Code red, p.13
Code Red, page 13
“Got yourself some fans, I see,” Steve said.
“This is absurd,” I replied. “I was just grabbing some coffee. I’ve done this a thousand times.”
“We had to push through them.” Robbie reassessed the view out the front. “Now they’re blocking the sidewalk.”
Once the order was done, it took Steve and Robbie to get me through the swarm of photographers. It didn’t help that I had my hands full with two cup carriers, but this was ridiculous.
They called my name, “Roscoe, Roscoe, Roscoe,” trying to get me to look at them, but like Maddox would do, I kept my head down and watched where I put my feet. They yelled questions about Maddox, about me, about the interviews yesterday, what Maddox had said, and what the band was doing for the final LA concert tonight. I ignored it all and followed Steve into the hotel lobby as Robbie followed close behind.
Hotel security kept the photographers and reporters out of the hotel, and the silence and room to move was very welcome. I didn’t speak until we were alone in the elevator. “Thanks, guys.”
“No problem,” Steve replied.
“How the boys deal with that shit on the regular is beyond me,” I grumbled.
“You deal with it too, right alongside them,” Robbie said.
“But that’s aimed at them, not me.”
“Hmm,” Steve said. “Might have to look at getting a runner to do your errands. Next stop is Vegas, and it’s not gonna be much different than here.”
I gave a nod as the elevator doors opened and we got out on our floor. I took the drinks to the common room where breakfast was being set up. Amber was there helping, and Ryan came in ten seconds later, and as I handed them their drinks, I told them both about the welcoming committee I had outside.
“The reaction to Maddox’s interview has been interesting,” Amber said.
Before I could reply—that I had no clue what she was talking about—the doors opened and Luke, Blake, Wes, and Jeremy walked in. I didn’t make eye contact with Jeremy, still not prepared to face the wearing-Maddox’s-shirt conversation. “Iced coffee, boys.”
And before anyone could ask where Maddox was, he came in. Showered, hair wet, smiling. He went straight for his iced coffee and turned to give me a nod. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied, making the quickest eye contact before looking away. Jeremy was watching, but he was focused more on Maddox than on me, thankfully. I took my drink and sat on the couch and went through the usual social media sites to see what Amber was referring to.
And yes, it was interesting indeed.
Not only were the fans supportive of Maddox saying their private lives were private and that they gave enough of themselves without it being used as a weapon against them for a quick headline, but other celebrities were speaking up too.
A lot of them.
Big names, famous people. Singers, actors, sports stars were all speaking up in support.
“Someone’s trauma isn’t a headline” was used a lot.
Wow.
Even Ambrose was happy with this turn in narrative, and Platinum Entertainment released a formal statement saying they supported Atrous and all other artists, jumping on the bandwagon to claim even celebrities had the right to be treated with respect.
Kinda hypocritical of a company that made many millions of dollars exploiting them, but whatever.
The boys had dance rehearsals all morning and we headed to the stadium early. They had to redo soundchecks and other stage checks, and I was looking forward to the car ride with Maddox.
Only Jeremy climbed in our van at the last minute.
“Is this okay?” he asked, looking at me.
“Yeah, absolutely,” I answered, pretending not to care either way.
Maddox shoved him and laughed, but he could hardly say no, not when Jeremy was already climbing into the van. Maddox gave me a quick glance of frustration but followed Jeremy into the backseat. I took the seat near the door and did my best to damp down my disappointment.
It was a good reminder that I had a job to do and that Maddox’s needs—and all the boys’ needs—were my first priority. If Jeremy wanted to join us, he could.
I just wasn’t looking forward to the possible interrogation I was certain was coming. I waited and waited for him to ask about me wearing Maddox’s shirt, but he never did. They talked and laughed, talked more bullshit, and laughed some more. Their conversation eventually came around to the new attention on social media as they scrolled through hashtags, reading comments and articles.
Maddox seemed . . . happy.
I replied to emails and messages, confirmed dates and locations, and sent copies to both Amber and Ryan’s calendars. Just the usual daily stuff.
Until Maddox’s phone appeared in front of my face as he dangled himself over the back of my chair. “What’s this?”
The photo must have been taken this morning at the coffee shop. “Uh, that was this morning,” I replied.
“It says you went in there alone but must have called security because you were escorted out,” Maddox continued.
“Yeah, I had to call Steve and Robbie to come down to get me.”
“Christ, Roscoe. You should have told me.”
I switched my phone off and turned in my seat so I could see them both better. Maddox mostly. “I haven’t had a minute with you,” I replied. “When was I supposed to tell you?”
Maddox glared at me, then cast his eyes to the front of the van. “Steve?”
“Yes,” Steve said, turning to look at us. “What’s up?”
Maddox’s jaw bulged. “Can you put a guy with Roscoe, please.”
Steve glanced at me, then back to Maddox. “When?”
“All the time. Whenever he’s in public.”
I did my best not to roll my eyes or sigh. “Maddox, that’s not necessary. It was no big deal, honestly. It’s just that I had my hands full and—”
Ignoring me, Maddox looked around me to Steve. “Can you organize that or do I need to run it by Ambrose?”
Steve gave a nod and glanced at me before he turned back around to face the front. “I got it.”
I sighed out loud this time but decided there wasn’t any point in arguing.
