Crossing The Line (A Taboo Love series Book 3) (4 page)

Chapter Three

Parker

I don’t even recognize myself anymore. Everyone knows me as an easy going, fun guy.  The life of the party.  Always a smile on my face.  The person you go to when you need cheering up or a shoulder to lean on. I’m “that guy.”  At least I used to be.  But once again, I’m in a shit mood.  Ever since I took this role, I find myself in this predicament. And it’s not the long hours thing or the gay thing.  It’s the goddamn Chance Steele thing.  That dick is going to be the death of me.  After the stunt he pulled yesterday, kissing me after final cut, I haven’t been able to get that shit out of my head.  I can’t get him out of my head, and that pisses me off to no end.

We are sitting with the director, Jerry, his assistant, Morgan, a few producers, other actors, etc., to do a table reading of the script, just to get a feel for the next few scenes that we are going to have to shoot. Chance is sitting across from me, a stupid shit-eatin’ grin on his face. It’s like he knows that he got to me and he’s being smug about it.

Chance reads one of his lines, but he doesn’t say it with the right inflection. It is supposed to be a question, but he read it as a statement because he’s just reading it, not acting it, which is annoying…and lazy.  I’m not saying go all out, but shit, put some effort into it.

“Can you read it the right way?” I ask in annoyance.

Chance blows me a kiss and winks. “For you, baby, anything,” he purrs.

I give him a disgusted look. “Don’t fucking do that shit to me, asshole,” I growl.

“What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll like it?” he challenges, cocking an eyebrow.

I shoot to my feet and immediately reach across the table, grabbing him by his collar and yanking him up to his feet. I get in his face. “I’m about two seconds away from smashing your face in, Steele, you better knock that shit off,” I snarl.

A slow grin curls his lips and I realize a second too late what he’s planning to do; otherwise, I would have backed up. Fucker kisses me on the mouth…..again. That’s it! I scramble over the table, still holding onto his shirt. Chairs and papers go flying as I tackle him to the ground. The scuffle begins. We’re both giving shots as much as taking them while we roll around, grappling on the floor. I end up on top. I still have his collar, which is now ripped, and I’m wailing on his face and head. He has his arms up, trying to cover himself as best as he can until someone finally has the balls to break it up. A couple of the other guys that are in the room grab me and haul me off of Chance. I glare at him as I’m forced into a chair. I can hear yelling but I’m not really paying attention to what is being said. I’m trying to catch my breath when the director, Jerry, steps in front of me.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he squawks.

I gape at the man. “My problem? That fucking asshole just kissed me!” I shout, pointing at Chance, who is now sitting in a chair also.

“And? You’re playing a gay couple! You’re gonna have to get comfortable enough with him to kiss him!” he barks.

“I get that! But we weren’t reading a kissing scene! He did it to fucking harass me!”

Jerry looks back and forth between us. “You think I don’t know that you two don’t get along? I can see the hostility when you two look at each other. This can’t continue. We’re going to take a week break, and on this break, you two better learn how to get along or I will replace you both,” Jerry says seriously.

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” I ask in confusion.

“I don’t give a shit. Hang out, take dance lessons, go to a club, go to dinner - just get together and get along; otherwise, you’re both out. And don’t think I won’t have Morgan check up on you two. We’re done for the day, everyone go home.”

With a parting disapproving glance, Jerry leaves. Chance and I sit in the chairs that we were placed in and watch as everyone gathers their things and leaves us. After the final person leaves and the door shuts, I point a finger at Chance.

“This is all your fucking fault,” I snap angrily.

“Oh, grow the fuck up, Parker,” Chance mutters in irritation as he dabs his bloody nose with the hem of his T-shirt.

I gape at him, speechless. Not only did he tell me to grow the fuck up, but also he called me by my name, not one of his dumbass nicknames that he likes to call me.

“This was one of my favorite shirts,” he grumbles to himself as he tugs it over his head and wads it up under his nose. 

I can only roll my eyes and look away.  If I have to be chained to this dickhead, it’s going to be on my terms. I pull out my cell and text Calvin.

Parker:  Hey, man!  Need a favor

Calvin:  Anything

Parker:  Just got into it with Chance.  Director ordered us to work it out

Calvin: That sucks bro

Parker: Fuck! Tell me about it.  Can I bring him to the club?

Calvin:  Send me his info & I’ll rush a background request

Parker: Thanks, my man.  Talk soon

Calvin: No problem. Later

“I’m going to my trailer. I need a shower,” I say to nobody in particular.

“Shall I join you, Ham hock?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow. "Or do you prefer Ham cock?"

I just don’t have it in me to banter with this prick, so I continue out the door.  But I just can’t let it go, needing to have the last word.  Just as the door is about to close, I throw a “Fuck you, Steele,” over my shoulder.  But satisfaction never comes as I hear him chuckling as the door slams shut. 
Son of a bitch!

Chance

Parker called me late last night and asked if I had any ideas on how to do our punishment without killing each other. It seems the only thing we really have in common is that we both like working out. Looks like we’ll be spending a lot of time at the gym this week.

I'm not in the mood to lift weights, so I head right toward the treadmills. A nice long run will do me good. Parker follows me. I pick a machine and step onto it, placing my bottle of water in the cup holder and my towel over the rail. My phone is attached to my bicep, so I place my ear buds in my ears and turn on my running music, which is pretty much anything loud with a good beat that I can lose myself in. My mood today dictates a little
Nine Inch Nails
. I, too, would rather die than give him control. I see Parker out of the corner of my eye, doing the same thing and roll my eyes in annoyance.

