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  A Sticky Wicket in Bollywood

  ISBN # 978-1-78184-299-7

  ©Copyright T.A. Chase and Devon Rhodes 2013

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2013

  Edited by Rebecca Douglas

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 2.

  This story contains 155 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 13 pages.

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  International Men of Sports

  A STICKY WICKET IN BOLLYWOOD

  T.A. Chase and Devon Rhodes

  A handsome Bollywood actor must choose between his career and a rugged cricket player from his past, who he’s fallen in love with…again.

  Rajan Malik has the world of Bollywood in the palm of his hand—a beautiful girlfriend, starring roles, adoring fans… He should be happy, but behind the façade lies a man conflicted and exhausted by the pressure placed on him by his terminally ill mother, his agent and society. His life is not his own, and all he wants to do is escape.

  Indian Premier League cricketer Ajay Singh can’t believe how bad his university roommate Rajan looks when he spots his picture in the paper. They had parted on bad terms. Still, he’s moved to offer Rajan his support by renewing their friendship.

  But friendship was not all they shared back then. Though Ajay is out, Rajan isn’t willing to give up his carefully cultivated Bollywood image to be with him publicly. And with very little privacy, it won’t take long for someone to find out they are more than friends.

  Their renewed secret affair is fraught with difficulties as they deal with the death of Rajan’s mother, the secret of Rajan’s till-now absent father, a jealous friend, the intrusive media and threatening notes from someone who seems to know all about their private lives…

  It’s a bit of a sticky wicket they find themselves in. Will it be too late when they finally realise that they’ll both need to compromise, or they’ll stand to lose everything?

  Dedication

  For our readers who love athletic men as much as we do!

  And for TA, who kept brainstorming with me for hours that night in our hotel room, even after I got out a pad of paper and started making it real. Thanks for the ride! —Devon

  Devon, it’s been marvellous writing with you, and thank you for listening to me at all hours of the night. —TA

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Collins English Dictionary: HarperCollins Publishers ESPN: ESPN, Inc.

  Aston Martin Vanquish: Aston Martin Lagonda Limited Twitter: Twitter, Inc.

  Facebook: Facebook, Inc.

  Harry Potter: J.K. Rowling

  Glossary

  sticky wicket

  1. (Team Sports / Cricket) a cricket pitch that is rapidly being dried by the sun after rain and is particularly conducive to spin 2. Informal— a difficult or awkward situation

  —Collins English Dictionary

  Chapter One

  The noise hit Rajan like a wave crashing over him as soon as the doors to the chauffeured car were opened. His agent, Beni Sharma, was the first to exit and the flashes from the waiting cameras lit up the interior momentarily before the photographers evidently realised that Sharma wasn’t the main attraction.

  Rajan took a breath, glad for even a moment’s respite from the badgering. He needed a break. He’d been filming non-stop for close to a year, and the exhaustion had finally caught up with him. He’d lost nearly ten kilos for his last role, since they’d needed a lot of beach shots and required even more muscle definition than his natural weight allowed for.

  Starvation and intense workouts had cut his physique, but had left his already low reserves seriously depleted.

  Sharma, however, refused to hear him when he spoke about needing some time off, and had been trying for days to get him to commit to yet another ‘must-do’ project. And he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  Rajan received a not-so-gentle nudge to the shoulder.

  “Are you ever going to get out? Wait…how do I look?”

  He turned back to look at his girlfriend Karishma Saxena, one of the rising stars of Bollywood, according to the infatuated media. It was her premiere—he was merely her escort this evening, as he hadn’t been in this production.

  He obediently ran his gaze over her, from head to…well…cleavage.

  “How does that dress even stay up?” he asked. It was gold and sparkly and looked as though, with any sudden move, gravity would make sure she had front page coverage in all the wrong kinds of magazines.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Double-sided tape and wishful thinking. Now, seriously…”

  “You look beautiful, as always,” he answered honestly. It wasn’t her fault he wanted to be anywhere but here. Anywhere far away from the madness waiting outside the door.

  He turned back to the open door and began to step out. As he did, he could tell the moment they recognised him.

  “Rajan! Rajan Malik! Are you with Karishma?”

  “Rajan! Look this way!”

  He pasted a smile on and straightened. This time the flashes were almost blinding. He immediately turned to reach out to Karishma, assisting her to step out onto the red carpet, then offering his arm as they faced the wall of cameras and shouting reporters.

  The usual questions were called out—asking about their next projects, who they were wearing, and the latest favourite…

  “When is the wedding?”

  Beni Sharma represented both Raj and Karishma and, after allowing a minute or so of photographs, he moved into the tableau and posed next to them.

