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Tinseltown Blues (#2): Hot Like Me!

by Acer Adamson

Reproduction, transmittal, distribution, or warehousing of this book in whole or in part by any existing or future means is prohibited without written permission from the author.

This book is an original work of fiction intended for an adult audience. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, although fictitious reference may be made to actual historical persons and events or existing locations. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to actual situations or events is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Acer Adamson

Tinseltown Blues (#2): Hot Like Me! © 2013 – 2017 Acer Adamson

Published by Sex Ensues Press

All rights reserved.

This story is intended for an adult audience.

Word Count: 8,650

October 10, 2017

About the Story

Harley and Trey Sheffield have sibling rivalries like any brothers, but with an added twist due to their incestuous relationship. An important meeting forces Trey to choose between Harley and the pivotal business venture. Harley goes on the warpath when Trey decides to put a voluptuous woman on his arm for the meeting instead of him. Hollywood may never be the same as Harley seeks retaliation for being a brother scorned.

Table of Contents

Copyright Information

About the Story

Beginning of Story

Chapter 1

Meeting? What Meeting?

Chapter 2

Tequila—It’s Not Just For Breakfast Anymore!

Chapter 3

The Date Business Meeting

Chapter 4

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go

Back Into A Flamboyantly Gay Dance Club

Chapter 5

They Probably Won’t Use This

Particular Scene As Harley’s Oscar Clip

Chapter 6

Wait . . . What?

Chapter 7

Oops, They Did It Again! (And again.)

Chapter 8

Could Be Worse . . . Couldn’t It?

About the Author




by Acer Adamson

Chapter 1

Meeting? What Meeting?

Things had gone pretty well since the night Trey had returned home on Harley’s birthday six months earlier.

Until tonight.

Harley sat in their bedroom, curled up in his ugly harvest-gold recliner reading a horrible script sent by his agent for consideration. Already in a foul mood from forcing himself to slog through the pile of drivel, matters became worse when Trey arrived home and dropped a bomb.

“Let me get this straight, if you’ll pardon the play on words,” Harley said once Trey finished. “You have a meeting with potential investors. A meeting you’ve had planned for over a month but didn’t bother to tell me—your business partner—about until now. And, because you presumably can’t control yourself around me, and you feel you must have something pretty on your arm to impress the hotshots, you have a date to accompany you to the meeting? A girl?”

Trey slapped a hand over his face and shook his head. “Why do you always have to overdramatize everything?”

Harley tossed the crappy script to the floor, pages fluttering before landing on the cornflower-blue carpet. Grinning, he folded his arms across his chest and waited for the expected tirade.

Trey looked too damn cute when he got bent out of shape. Harley bit the inside of his cheek and lifted an eyebrow for emphasis.

“Jesus.” Trey rolled his eyes. “First off, it’s not a date—it’s a business meeting. Second, she works as an intern in our production office, so it’s not like I’ve picked up some random stranger. And you would know that, by the way, if you bothered to visit the office other than for the annual Christmas party. So, I’m not going out on a date. It’s business. Business.”

Harley smirked. “Right.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Harley,” Trey groaned. “It’s not a date!”

“Where is this”—Harley cleared his throat—“meeting being held?”

A definitive oh shit expression took up residence on Trey’s face. “The primary investor and his partner insisted on the location. You know how people can be on their first trip to Hollywood.”

This much fun ought to be illegal, Harley thought. “Where’s the meeting, Trey?”

Trey began pulling his polo shirt over his head, answering the question while his face remained covered up by yellow fabric. He said, “The Looking Glass,” through the material, mumbled and only barely audible.

Harley broke into a grin, cupping a hand to one ear as Trey’s head emerged from the shirt. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t quite catch that.”

After tossing the shirt onto the bed, Trey kicked off his deck shoes and yanked down beige Dockers, leaving only a pair of white briefs hugging his hot, tanned body. He put his hands on his hips. “The. Looking. Glass.

“Aha!” Harley laughed. “So now the truth comes out. Not only do you have a date—with a girl—you’re taking her to the sexiest nightspot in town. You go, stud!”

Trey grabbed his clothes off the floor. “It’s not a fucking date.”

“Right.” Harley gathered the too-awful-for-words pages of The Utah Bloodsucker Trilogy off the carpet then sat back in his comfy chair.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Trey stomped across the bedroom floor and into the master bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Harley smiled, shook his head, and resumed reading.

Chapter 2

Tequila—Its Not Just For Breakfast Anymore!

While Trey showered, Harley wandered downstairs to the kitchen. He went straight for the liquor stash and grabbed a new bottle of tequila.

He’d behaved himself and hadn’t drunk more than an occasional glass of wine since Trey moved back in. He needed something now, though. Harley had made light of the it’s-not-a-date issue, teasing Trey, but deep down he really did feel kind of pissed-off and butt-hurt in a stupid sort of way. He tore the black-foil wrapper off the neck of the bottle and unscrewed the cap. Not bothering to fetch a shot glass, he put the bottle to his mouth and took a long pull, sputtering and gagging as the tequila burned his throat. He recovered quickly—old habits die hard—and he took another greedy swallow.

Five rapid-fire shots later, Harley giggled, his belly warmed and his head pleasantly buzzing. Abandoning the bottle in favor of his phone, he managed to dial one of the few numbers he’d bothered to memorize before storing it in his contact list.

Two rings, then a clipped, “Hullo?” came from Harley’s best friend, British actor Jake Blythe.

“It’s just me.” Harley’s voice already sounded higher pitched than normal to his own ears, and he noticed his words were starting to slur. He hiccupped once into the receiver then laughed.

“How you are doing, love?” Jake sounded cheerful and pleasant, typical for the man.

Harley laughed again. “I’m a little tipsy.”

“I see,” Jake said, in his posh I’m-an-actor-but-I-have-a-university-degree voice. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m good,” Harley said, sounding a little singsong-ish. “I do need a favor though, honey.”

“Honey?” Jake chuckled. “Only a little tipsy? What can I do for you?”

“Trey has a date tonight.” Harley reached for the bottle of tequila on the counter and struggled to remove the cap one-handed. He managed and took a quick sip. “His date has tits.”

“Oh, really?” Jake laughed. “And this has exactly what to do with me?”

“I need a ride to The Looking Glass. I cannot drive.” Harley hiccupped again. “I don’t think I can even find the garage at this point.”

“You could just ring up a taxi, you know,” Jake said.

“True.” Harley sniffed. “But a cab driver won’t rub my back and hold my hair out of the way when I’m puking this shit up later.”

Jake snorted. “Good point. You do realize you’re going to embarrass yourself, right?”

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