Adrian & Brandon: Second Chances
Read this if you want something pleasant, soothing, and not too complex. The sex is hot but definitely mainstream. Everybody’s pretty nice, there’s a feminist commentary on modern work/life that might make you think a little, and the ending is happy. It’s full of references that will satisfy my Millennial compatriots (esp parents) and those who were also listening to mid-aughts pop punk/emo rock.
Please check out excerpts from Adrian & Brandon below. I’ve included Chapters 1 and 2, as well as a spicy excerpt. I hope you enjoy!
And just in case you want to purchase the full novella already, please click the button below.
Chapter 1 – Powell’s City of Books
Adrian bit her bottom lip and shuffled back to let the other woman pass. Their bulky coats brushed against one another, a whisper of woven plastic and fake fur, loud in the cathedral of bookcases. Towering golden wood shelves cast no shadows in the diffuse fluorescent light and colorful rows of books acted as baffles, dampening the slap of winter boots. The pared-down sensory input made the room feel surreal, like a cocoon, wrapping Adrian in its hazy quiet. Powell’s was always crowded, but for some reason, this Tuesday morning, its sci-fi section was almost empty.
The desolation suited Adrian. She stared at the books she had written—mediocre prose and old ideas. The crust of a life gone stale.
With a frown, Adrian realized that she had stepped back, as far away from her books as possible. The shelf behind her jammed into her ribcage, hard enough to poke through the fluffy parka. It reminded her of earlier that morning, when her youngest son had left an open board book stuck between the couch cushions. Adrian didn’t quite bruise her ass, but that’s only because eight years spent raising three boys had given her squirrel-like reflexes. Thinking about the little rascals and how sweet they were playing together that morning before school made Adrian smile.
Unfortunately, the smile slipped away as her eyes slid to the shelf across from her and spotted a small white note, handwritten in black Sharpie, lettering cramped and stylized to reflect the reviewer’s personality as much as the author’s. One of the staff had penned a review of Adrian’s first novel, Revenge of an Exoflower, a sci-fi romance.At a glance, she could see that the little laminated note card was flattering, but she still couldn’t bring herself to read it. She was somewhat surprised to realize that it was apathy, not anxiety, diverting her gaze. Did all of that work mean so little to her? Tens of thousands of hours, probably.
It does. It means nothing. Except for money, maybe.
She couldn’t even sigh.
“Hello.”
Adrian jumped—a little teleportation that scooted her back and banged her elbow. It was a zinger, but fear extinguished the pain almost immediately. She hadn’t expected to speak with anyone this morning.
“Are you Adrian Campos?” the man said, stopping a few feet away from her. He had a nice voice, clear and smooth, probably a baritone.
Adrian was mortified, caught in a scandalous act of narcissism, reviewing her own works in a bookstore. She wished she could melt into the shelves and disappear like one of her characters. If only imagination had such power.
“Um, hi,” Adrian squeaked. Her own weak voice shook her, and she took a quick breath. Her mind skipped desperately to the most pertinent question, which was how to get away quickly and without bursting into tears. She realized that, however regrettably, she was here, unable to disapparate, standing in front of her mediocre opus, and she was an author. It was her profession. She could be professional. Especially because the man knew her, and therefore had to be a fan of her work.
Adrian painted on a gracious smile and shook out her elbow. “Sorry. It’s nice to meet you. Would you like me to sign a book?”
“Maybe.” There was a touch of humor in his voice.
The answer confused Adrian enough that she stopped averting her eyes, stopped hiding quite so deeply in her parka.
The man before her was late thirties, gym fit, a head taller than she was, wearing a black ski jacket, wool slacks, and thick-soled Chelsea boots. A mop of curly brown hair threaded with silver framed a handsome face with a square jaw, bright blue eyes, and the shadow of stubble. His mouth was twisted, halfway between a genuine smile and some kind of smirk. He was fiddling with his phone, flipping it absently as he studied her. Adrian felt some of her normal confidence return as she pegged him for what he probably was, an annoying tech entrepreneur.