I start the treadmill at a slower warm up pace. 2% incline and about 3.0 mph. Parker follows, glancing at my screen to see what speed I'm at. He ups his by a couple of numbers. I smile to myself and shake my head. He has no idea what he's starting. Doesn't he realize that I was in the army and could run all day if I had to? He thinks he can beat me? Run faster than I can? A longer amount of time? He's got another thing coming. I let it go for the moment, just until my muscles warm up, and then he's in for it.

Five minutes later, I up my incline and speed. 4% incline and 7.0 mph. I'm not sprinting yet, just a fast jog. Parker ups his speed as well, setting it just a little higher than mine. I glance over at him and raise an eyebrow in question. He gives me a smug smirk before turning away. Idiot.

I let another couple of minutes pass before upping the incline and speed again. 6% and 10.0 mph. I see Parker up his out of the corner of my eye. We are no longer jogging; we are now running. I can see that Parker is already breaking a sweat and panting a little bit. I up my speed again. 7% incline and 12.0 mph.  I am pushing myself, but still have more juice if need be.

Parker's eyes flick to my speed and widen a little before he ups his. I shake my head. He's gonna freaking hurt himself.

"Dude, stop. I can run circles around you in my sleep, you're not going to win this," I tell him.

Parker's gaze settles on mine; apparently, I just threw down the gauntlet. His blue eyes are full of challenge and stubbornness. I can't help but think how sexy he looks when he looks at me like that.

"Fuck...you," he wheezes.

I purse my lips to fight off the smile that threatens. I shrug. "You asked for it."

I up my speed to where I am full out sprinting. I don't think the machine can go any higher. Parker follows.
Sonofabitch!
He's going to kill himself! I'm just about to stop this nonsense when I hear a strangled cry from my dumbass running partner. Just as I look over at him, he stumbles, going down hard before being shot off the treadmill like a bullet out of a gun. He summersaults across the floor until he slams into the mirrored wall behind us. I quickly jump my feet onto the sides and shut down the machine. Sucking in air, I turn around to see Parker upside down against the wall with his feet over his head. I burst out laughing at the ridiculous sight in front of me.  He slides to the side, his drenched shirt leaving a streak across the mirror as he falls over. I hop off the treadmill and walk over to him. Panting, I stand over him with my hands on my hips. He's breathing hard, lying in the fetal position on the floor. I notice that his forearms, knees, and shins are rubbed raw from the belt of the treadmill.

"I told you to stop." I pant, still trying to catch my breath from running and laughing.

Parker flips me the bird. "I hate you."

I can't help but burst out laughing all over again as the scene replays in my mind. I will never, ever let him live this down. Never.

"Don't just fucking stand there, help me up." Parker grunts, holding out his hand.

I reach down and pull him to his feet. He hisses in pain and folds his arm to look at the belt burn that has rubbed his skin off.

"You're lucky you didn't hit your face." I snicker.

He gives me a dirty look. "I'm sure you would have just loved that."

I gasp in mock offense. "Who me? No way."

Parker's lip lifts in a sneer. "You're a dick. I might not be able to out run you, but I bet I can do more pull ups than you."

I sigh and shake my head. "No, you can't."

"I'll bet you I can," he insists.

"What do you want if you win?" I ask, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"You at my every beck and call for a full 24 hours," he states.

“Who am I?  Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
?” I snicker.

He just raises an eyebrow.

I nod. "Fine," I agree, rolling my eyes.

"What do you want if you win?" he asks me.

"I want a make out session," I answer.

"What does that entail?" Parker asks tightly.

"Kissing - with tongues, some groping, and it has to last for at least five minutes," I tell him and hold out my hand to seal the deal.

Parker stares at my hand for a moment. I can see the wheels turning and can tell that he's debating whether or not to back out. Suddenly, he clasps my hand and shakes it. I smile slowly; he has no idea how badly he's going to lose. And I am seriously looking forward to getting my hands on him. My fingers are itching to run all over him, to grab onto his muscular arms, to squeeze his taut ass. I shake those thoughts free before I pop a boner in the middle of the gym.

We head over to the pull up bars and get situated on two that are side by side. Basically, we're going to keep going until someone falls off. I don't know why he feels the need to challenge me. I must invoke his competitive nature or something.

We both jump up and grip the bars above our heads. I give us a three count and we're off. At first, we are keeping pace with each other. Once we get to fifty, Parker starts to slow slightly, doing one for every two that I do. After I reach seventy-five, he is seriously struggling. I can see his arms shaking and the tendons in his neck straining. His face is bright red and he's grunting loudly.

"Just...give...up..." I grit out between pull-ups. "I...can...go...on...forever."

Parker hangs from the bar, his chin to his chest, his breathing coming fast and hard. "Fuck me," he breathes before dropping to the floor. He immediately folds his legs and drops to his ass.

I do a few more pull ups just for show then drop to my feet. I stretch my arms above my head, linking my hands together leaning to the side. I need to stretch my Lats to make sure they don’t tighten up. "I hope you’re done with trying to outdo me, Parker," I mumble. I use his proper name because, well, I really don't want to compete with him anymore, especially since he is a sore loser.