Spice and Smoke by Suleikha Snyder

will not remake our old movie.”
    Harsh was the one who convulsed with mirth then. He shook his head, perfect hair bouncing like he was doing an advert for hair oil. “ Arre , chhoro , Viki. The moment you said that, you doomed yourself. You two are on the path to ruin.”
    It wasn’t anything Viki hadn’t already told himself. He forced a lighthearted grin. “More news from Mathur the Monk? Where would Saint Harsh get such ideas? I am shocked.”
    He shrugged. “Saint Harsh is a saint no longer.”
    “That isn’t what the tattoo on your arse says,” Michael interjected.
    Vikram’s eyebrows met his hairline of their own volition, but Michael didn’t even acknowledge his surprise, just continued to tease his blushing friend. Something about too much gin and stealing of bed sheets. Before too long, he drew Viki into the jokes as well. “Don’t worry, yaar ,” he drawled, draping an arm across his shoulders. “As long as you don’t destroy a dressing room this time, you’ll be fine .”
    If only that were true.

Chapter Fifteen
    Days later, Sam was still fuming, even though it was no longer his right. Viki and Michael looked damn cozy, heads tilted together as they watched some video on Michael’s iPhone. They made quite a picture. The beautiful image of two secure, superior men who’d never suffered a day in their lives. It made him sick.
    So sick that he almost thought his head was buzzing…until he realized it was just his mobile registering a message. The third one in an hour. Jaidev again, prodding him for details about the shoot. Sam ignored it, and the one from Sunita that followed—probably harassing him to ring his son. God , Sunny, he thought. Sometimes dealing with her was like still being married…but he couldn’t deal with her or Jai right now. Not when Viki was lodged in his brain like a bullet.
    As if presenting himself in the operation theater for surgery, Rahul appeared in Sam’s field of vision. “Everything okay?” he asked, the very picture of concern. He was spending so much time on set, Sam wondered why he simply hadn’t let a suite at the hotel and moved in for the duration. It would certainly make watching his investments and babysitting The Raj ’s problem child easier.
    Sam couldn’t keep the disgust from his tone. “Why? Have you heard something else? Want to give me a drug test?”
    “No, no, it’s cool, yaar ,” Rahul assured, before throwing a none-too-subtle glance at Vikram and Michael. “I know how long shoots get. There’s nothing wrong with worrying about an old friend, is there?” Translation: I just saw you staring at Vikram. Are you going to kill him or fuck him?
    He had to laugh, and it sounded lunatic to his ears. Pissing in a cup wasn’t going to pick up traces of that . “Shit, Rahul. Go count your money and make your important telephone calls, okay? There is nothing for you to stick your nose in.”
    Rahul lingered for a few seconds longer, until he registered that Sam was done making chitchat. Then he shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sauntered away whistling the first few lines of “ Jaadu Teri Nazar ”. As if Sam was the same as Shahrukh’s crazy character in Darr ? Stalking Vikram and waxing poetic about his eyes and the joy of his arms? Not likely.
    Sam spun away, making as if to study the new call sheet for the week. Little bastard. Son of a bitch bahenchod . Rahul was off base…so far afield…only not. He tried to ignore how his hands were shaking. How his nerves felt like live wires and his entire body itched. He was in withdrawal; he knew the symptoms well. But he was not itching for a drink. Not for some hash or a line of cocaine. No, he was in withdrawal from Vikram. Desperate for a hit of the way he smelled, the way he tasted. For the vulnerable spot on the inside of his thigh that made him beg for mercy whenever Sam put his tongue to it. Was that Michael Gill’s place to worship now? He didn’t think so, not with how