But she realized too late that meeting his stare was a mistake. His dark blue eyes glowed, pulling Adrian deep into his gaze. The moment was powerful and intimate, without a solid reason. Adrian managed to keep breathing, but it was shallow, caught up in a shiver that ran from her neck to her thighs. Her belly felt hollow, aching for something. For touch. She thought about the sex scenes in her books, and how he must have read them like everyone else. She never considered them to be personal, just works of art and entertainment. Read them and have a nice night, friend. But now she imagined this man, sitting in some ridiculous glass-walled office overlooking the Pearl, scrolling his phone, reading her stories. Thinking about her.
Adrian regained focus a moment before her breathless expression became truly awkward. “Well, um, then, you can let me know,” she replied, her voice lower than intended.
He slid the phone into his pocket and sighed, almost a commiseration. “I’m sorry your event tonight was cancelled.”
Adrian’s mouth tightened. “Just postponed. It happens. We’ll send out a new date shortly. Your ticket will still be honored.”
“Thank goodness,” he replied, flashing a grin. Adrian couldn’t quite tell if he was being sarcastic or sincere.
Either way, she didn’t appreciate the reminder of how much a disaster she was. She’d called the events manager yesterday in tears, unable to imagine how she would perform for a crowd of hundreds. The manager had been kind and reassuring, suggesting an alternate date. Then Adrian had to call the nonprofit scheduled to occupy her fundraising table. She’d cried even more, but this time her counterpart was a therapist who specialized in suicidality. By the end of the day, Adrian’s faith in humanity was shining, but her self-confidence couldn’t have been lower. It had been over two years since Robbie killed himself—overdosed, on purpose, with a lengthy note laying the blame on her—and she still hadn’t been able to appear in public. Portland was supposed to be her first book event, a homecoming after moving back at Christmas. Adrian had thought it would be ok, that she would be ready. But she couldn’t handle it.
“I’m Brandon,” the man said, stepping forward and offering his hand.
Adrian shook it, glad that she hadn’t removed her gloves. Slipping her hands into her pockets, she stepped back. “I’ve got to get going. Sure you don’t want an autograph?”
Brandon matched her nonchalance. “No thanks. I actually have a couple of signed copies, from an event a few years ago. Although I was looking forward to meeting you tonight. Would you let me buy you a coffee instead?”
An electric thrill raced down Adrian’s spine. She wasn’t sure if it was attraction or fear, given the letters she had received over the past few weeks. Writers like her always had some crazy fans. Throughout her career, a handful had even become obsessed enough to cross the line into stalking. At a glance, Brandon didn’t seem to fit the pattern of her previous stalkers, but you never knew. Adrian masked her discomfort by shrugging, regretful but not very, and just a bit performative.
“No thanks.” She kept her voice flippant, as if his invitation meant nothing. The act was designed to provoke him a little, to test his ego.
Brandon shrugged. “Take my card. In case you change your mind.”
Adrian found herself complying, silently accepting the paper without looking up. Brandon’s hands were calloused and covered with scars, a couple only recently healed. Yard work or building? Or maybe martial arts?
As she turned to leave, Adrian flicked her gaze up for half a second. Brandon was smiling at her, genuinely, with crow’s feet radiating out to his temples.
“It was nice to meet you,” he said.
Adrian nodded. She felt unsteady, but an undercurrent of annoyance was welling up, eclipsing both desire and anxiety. This time her nod was firmer and more confident. She walked away.
Adrian knew Brandon was watching, and it irritated her even more. She hurried past the bookshelves, registers, and gifts, avoiding the tourists and finally escaping out into the cold. As she walked down Burnside, appreciating the fresh air and crowded streets, she pulled out Brandon’s business card and started laughing.
Brandon Endicott
PrecisionMed Robotics
CEO & Cofounder
So her writer’s intuition was correct. She tossed the business card into a recycle bin.
