by Max Hudson
“Love in Focus”
M/M Gay Romance
Max Hudson
© 2019
Max Hudson
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 non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is intended for Adults (ages 18+) only. The contents may be offensive to some readers. It may contain graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations. May contain scenes of unprotected sex. Please do not read this book if you are offended by content as mentioned above or if you are under the age of 18.
Please educate yourself on safe sex practices before making potentially life-changing decisions about sex in real life. If you’re not sure where to start, see here: http://www.jerrycoleauthor.com/safe-sex-resources/ (courtesy of Jerry Cole).
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner & are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Products or brand names mentioned are trademarks of their respective holders or companies. The cover uses licensed images & are shown for illustrative purposes only. Any person(s) that may be depicted on the cover are simply models.
Edition v1.00 (2019.10.16)
http://www.maxhudsonauthor.com
Special thanks to the following volunteer readers who helped with proofreading: Chris F., Rudy, Bob, RS, JayBee, Jennie and those who assisted but wished to be anonymous. Thank you so much for your support.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Free Book “A Tale of Two Quarterbacks”
Chapter One
It was a bright, sunny day in the Hollywood Hills. Well, at least, it looked as if it was going to be. August Jimson was used to getting up well before dawn, though, but as he stood in his large, whitewashed, thoroughly modern kitchen, cooking what was going to be a perfectly poached egg, he glanced happily out at the rising sun. Most people in Los Angeles would have had their houses built to look out at the ocean, and there were windows here and there in August’s house that did, but his kitchen cum dining room was built to face the coming morning, a full wall being nothing but glass.
August gingerly plucked his perfectly poached egg from the boiling water, let the water drip off, and then deposited it on top of a single piece of toast covered in smashed avocado. Then he picked up his plate, along with a glass of freshly squeezed, pulp less orange juice and made for the glass table in front of the glass window. He’d scarcely sat down to savor his breakfast, though, when his cell phone rang.
“Bloody thing,” he mumbled, and put down his fork.
He didn’t have the luxury of simply ignoring the phone. August Jimson was a Hollywood director, and work could come at anytime from anywhere. August had enough experience and clout at this point in his career that he spent much of his time putting his own projects together, but now and then, some big shot producer wanted him for their project, and projects like that were almost always worth the time and money he’d be paid. So, August quickly answered his phone. If he’d been eating already, he would have choked.
“Oh, yes sir, good morning to you too!” he exclaimed. The person on the other end of the line just happened to be the most powerful producer in Hollywood...currently. These things changed hands quite frequently. “Um, yes, yes...of course, that sounds like a brilliant project. I can be at your office in, oh...” August glanced over at the clock above his stove and said, “half an hour. Okay, wonderful. Thank you, sir!”
August quickly scarfed down his breakfast. It was a shame not to be able to enjoy it, but he felt it was an even bigger shame to waste it. August was fast approaching middle age, with a midsection that was starting to plump to show it. He enjoyed fine food, fine alcohol, and whatever else tickled his whimsy. His hair was prematurely white, and his eyes a golden-brown color that might have given him an exotic, alluring look, if he hadn’t been so short and round. Not that he’d ever minded. One doesn’t get to be a famous Hollywood director by being timid. He was consummately mild-mannered, but no one had ever called him timid.
He had his driver rush him down to the studios, now in risk of being late. “I never should have finished off the orange juice,” he mumbled to himself in the back seat.
“What was that, sir?” his driver enquired.
“Nothing, nothing. Can we go a bit faster?”
“This time of day?” the driver chuckled.
August simply groaned and tried to will everyone to get out of his way. To his surprise, an opening appeared in traffic, and his driver took advantage of it.
When the limousine screeched to a stop in front of the producer’s office, August quickly jumped out and walked as fast as his short legs would take him. He burst into the building and skipped the elevator, heading straight for the stairs. A few minutes later, as he opened the door to the office on the third floor, he was regretting his choice immensely. He tried to catch his breath, nodding at the secretary as she waved him in. Breakfast wasn’t sitting well either; he grimaced as his egg sloshed about in the acidic orange juice.
“Ah, Jimson,” the producer said as the small man rushed through the office door. The producer was a very large man with a balding head named Jameson. Yes, it was a running industry joke that the two of them were somehow related or the like.
August slowed his step a bit, trying not to look too eager. The last thing you wanted a powerful, studio producer to think was that you didn’t have other options.
“Hello, Mister Jameson,” he said, nonchalantly. “Lovely morning, isn’t it? I was just having my avocado toast when you called.”
“Ah, well, that explains what took you so long,” the big man said, turning away from where he’d been glancing, inattentively, out the window.