  “Now, now,” he pandered. “These two won’t have time for a wedding until after they wrap up filming on the new movie they’re co-starring in.”

  It took all the professionalism Rajan had to maintain his smile in the face of that deliberate bombshell. Fed up and about ready to create a scene, he put himself and Karishma in motion, walking slowly away from the car—and Sharma—along the red carpet leading towards the suburban Mumbai studio where the premiere was being held. He paused, as was expected, just under the awning, in front of the logoed background for more photographs. This is where Karishma and he would wait for her co-star for this film to arrive for even more pictures. As pissed off as he was at that moment, Rajan just didn’t have it in him to buck tradition, though he wished he had t
he balls to just keep walking into the studio and find a quiet corner somewhere.

  Maybe even watch the movie.

  Rajan let Karishma subtly arrange them so he was standing slightly behind her. He knew his black suit with silver stripes and black shirt and tie would set off her gold and bright pink gown. They’d practised the pose they’d been coached on in front of the mirror after being dressed earlier. Seemed like almost every detail of his life was planned by someone else.

  How the hell am I going to get out of this now?

  Did he really even have a choice but to make the movie? Sharma had basically announced his participation, which would be faithfully reported to millions of people, including the principles of the studio. And they were determined to get him on board. He and Karishma had somehow become the couple to watch in Bollywood. So much so that the studio had booted the originally cast male lead last week under some contrived circumstances then had demanded, through Beni, to sign Rajan as his replacement.

  It meant huge publicity…and a huge payoff. The contract he’d been offered was enough to stun him. He’d finally made it to the A-list with this one.

  He blinked, and it took some effort to reopen his eyelids all the way.

  Yeah, a fat lot of good that’ll do you if you’re dead from exhaustion.

  There had been another movie he’d been interested in that wouldn’t have started pre-production until two months from now. That would have been perfect. Some recovery time, a holiday somewhere quiet. Learning his lines and choreography slowly, methodically.

  Maybe even get to a cricket match this year…

  Ajay…

  Rajan forced the thought of his…friend from university away, as he did every time his brain relaxed its guard enough to let the memory slip in, every time he saw a cricket field with men wearing the traditional white.

  Every time he made love to a woman and instead wished for a hard, demanding male form against him…

  “What the hell is wrong with you tonight?” Karishma whispered harshly in his ear, though he knew it would look to observers as though she was sharing a tender moment with him. “Pull your head out your arse and fucking smile. You’re an actor, so act like you want to be here with me.”

  Just get through tonight. Well, tonight, and shooting the bloody film. Then maybe you can have a break.

  Following direction as well as he always did, Rajan smiled.

  * * * *

  Ajay clicked on the last newspaper he was planning on reading that morning. He’d checked all the cricket scores, and stopped by one of the ESPN channels to see what their commentators had to say about the matches. He snorted to himself as he poured another cup of tea. Why did he bother with them? Most of them were American, and had no real concept of how cricket was played, or what made it so exciting.

  He mostly used the sports network to catch up on scores from other sports he followed.

  He tried to get an overview of everything, but always made sure to check the football—or, as the Americans called it, soccer—scores.

  As he sipped his tea, he scanned the headlines, and one caught his eye. ‘Bollywood heartthrob scheduled to start new movie next month’. Ajay scrolled to the photo below, and shook his head when he saw who it was.

  “Oh, Rajan, you bloody bastard,” Ajay said softly.

  Rajan Malik was one of Bollywood’s premiere actors, and an old university friend of Ajay’s. Though they’d parted more like enemies, Ajay had kept track of Rajan as the man’s career skyrocketed. He’d always known Rajan would go far, but he’d been worried from the beginning that Rajan was too easy-going, and people would take advantage of him.

  Studying the picture, Ajay sighed. Rajan looked tired, and his smile was strained like he was forcing himself to look happy. Rajan was obviously running himself into the ground, and it was probably at the behest of his manager. Ajay had never liked Sharma, thinking he was too oily and sneaky to look out for Rajan’s best interests.

  “Do you know Rajan Malik?”

  Ajay glanced up to see Neel Malhotra standing in the doorway of Ajay’s study. Ajay frowned.

  “Did you knock?”

  Neel laughed as he propped his hip against the doorframe and folded his arms. “No.

  You gave me a key last time you went on holiday, remember?”

  “I didn’t take that back? That was my mistake.” He gestured to the teapot and a cup.

  “You may have some tea, if you wish.”

  He watched as Neel strolled across the room towards the table where the tray was. Neel poured some tea, then added milk. Ajay refreshed his before answering Neel’s original question.