Chapter 2 – Downtown Portland
Brandon had taken the day off work. A few years ago, his PCP diagnosed him with high blood pressure and low testosterone. It was a surprise because he worked out regularly, ate with discipline, and never slept less than six hours a night, despite working close to ninety hours a week. But stress was brutal and apparently his body couldn’t handle the burden of running such a fast-growing start-up. His doctor had recommended TRT and low‐dose thiazides, with an optional chaser of Adderall or Wellbutrin. Brandon almost couldn’t believe it, although a number of his friends had had similar experiences. Following instinct, he refused the meds and booked two weeks at Sensei Lanai. It wasn’t his scene, but it did give him some space for reflection and meditation. He decided that he wasn’t going to give up his company or do anything drastic, but he would make small, thoughtful changes to his lifestyle and mindset. He would work harder to maintain a better work/life balance.
So Brandon took up jiu-jitsu and indoor gardening. After spending a week at Kripalu, he downloaded a meditation app and worked it into his morning routine. He started booking alone time into his calendar at lunch every day, using the hour to walk and ponder, considering strategic decisions or other important updates. Every couple of months, he gave himself a full day off work. On those days, he’d usually try to de-stress through some interesting activity, like going to a museum or hiking. Dyl and Roan, his cofounders, supported the shift in lifestyle, and their business hadn’t suffered. If anything, he was more present and made better choices.
In hindsight, the stress should have been no surprise. The past few years had been explosive. They had raised another round of capital and opened a factory in Northeast Portland, increasing their capacity by orders of magnitude. They also expanded their product line, both adding new features and instruments to their existing general-purpose surgical robot and launching a smaller version that was designed specifically for heart surgery. AI was a game-changer, though, and Brandon wasn’t sure if they were best placed to take advantage of it. Everyone agreed that PMR software could benefit from an LLM-related overhaul, but doing it well would probably mean raising another round of funding in the next couple of years. That was a risk as well as a commitment, which meant they should consider it along with the alternatives, like an outright sale or some kind of acquihire deal.
That morning, Brandon had intended to contemplate the future while wandering around downtown Portland, smoking a little weed and hitting Lovejoy Bakers, maybe calling his mom for advice. But he’d gotten the email notification that Adrian’s event was cancelled, and somehow his feet carried him along to Powell’s.
Even bathed in fluorescent light and half-hidden by a furry collar, Adrian’s face was beautiful, in a classic Southern California way. She was half-Mexican, half-white, with caramel skin, high cheekbones, and big, dark eyes. Her hair looked wild, in a messy bun that slipped to the side, with curls and wisps and bangs sprouting everywhere. It looked like she’d just had sex, then come to Powell’s for coffee. Brandon had a strong urge—the urge to be the man that made her look like that. Tousled. Relaxed.
Except she hadn’t been relaxed. She looked unhappy, shrinking into her Canada Goose parka and staring intently at a row of her own books. Brandon hadn’t planned to approach her, but something deep inside had compelled him. Up close, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes and how pale her skin was. It made him want to cheer her up, or at least comfort her. Adrian was still lovely, but she reminded him of a shadow, an echo of the mental image he’d built up over the years following her career. He’d met her once before, at a corporate event five or six years ago. Her public persona was playful and snarky, a sexy pothead, never truly mean but incapable of letting fools go without being razzed a bit. It fit with her books, and he’d always thought it was exaggerated but still authentic. Yet, today, she had looked exhausted. That was part of the reason why Brandon hadn’t pushed her further when Adrian said she had to leave. She was clearly uncomfortable.
Brandon also hadn’t been surprised when Adrian turned him down for a date. He had been obligated to try, though, given how attractive he found her. Her reaction was hard to read, since he sensed that she was deliberately hiding her emotions. But even if she wasn’t interested, Brandon was hoping she’d take his attention as a compliment, and it would make her smile.
He paused, wondering if such flattery was actually sexual harassment. He’d have to bring up the hypothetical the next time he saw his sister. She was always good at elucidating the female perspective, even if she gave him a hard time about it. It was also possible that his desire to compliment Adrian was just narcissism, a projection of his own desires that had nothing to do with her actual reaction. Brandon sighed. He could thank microdosing for insights like that. Although he’d only done it for a couple of years, it was enough to ruin his peace sometimes. It also ruined his last relationship. However, one could argue that most of his prior relationships had been ruined by a lack of introspection, so perhaps some self-criticism was useful.