A muscle in August’s cheek twitched, but his smile never wavered. “Yes, well, wanted to have all my faculties energized for this very important meeting.”
Jameson “hmmed” and then beckoned for August to sit. He did so as well, behind a large mahogany desk. “I’m glad to see that you’re excited about this project. It’s guaranteed to be the blockbuster of the year!”
August refrained from rolling his eyes. Every producer said that about every movie they made. However, he did say, “This year?”
“That’s right, Jimson, I want it done this year.”
“The editors might not—”
“They’ll get on board. Do you want to know what you’re filming or...?”
“That would be great, Mister Jameson,” August answered. Inside, he cringed, knowing better than to agree to something without even knowing what it was. His luck, he’d be the director of something he had no interest in, or worse, something the public ended up hating.
Come to find out, the movie the producer was suggesting was right up August’s alley. It wasn’t a mindless action blockbuster like the producer had made it sound like it might be. Instead, it was more of a studio mystery, with lots of twists and turns, and a bit of a supernatural angle. One might think that the strait-laced, traditional cum ultra-modern August Jimson wouldn’t go for something supernatural, but he would fool them. Because he was interested in a
ncient and traditional things, it meant that he was quite interested in these things. Surprisingly interested.
“Oh well,” he exclaimed once the producer had been over the script a bit, or at least, read a little of the treatment. “That sounds very interesting indeed. Will there be any location shoots?”
“We’ll be sending you to Romania in a few weeks,” the producer said dryly.
“Romania?!” August exclaimed again. He’d never been to Romania, but it had always sounded very lovely and mysterious.
“Yes, if things work out for the studio shoot.”
August deflated a bit. His eyebrows sank into a frown, and his bottom lip puffed out. “Are you expecting trouble already?” he asked. It wasn’t a good sign when the producer started out by doubting his own production.
“I’ll be casting Jared Hodgens for the lead role.”
August’s poached egg screamed loudly from his stomach.
Chapter Two
It was a bright, sunny day in West Hollywood. The sun had risen hours ago, and a stream of light was peaking between the blackout curtains in Jared Hodgens’ bedroom. He groaned and shoved a plump pillow over his head, but it was no good, he was already awake. After a moment of swearing, he tossed the pillow onto the floor along with yesterday’s clothes and threw off the covers. He stretched his tall, lanky body, feeling bones pop in places he was sure he was too young for them to be popping. Jared, whose real name no one outside of his hometown (a tiny suburb of Dayton, Ohio, which no one knew about either) knew, was fast approaching middle age, but he refused to think about it.
He dragged himself out of the bed, stumbled over his pillow and clothes, and made his way toward the kitchen. Along the way, he stopped and picked up a pair of boxers from the floor, gave them a good sniff, and then slipped them on.
Jared’s house wasn’t exactly the lap of luxury, but that was mostly by design. He was a very successful, sought after Hollywood actor, who could have afforded some mansion in Beverly Hills, if he hadn’t been one to blow most of his money on parties, so-called friends, and whirlwind trips he generally didn’t even like. Plus, the entire idea of some eye sore mansion, where he’d have to hide behind armed guards and hire someone to clean every day, went against everything about the way he lived his life. Life was a fleeting thing, here one day, gone the next. Who needed all that nonsense?
Of course, Jared Hodgens was a great big hypocrite. As he sauntered into the kitchen to figure out something to put into his grumbling stomach, he glanced out the window at the prototype Black Widow supercar sitting in his drive. It was the kind of thing most people would probably worry over simply leaving in the drive, except for the fact that he was literally the only person on Earth who could drive it. There was a fingerprint scanner for a lock, and a retina scanner for a starter key. No one could steal it, and even if they figured out how to make off with it, they’d never be able to use it.
He smiled at the one luxury he did care about, and then glanced around the kitchen. The table was covered in the refuse of last night’s frivolity, though he’d been alone for this party. The thought threatened to depress him, so he shook it from his mind, his dark, floppy hair bouncing off his forehead. Blue, bloodshot eyes scanned the counters and kitchen island, until they settled on the pizza delivery box. He opened the lid in a flourish and smirked at the sight of a couple of leftover pieces. He grabbed a cold slice, folded it over and began shoveling it into his mouth as he made his way to the fridge for something to wash it down with.
Once he’d made his selection, he sat down at his kitchen table, shoved some debris out of the way so he could set down his glass, and stared out at the palm trees lining his street. Before long, he was popping back up for the other slice of pizza, eating it the same way as the first, like he hadn’t eaten for days before. A frown creased his brow. He thought on it as he stared out at the California sunshine. It could have been that he hadn’t eaten for days, but then he’d have to consider how long the pizza had been sitting there, and he decided he’d rather not think about that.
