nearest me start to pivot around. I know what’s going to happen a second before it actually does, and I’m helpless to prevent it.
When he turns to walk away from his friend, he rotates right into me. His hands go up immediately and clasp onto my arms, preventing me from falling on my ass.
“Whoa, darlin’. I didn’t see you there.”
I’ve forgotten how to breathe when I look up into soulful brown eyes speckled with the tiniest hint of gold. You could’ve asked me my name for a million dollar prize in that second and I would be going home just as broke as I when I arrived. I may not know who I am at the moment, but I sure as hell know who he is. ‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear’ is the saying right? As God as my witness, I may die of a stroke if he keeps his hands on my bare skin.
I’m near the point of hyperventilation at this point, my chest heaving up and down heavily. To his credit, he doesn’t even cut his eyes down to look at my breasts like most men would. He gives me an adorably cute crooked grin and takes a step back. He grinned just for me, not one of the other thousands of women on social media. Me! Releasing my arms, he raises his hand up and twirls a piece of my hair around his finger.
What the fuck? He’s hot no doubt, but taking such extreme liberties? Not appropriate.
“I like this,” he says, referencing the streak of purple I have in my hair.
I’m certain I stand there and stare up at him for half an hour. It isn’t until I see him cut his eyes to the side that I realize that I’m making him uncomfortable, and he just realized I’m crazy. I use classical works of art as my profile pictures on all of my online accounts, so I know he doesn’t know who I am, but it’s still unnerving to go to the gym to watch him from afar and then run smack dab into his chest.
I don’t provide the same level of respect he afforded me and my eyes wander down his body. His shirt is drenched in sweat which automatically makes my mind wander to other things he could do to get hot and sweaty. I mentally slap myself and snap my eyes back up to his.
“Once again, sorry for running into ya like I did.” He winks at me and begins to walk away.
“No problem,” I finally manage to whisper to his back as he makes his way to the restroom.
I watch as he sets his bottle of water down on the table outside by the bathroom door and heads inside.
He said he liked my purple hair, and as far as I’m concerned that’s damn near a marriage proposal. So far, I’m loving this new gym.
Chapter 3
Matthew
The little run-in at the gym was a nice detour from the meatheads who I usually see there. She was quiet, reserved, and seemed a bit shy at first. The way she cut her eyes over my body, along with that streak of purple hair has me thinking she has a little wild side to her.
She was gone by the time I got out of the restroom, and I can’t help but hope that I run into her again. I doubt she’ll be there twice in one day. Most people who
go to the gym barely make it a few days a week, unlike me who spends, at least, two hours each day there. I check my watch and make a point to try and be back around the same time tomorrow. Most people are creatures of habit, a fact I’m made aware of daily with my Security Forces position with the Navy. People are predictable, and I’m trained to anticipate anything that may be deemed a surprise.
I hit Whole Foods on my way home since an enormous chunk of my day will be spent meal prepping. I do my best to stay on the perimeter of the grocery store; that’s where the healthiest foods are found. Fresh meat and produce are highest on my list of things to buy today. I curse the gods that allowed me to be born the chubby kid. The kid who would’ve, at one point in my life, sold his soul to the Devil for a pecan pie. It is almost physically painful to walk past the bakery case and not grab at least one slice of cake.
I also curse Shauna Kruse’s existence for springing the news of a last minute photo shoot on me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibility blessed with the outpouring of support from all of the social media outlets; but sometimes a man just wants a damn piece of cake.
I divert my attention to the meat counter instead, thinking she’ll hold off on shoots until after the new year once the next one is complete in a few weeks. I’m not really complaining, but you always want what you can’t have, and at this point in time, that’s cake for me. Also, possibly the purple-haired girl’s face between my legs. With how quickly she disappeared from the gym, it’s looking like neither of those things will come to fruition anytime soon.
I will admit I was shocked when I made it back out to the gym, and she was gone. Most gym bunnies wait around and snicker with one another in clusters when they see a guy who does it for them. I could tell she was interested in the way her eyes roamed all over my body.
The biggest surprise of all was my reaction to her. I bet she didn’t know she was biting her bottom lip like she was, but my dick sure noticed. I had to get away from her as quickly as possible at the first sign of stimulation, and I was at full mast by the time I hit the door; grateful to be in there alone and not having to explain the tent in my sweats to a group of guys.