The reality, though, was that Brandon had never found a partner who interested him more than work. He loved his company. He’d been to Davos and spoken at TED. He’d partied with celebrities and enjoyed a wasted threesome with two models at Burning Man. He’d always had a girlfriend, but he’d never considered his relationships to be particularly serious. Roan said he didn’t know what he was missing and Dyl said he was a genius. Brandon had concluded that, as he hurtled down the straightaway towards forty, he might never have a family. He regretted that, just not quite enough to change his behavior. He was an uncle and a godfather, which meant he got invited to plenty of birthday parties.
After Adrian left Powell’s, Brandon bought himself a coffee and walked to Joe Jitsu. The gym was a few blocks away from PMR’s Pearl Office, located in a converted warehouse down the street from a brewery. He could still make the 11:30 a.m. class, assuming the gym clothes he’d left in his locker weren’t too stale.
As he walked, Brandon further considered his encounter with Adrian, and why she had attracted him so fiercely. He had been a fan of hers since the beginning of her career. Her most acclaimed works were near-future dystopian novels, exploring the effects of global warming and political extremism. But she also wrote sci-fi romance, featuring some very smutty scenes, and a series of swashbuckling adventure novels set in a Star Wars-like universe. To be honest, Brandon didn’t love everything Adrian did, but he did respect her. She seemed to take her craft seriously, although some of her popularity was probably just because she was hot.
Like many people, Brandon was obsessed with sex. It wasn’t until his thirties that he realized he tended to date slightly wilder, more dramatic women because they were better in bed. It wasn’t only that, though. Ever since he was a child, he craved excitement and enjoyed taking risks along with working hard. It’s why he liked hiking and rock climbing, and why he was comfortable with the risk of founding a company that built technically difficult products. With her quirky ideas and wicked humor, Adrian fit squarely within his preferences. He even liked that she had kids, thinking that their chaos was often just as entertaining as it was overwhelming.
But Brandon had to admit that his attraction to Adrian was much less intellectual than physical. He remembered her wide dark eyes, framed by long lashes, peeking out at him from beneath her bangs. He could still remember her perfume, floral and exotic, forever encoded somewhere deep in his brain. He wished he could have smelled her neck, and kissed her soft skin. The desire was so strong that he had to stop himself from seeking her out, from trying to seduce her. Brandon was pumped, jittery and unfocused. Burning off some steam at the gym seemed like a good idea.
Joe Jitsu was recently renovated, bright and clean, with a glass front and red I-beams crossing the high white ceilings, making the gym seem spacious despite its relatively small size. Dark dark grey sparring mats edged in red covered the floor, except for a small weightlifting area in the back, which included a squat rack and bench, free weights, and a set of punching bags.
Dyl was on the mat stretching when Brandon arrived. He was almost as tall as Brandon but heavier, his cheeks permanently ruddy, his dirty blonde hair cropped short. He was wearing red Lululemon shorts and matching Nike trainers. Dyl fell into step behind his cofounder and continued his warmup in the locker room.
“I thought you were off today,” Dyl said, crossing his legs and bending into a glute stretch. “Fuuuuuck,” he groaned. “I need to come. My ass is a rock.”
Brandon sniffed his gym shirt and decided it was acceptable. “Any prospects?”
“I might be able to bump up the Hinge girl. She’s not that hot, but...” Dyl shrugged. “Jenna’s still screwing me, though. She made some comment on Instagram and the girl I was seeing ghosted me.”
“You are an asshole.”
“I’m angry. She hurt me. I didn’t cheat on her—while our kid was in the house.”
Brandon squatted down to lace up his trainers. “Naw, you just worked too much. But do the ends justify the means? She’s Lula’s mother. You have to get along with her.”
“We’ll get along when she learns how to compromise. And tell the fucking truth.”
“At least once in a while.”
Dyl gave him a dead look. “You made the right decision man. The Di Caprio lifestyle is the way to go.”
“You wouldn’t want to be Clooney?”
“Di Caprio could still become Clooney.”
Brandon laughed. “Mind blown. But seriously.”
Something in Brandon’s tone made his friend regard him with new intensity. “Did you meet someone?”
“Probably not. I gotta piss.”