He had just finished up the second slice and was contemplating going back to bed, when he heard his phone ring. Being that he had no idea where his phone was, a bit of panic leapt into Jared’s brain, and settled in his throat. As it rang again, he narrowed its location down to the kitchen table, and quickly began to dig through the refuse there. After the third ring, he finally found the phone, scooped it up, and then let it ring again for good measure.
“Yep?” he answered it, trying to sound as casual and bored as possible. He nodded as the man on the other end talked, but after a few moments, his heart began to thump wildly. He may have been a successful actor, but when the hottest producer in town offers you a chance at a starring role, even Jared Hodgens gets excited. Besides, he’d been in a bit of a slump lately, and those can quickly turn into the end of your career if you didn’t dig your way out of them.
“Certainly, Mister Jameson, I’m on my way!” he exclaimed when their discussion was through, and quickly ended the call. Then he ran back to his room, found a pair of skinny jeans and a black t-shirt to throw on, and ran out his front door.
The Black Widow was waiting for him, all naked black carbon fiber and red trim. The car looked truly evil, and he loved everything about it. He quickly squished his fingers against the lock, hopped in the front seat, and waited for the scanner to flash in his eye. Once the stars had cleared from his vision, he put the car in gear and tore out of his drive. It was a short drive to Jameson’s office, so short he probably could have walked, but this was LA. No one walked in LA, especially not when they could show off a first of its kind supercar.
As Jared roared onto the lot, he noticed something peculiar in his line of vision. A limousine was pulling out of the same lot in front of him. He didn’t think much of it, plenty of powerful people had business with Jameson, but something still nagged about it in the back of his mind. He began to wonder if it wasn’t that the car looked familiar. Most limousines looked like, well, limousines, but this one was a tad bit more old-fashioned, and a creamy white instead of black. He shook off the feeling, knowing he had more pressing matters to attend to. Much to the lot attendant’s annoyance, he left the car sitting right in front of the building, with no way for anyone to park it anywhere else.
Upstairs, waiting in his office, Jameson was sitting down to a nice scotch and cigar. He had just taken his first sip when Jared casually sauntered into the office looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“You can cut the act,” Jameson barked. “You got here much too quickly to ‘not be interested’.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” Jared complained, still standing at the door.
“No, but you were going to at some point.” He glanced at his watch. Yes, the man still wore a watch. “In fact, you got here a good half an hour before I figured you would.”
“Well, I was already up,” Jared smarmed.
“Were you? Must have got to bed early. Why don’t you sit down? I’m tired of squinting at your skinny ass from across the room.”
Jared smirked and sauntered over to the chair across the desk. He slid into it and then kept sliding until his head was barely visible above the back of the chair.
Jameson looked him over for a minute and then shook his head. “I’m making the blockbuster of the year.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“It’s an epic mystery, like they made back in the day. It’ll have studio shoots, location shoots, the works.”
“Sounds great.”
Jameson sighed. “Do you want to read the script or what?”
“Of course.” Jared sat up, his heart thumping again and looked at the stack of paper as it was slid over to him. He waited a moment, not wanting to look to eager, and then picked it up and slumped back into his chair. He flipped through the pages, as if not really interested, but read every word as he did so. He managed to get the gist of the story and of his character, the type of hero even t
he classic Hollywood actors usually had only dreamed of playing, and then he set the script back down.
“Looks like good stuff. When do we start?”
It was Jameson’s turn to smirk. “There’s only one snag you might not like.
“Oh?”
“I’ve signed on August Jimson to direct.”
Jared almost slid out of his chair.
Chapter Three
Both August and Jared had gone home feeling slightly less enthusiastic as when they’d walked into Jameson’s office. August went back to his glass mansion on the hill, and sat down to study the script, plan shots, and drink copious amounts of port. Jared, on the other hand, had gone sky diving, then spent the night reading the script and screaming at the walls about the unfairness of his life. Neither had had a good night.
Much to August’s annoyance, Jameson had already done most of the preproduction work on the movie himself. It was a double curse, because it meant that August’s hands were tied on a lot of the creative decisions and that Jameson would be interfering every step of the way during production. It also meant that the filming would get underway much sooner than usual, in fact so soon that a few days later, August was in Jameson’s office again.
“Next week?” he exclaimed. “What do you mean, next week? This isn’t nineteen thirty, we can’t just start production that quickly. I don’t even have all the shots planned and storyboarded.”
“Well, I have—” Jameson started.
“Oh no,” August cut him off. He was still in awe of the opportunity, and a little frightened by Jameson, but he was also the director, and as the director, there was no way he was going to let anyone, even the man with the money, decide what the look of his film would be.
Jameson held up his hands. He knew the game too. “All right, but that means you have to be ready by next week.”