truth is in the scope of our respective work.”
“You cannot be as collected about this as you sound.”
“I am. He’s good looking, he’s popular, and if he dialed back on the God’s Gift attitude, he might be able to hone what little talent he has into something that won’t fizzle out in three years. He’s still pissed about losing Sacrifice to me and he’s disgusted that he was only offered that legal thriller after I turned it down. Pershall wants to resurrect McConaughey’s performance from A Time To Kill and he’s going to miss it by a mile. Let him have the gun so he can shoot his own foot off. I’m not worried about Brad Pershall.”
Jenny laughed reluctantly. “If I were with you, I’d smack you.”
“May I please go take care of my lonely, sick husband during this rare moment that we are home at the same time and have nowhere to go?”
“Look over those scripts I sent you…” Her voice went higher on the last few words as a warning.
“Yeah, yeah.”
On his way to the den, Zane stopped off in the kitchen for soup and crackers for Mark, and a bag of tortilla chips for himself. He was craving tacos; maybe he’d make some for dinner. Tucking three scripts under his arm, he carefully navigated his way through the house and froze on the steps leading down into the den. Mark was stretched out on the couch with a blanket up to his chin and his hair a floppy, cowlicked mess. The tip of his nose was red. Sensing Zane’s eyes on him, he looked up sleepily.
“ Buckland’s Hill is on cable.” He still sounded congested.
“Please don’t make me watch that,” Zane pleaded. “It’s a little too much of me to stomach.”
Mark’s answering look was pitiful. “I’m sick and it’s one of the only things that will make me feel better.”
“Why not a new movie?”
Mark coughed convincingly and reached for a tissue, moaning. “I thought I was improving, but maybe the fever is coming back.” He coughed again, feebly, and then snuck a glance.
“Fine,” Zane caved, “but I’m reading through scripts as long as it’s on.”
Mark’s eyes dropped to the soup tray and his turn for the worse did another about face. “You brought me food,” he said happily.
“Sickness and health, baby.”
“Come sit down, it’s almost my favorite part of the show.” Mark slowly sat up, adjusting pillows and blankets and making room on the couch for Zane to slide in next to him.
Flicking his eyes toward the screen, Zane swallowed his discomfort as his character, a U.S. Marshall decked out in western regalia, sauntered on screen. “This is your favorite part?” he asked dryly.
“No,” Mark shifted again. “Right… there ! That’s my favorite part.”
Zane set the tray down over Mark’s lap and turned his head to watch the scene, laughing when he saw what his husband was talking about: his backside walking toward his co-star who’d been bucked off a horse. “The chaps?”
“Actually, it’s what’s wearing the chaps… Where’s the remote?—I wanna see that again.”
Zane stood up and shook his hips back and forth like he was in a music video. “I don’t know if gym shorts do the trick, but you’ve got it right here… in the flesh . You can even grab it if you want. That’s allowed.”
Mark laughed up at him and ended up coughing as he swatted Zane’s ass out of the way. “You win; you choose what to watch. This movie can’t compete with ‘in the flesh.’”
“And in your bed , don’t forget that part,” Zane pointed out.
Mark grabbed a handful of crackers and crushed them over his soup until it turned to the consistency of stew. His feet wiggled right into Zane’s lap and he made a contented noise as he settled in to eat. The whole production was endearing.
“Is everything okay with Jenny? She kept you on the phone for a while.”
Zane watched as Mark blew on a spoonful of soup, his lips pursing in an incredibly distracting way. The second they got the all clear
“You cannot be as collected about this as you sound.”
“I am. He’s good looking, he’s popular, and if he dialed back on the God’s Gift attitude, he might be able to hone what little talent he has into something that won’t fizzle out in three years. He’s still pissed about losing Sacrifice to me and he’s disgusted that he was only offered that legal thriller after I turned it down. Pershall wants to resurrect McConaughey’s performance from A Time To Kill and he’s going to miss it by a mile. Let him have the gun so he can shoot his own foot off. I’m not worried about Brad Pershall.”
Jenny laughed reluctantly. “If I were with you, I’d smack you.”
“May I please go take care of my lonely, sick husband during this rare moment that we are home at the same time and have nowhere to go?”
“Look over those scripts I sent you…” Her voice went higher on the last few words as a warning.
“Yeah, yeah.”
On his way to the den, Zane stopped off in the kitchen for soup and crackers for Mark, and a bag of tortilla chips for himself. He was craving tacos; maybe he’d make some for dinner. Tucking three scripts under his arm, he carefully navigated his way through the house and froze on the steps leading down into the den. Mark was stretched out on the couch with a blanket up to his chin and his hair a floppy, cowlicked mess. The tip of his nose was red. Sensing Zane’s eyes on him, he looked up sleepily.
“ Buckland’s Hill is on cable.” He still sounded congested.
“Please don’t make me watch that,” Zane pleaded. “It’s a little too much of me to stomach.”
Mark’s answering look was pitiful. “I’m sick and it’s one of the only things that will make me feel better.”
“Why not a new movie?”
Mark coughed convincingly and reached for a tissue, moaning. “I thought I was improving, but maybe the fever is coming back.” He coughed again, feebly, and then snuck a glance.
“Fine,” Zane caved, “but I’m reading through scripts as long as it’s on.”
Mark’s eyes dropped to the soup tray and his turn for the worse did another about face. “You brought me food,” he said happily.
“Sickness and health, baby.”
“Come sit down, it’s almost my favorite part of the show.” Mark slowly sat up, adjusting pillows and blankets and making room on the couch for Zane to slide in next to him.
Flicking his eyes toward the screen, Zane swallowed his discomfort as his character, a U.S. Marshall decked out in western regalia, sauntered on screen. “This is your favorite part?” he asked dryly.
“No,” Mark shifted again. “Right… there ! That’s my favorite part.”
Zane set the tray down over Mark’s lap and turned his head to watch the scene, laughing when he saw what his husband was talking about: his backside walking toward his co-star who’d been bucked off a horse. “The chaps?”
“Actually, it’s what’s wearing the chaps… Where’s the remote?—I wanna see that again.”
Zane stood up and shook his hips back and forth like he was in a music video. “I don’t know if gym shorts do the trick, but you’ve got it right here… in the flesh . You can even grab it if you want. That’s allowed.”
Mark laughed up at him and ended up coughing as he swatted Zane’s ass out of the way. “You win; you choose what to watch. This movie can’t compete with ‘in the flesh.’”
“And in your bed , don’t forget that part,” Zane pointed out.
Mark grabbed a handful of crackers and crushed them over his soup until it turned to the consistency of stew. His feet wiggled right into Zane’s lap and he made a contented noise as he settled in to eat. The whole production was endearing.
“Is everything okay with Jenny? She kept you on the phone for a while.”
Zane watched as Mark blew on a spoonful of soup, his lips pursing in an incredibly distracting way. The second they got the all clear
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