Dyl followed Brandon to the urinal, crossing his arms. “That means yes. From your point of view. Who is she? Do I know her?”
Brandon considered evading, but digging it out of him would obsess Dyl, and probably ruin the class. “Adrian Campos. I met her this morning at Powell’s.”
“Who is that? The sci-fi writer? With the tits?”
Brandon shook his head. Dyl was a brilliant surgeon and loyal friend, but he went too far, too often. It was kind of surprising his marriage had lasted as long as it did. Jenna having an affair was probably part of why she stuck around so long—getting stuck by some other guy, sticking it to Dyl. But Dyl was in therapy now, working on exorcising his demons even as he struggled to co-parent effectively. Brandon slapped Dyl down often enough, and this was a relatively mild insult. If Adrian were present, he would have defended her. Although if Adrian were present, she would have defended herself. Hopefully, she wouldn’t let something like that slide, even now, when her confidence seemed so low. Given the context, Brandon responded reasonably.
“She is quite pretty.”
“So what happened?”
“I asked her out, and she declined. I gave her my business card.”
Dyl snorted, kicking the door to the locker room open and following a handful of other guys to the edge of the mat. They sat down and removed their shoes, stretching informally. “So assuming she doesn’t DM you, what’s your plan?”
“I don’t know.” Brandon sighed.
“Ah, now I get why you’re here. Hit the problem with a little jiu-jitsu. Maybe follow up with some PNC. There’ve gotta be a few Adrian Campos deepfakes out there. She’s pretty banging. Maybe I’ll hit that up tonight if I can’t reschedule.”
Brandon’s anger flashed. “Don’t fucking look at her.”
The guys near them were suddenly and conspicuously very interested in their phones. Then the instructor called, rousting everyone to take their places.
Stepping onto the mat, Brandon shoulder-checked Dyl. “We’re rolling today.”
Chapter 5 – Moxy Portland Downtown (Sex Scene Excerpt)
***
As Brandon tapped the key card and pushed the door to their suite open, Adrian admired how his muscles moved, shifting underneath his jacket. He was so strong and graceful. Adrian hung her coat as the door clanged shut behind her, glancing around the suite. It was super modern, with cream-colored walls and geometric decor, done in bold colors. Adrian could appreciate the funky, trendy vibe.
She felt Brandon’s hands on her waist, sliding gently from behind, pulling her closer until she leaned against his chest. His erection pushed into her lower back, making her spine arch a little, pressing up against him harder, an unconscious response to his arousal.
“Are you okay?” he asked, kissing her hair.
“I’m good,” Adrian replied, turning around to look at him directly.
Brandon’s expression was hard to read, focused but vaguely concerned. Adrian knew she had caused that look, and felt a pang of guilt. But she didn’t want to ruin their night, so she ignored whatever negative feelings lingered and offered Brandon a smile. It was her best effort, broad and inviting, and it had the desired effect. His expression cleared as he pulled her hand to his cheek, rubbing it before kissing her palm. Adrian traced her fingers down his chest.
“I’d like to enjoy our time together,” she murmured, first looking down at his cock, then following her eyes with her hands, stroking him. Brandon flexed in response to her touch, giving Adrian a thrill. She made him hard. He wanted to be inside of her.
That thought was enough for Adrian to get on her knees, stripping off her blazer and plumping up her tits. Brandon’s fingers twisted in her hair as she unzipped his pants, tracing the line of his penis as it strained against his boxer briefs. Adrian smiled, biting her lip and meeting Brandon’s eyes. He had to be at least seven inches, hard and dense. She freed him, then pulled down his pants and underwear. Before she could take his clothing off, she had to remove his boots, which she refused to let him assist with. Undressing Brandon, caring for him like a servant, made Adrian wet.
She ran her nails down his thighs, feeling his muscles tense in response to her shivering touch. She started with delicate licks and kisses, running her thumb along the bottom of his cock, tickling his balls. Then she slammed his dick as deep into her throat as it would go—balls deep. Brandon gasped as Adrian choked and started sucking, using the saliva that now dripped down her lips to lubricate her pumping hand. She built the tension, deep-throating, sucking, moaning and gagging. She loved how his cock tasted—salty and meaty, a little bitter, with just a hint of tequila now that she’d slobbered all over him. Brandon gripped the back of her head and pumped his hips, fucking her mouth, dipping into her throat.