  “Rajan and I knew each other at university. At one time we were friends, but circumstances changed and we didn’t part that way.” Ajay had always regretted his actions that night, and how they had lost him a good friend.

  Neel snorted. “Did you lose your temper about something, Ajay? That wouldn’t be like you at all.”

  Ajay glared at his friend. “Sarcasm isn’t a good personality trait to cultivate, Neel Malhotra. You’ll be hard pressed to find a good girl with that kind of attitude.”

  “You sound like my mother. She is always pushing me to find a good woman and get married. I keep telling her that I don’t have time for a wife. I’m always travelling. What kind of marriage would that be?” Neel threw his hands in the air in a perfect imitation of his mother.

  Ajay liked Neel’s mother and father. Mostly because, though they were painfully uncomfortable with Ajay’s sexuality, they’d never told their son not to be friends with him.

  At least, Neel had never told him they did. The Malhotras had welcomed Ajay into their home from the moment Neel and he had become members of the same cricket team.

  Having been on his own most of his life, Ajay often envied his fellow teammates with families who cared about them.

  “Your mother is a good woman who cares about her youngest son. You are the only one of her children not married, and she worries about you.” Ajay smirked. “Are you ever going to tell them that you would rather find a nice boy to settle down with instead of a girl?”

  He ducked the sugar cube Neel threw at him.

  “Mr Singh, breakfast is ready.” His housekeeper, Mrs Mehra, spoke from where she stood in the doorway.

  “Thank you. Neel, you are welcome to join me. I have no idea why I’m bothering to ask since you are here, and you are no doubt hungry.”

  “Your housekeeper is the best cook I know, aside from my mother, of course.”

  Neel threw his arm around Ajay’s shoulders, and they walked through the house to the breakfast area. Ajay sank to his knees on the beautiful rug where Mrs Mehra had sat the food. After he said a short prayer, Ajay motioned to the feast.

  “Eat, Neel. She always makes more than I can possibly consume on my own.” Ajay wasn’t complaining because he knew Mrs Mehra took the leftovers home with her to feed some of the other families where she lived.

  He paid his housekeeper excellent wages since she was good at her job, and he could trust her to keep her mouth shut about his personal life. As one of the few openly gay cricket players in the sport, Ajay found himself under a lot of scrutiny from time to time. Yet many of those who were as wealthy as he was treated their servants like slaves, and only gave them the bare minimum to survive on.

  Ajay refused to be that kind of person. He believed in karma, and what one gave was what one received in life. While he might have a temper, and fly off the handle easily, he always tried not to treat people poorly because in his next life, he might come back as someone like them.

  Mrs Mehra’s preparation of his meal made each bite perfection, and Ajay made a mental note to give her a raise when her yearly review came around. He made good money as a cricket player, plus the endorsement his agent had negotiated for him ensured he wasn’t suffering for monetary security. It wouldn’t hurt for him to share the wealth.

  “Are you going to tell your parents that you would prefer
a man instead of a woman?”

  he asked his question again, wondering if Neel would answer it this time.

  Neel shrugged, fixing his gaze on the naan he was shredding. “I don’t have the courage you do, Ajay. The thought of disappointing my parents makes my heart ache. And they would be so very upset, sure they’d done something wrong to make me the way I am.”

  Ajay nodded, understanding what Neel was saying. “My courage comes from the fact that I have no family. There is no one to be disappointed in me if I do not marry and have children. Having no one doesn’t mean I am courageous when I speak about my sexuality. It simply means I can take risks, and do things that will not mar the reputation of others.”

  He took a drink of the chai Mrs Mehra had brewed for him. Ajay thought about the argument he and Rajan had had, that had broken up their friendship. It had been about Ajay’s decision to come out, and tell his teammates and the world that he was gay.

  Rajan had been against it, telling Ajay he shouldn’t risk the fallout from it. His friend had tried to explain that the risk wasn’t worth the reward in the end, but Ajay hadn’t been able to live with the secrets anymore. He couldn’t deal with having to pretend to be someone he wasn’t.

  Yet even though Ajay knew about Rajan, he’d never once tried to force Rajan into coming out. The scrutiny wasn’t for everyone, and like Neel, Rajan had family who would’ve been upset at Rajan’s words. Ajay didn’t think less of Rajan for his choice to stay silent. It just wasn’t for Ajay.

  “I saw you looking at that picture of Rajan. Is he gay? Did you two ever do it?” Neel shot him a sly smile.

  “His story isn’t mine to tell, Neel. Just as yours wouldn’t be either. I was merely catching up on what was going on in his life.” Ajay wasn’t lying, just not telling Neel the whole truth.