“Fuck, watch you take that cock. Come here, Adrian.” The way Brandon said her name made Adrian obey, made her take his hand and stand up. When her legs wobbled, he steadied her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She felt his breath hot on her neck.
“What a beautiful woman you are,” Brandon whispered, running his hands down Adrian’s back and over her ass, catching the silk of her dress and pulling it up. “Let me take this off of you.”
Brandon stripped Adrian. She shivered as the dress fell away, exposing her lacy black bra and thong, cool air prickling her bare skin. She enjoyed the look on Brandon’s face when he saw her undressed. It was something between awe and hunger, and Adrian felt the intensity of his stare, although Brandon held himself in check while unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside.
He pulled Adrian roughly against him and crushed his mouth on hers, tongue sliding between her lips. It was aggressive, but it drove Adrian wild. She threw Brandon onto the bed and unhooked her bra, slipping out of her thong as he sat up on his elbows, watching her intently. His cock stood at full mast, thick and long. Adrian’s pussy ached for him.
Adrian crawled onto the bed, straddling Brandon, plump breasts hanging and swaying as she moved, dark pink nipples hard. He grabbed her hips and lifted her up until he was sucking on her tit, circling her areola with his tongue, nibbling the little button of her nipple. Adrian gasped as Brandon pressed the palm of his hand between her thighs, fingers gently spreading her and dipping into her warm, wet pussy. Adrian’s clit zinged, pleasure spiking up through her belly.
“Fuck. Please, Brandon,” she whimpered, allowing the raw desire she felt to come through in her voice. “I need you inside of me.”
“You’re wet,” he murmured, rubbing the slick pussy juice over her lips, her clit. He drove her wild with his fingers, until she was panting, unable even to beg for what she needed, the release she craved. When Adrian was absolutely delirious, Brandon pulled her onto his cock, impaling her in one smooth motion. He was hard as stone. She screamed, her back arching, hips grinding.
“Fuck,” she moaned, rocking back so that his cock hit her g-spot. “Touch me.”
The orgasm was immediate, blooming outward from Adrian’s clit, rippling up inside, making her spasm uncontrollably. Brandon pumped his hips, fucking her hard, making the chaos of her orgasm even more extreme, more delicious.
When her body had burned through all of its pleasure, Adrian slumped forward onto Brandon’s chest, spreading her legs so that he stayed inside of her. He stroked her forehead.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he said, and Adrian could hear the smile in his voice. “I want more.”
Keeping his cock buried deep between Adrian’s thighs, Brandon shifted their positions until he was on top of her. He grabbed her hips, pulling her halfway off the bed, strong fingers digging into her ass. Brandon began pounding, fucking her so hard that she couldn’t think. All Adrian could focus on was how liquid her pussy felt, how he shattered her, how she couldn’t resist him at all. Brandon’s balls slapped against Adrian’s ass, heavy and slick. Adrian reached around her back and gripped them. With a groan, Brandon slammed his cock deep within her and held still for a moment.
Adrian purred. “I like your balls. Can I taste a little of your cum?”
“Hell yes.”
Brandon grunted and began fucking Adrian with new vigor, building to his climax. When he was a moment from release, he pulled out and Adrian flipped around to lay beneath him, lips closing over the head of his penis just as his cum came shooting out. Adrian swallowed it and pulled his hips forward, deep-throating him as he spasmed, then backing off and using her hands and lips to finish him.
Brandon hopped off of the bed and stumbled a couple of steps.
“Shit,” he said. “You rocked me.”
He returned to Adrian and lifted her, cupping her face, using his thumb to wipe a strand of semen off her chin. She licked his fingers clean, keeping her gaze locked on his, enjoying the frantic pounding of her heart.
After a moment, Adrian stretched up to kiss Brandon.
“I think I need a shower,” she said, running her hand over his abs as she brushed past him and into the bathroom. “You’re welcome to join, but give me ten minutes first?”
***