Jeremy was scrolling through his phone. He was either oblivious to Maddox’s what the fuck glare at me, or he chose to pretend not to notice. “That’s actually a good photo,” Jeremy said, turning his phone around to show me first, then Maddox. Then he laughed. “Oh my god, the headline. Sexy Roscoe: herding cats pays off.” He chuckled as he read some more. “Uh, this article is pretty much all about your shoulders and biceps.” He read on. “Oh, and your ass.” He showed us the screen again. It was actually a photo zoomed in on my ass.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Maddox snatched his phone and scrolled. “Hmm,” he said, turning the phone sideways. “Well, they’re not wrong.”
I turned back to face the front. “Let me know if they decide to write anything worthwhile.”
I ignored their chatter for a while and they were busy doing whatever on their phones, and soon enough we were at the stadium. They went straight into stage rehearsals and sound checks, while Amber, Ryan, and I spent our time in meetings with Ambrose going over our departure from LA to Vegas. We had two shows in Vegas, then one in San Francisco, one in Seattle, onto a single concert in Vancouver.
LA was busy with interviews and photoshoots, alongside three sold-out concerts, but we had a reprieve from interviews and other public appearances until one in Seattle and two in Vancouver. It was a relief, for me at least.
It would be a few days off from public scrutiny. Traveling was no picnic either, but at least there might be a day or two where Maddox wasn’t a headline. Or me, for that matter.
I never got a spare minute with Maddox all afternoon. Not alone, anyway. There was always someone around: one of the boys, caterers, wardrobe, make-up, sound techs. But I caught him looking my way a few times, and he’d smile or smirk, maybe raise his eyebrow a little. It was like he was flirting without even trying.
And when they were on stage for the concert, we watched the live feed in the dressing room. The crowd was pumping, the mood in the stadium electric, and despite the warm night, the boys gave it everything they had. A hundred people ran tirelessly behind the scenes, yet I couldn’t take my eyes off Maddox.
I’d seen him sing those songs dozens of times, from writing the lyrics to getting the melodies right, to studio recording and vocal practices. I’d seen every dance move so many times I could probably do the choreography in my sleep.
But watching him tonight was different.
In those pants and the way his sweaty shirt clung to his chest, I knew that body. His damp hair reminded me of him in the shower, when we’d been naked together. The way the veins protruded down his neck when he sang, the same way they did when he came.
I knew him differently now. And watching him on stage singing to eighty-something thousand people, all eyes on him, captivating them, enamoring them. They called his name, they sang his songs back to him, they chanted and cried.
They wanted him.
It was intoxicating to think he wanted me and that it was me who had been in bed with him last night.
It was hard to concentrate on much else.
When they came off stage for the last time that night, they were all exhausted, dripping with sweat but smiling.
We did our best to get them changed out of their stage gear, fed and hydrated, and they just about collapsed onto the couches in the dressing room. Though Maddox was dressed quicker than anyone else, which wasn’t like him. We were normally the last to leave, but not tonight.
“See you guys back at the hotel,” he said, then nodded to me and the door to leave.
Okay then.
We climbed into our van and had to wait a second for our driver and security detail. It was half a minute, tops. But Maddox wasted no time. He was sprawled on the seat, tired, sweaty, his legs spread wide, his hands resting on his crotch. His jeans bulged in a way that was sexy as hell. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I let out a slow breath. We were alone so I could say what I wanted. “Because you’re sex on a plate right now.”
He chuckled and arched his back deliberately and ran his hand over his taut belly. “Mm, sex on a plate. Would prefer a bed or being bent over the back of the couch, but if you want to try a plate . . .”
I bit back a groan. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
He met my gaze and didn’t look away for a long time. “I missed you today.”
“Missed me?”
“Yeah. You were gone from my bed this morning. Again. And then Jeremy rode in the car with us on the way here. I like it when it’s just us.”
The driver got in and so did Robbie. Steve would no doubt be staying behind to make sure everything and everyone left safely.
I spoke quieter now so only Maddox could hear me. “Jeremy saw me last night. Wearing your shirt.”
“So?”
“So he knew it was your shirt. He knew.”
Maddox sat up and leaned against me, his head on my shoulder. “I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“He won’t care.”
“Pretty sure that’s why he rode with us today. I’m surprised he didn’t say something.” I shrugged. “He probably had every intention of riding with us tonight but you beat him to it.”
“It’s why I was ready first.”
“Maddox—”
“Do you regret what we did?”
His direct question surprised me and he no doubt felt me freeze. “No. I don’t. Do you?”
“Hell no.” He put his hand on my thigh, now dangerously close to my crotch, so I covered his hand with mine to stop him from trying anything.
Then I decided to be completely honest with him. “I tried to regret it. I tried to convince myself that it should probably be just a one-time thing and we should keep this professional and not jeopardize anything, but that was the quickest ten-second thought I’ve ever had. I just can’t . . . I don’t want to stop,” I whispered. “And even if I did want to, I’m still not sure I could.”
He raised his head off my shoulder to look me in the eye, his face impossibly close. “I don’t want to stop either,” he murmured. Then he put his head back to my shoulder, snuggling in a little. “I like sitting with you like this. I’ve been alone for a long time. I got so used to the loneliness I forgot what it was like. To be with someone. To sit with someone and hold hands.”
I squeezed his hand and risked a kiss to the top of his head, and we rode in comfortable silence back to the hotel. Robbie escorted us inside and into the elevator, and when Maddox put his head back on my shoulder and closed his eyes, Robbie smiled at us. “You gotta be beat, huh?” he said to Maddox. “The show tonight was jumping.”
Maddox straightened, his eyes barely open, and he nodded. “Yeah, tonight was good, but I need some sleep.”
“Did you have enough to eat?” I asked him. “I can order you something else if you want.”
He shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”
The doors opened to our floor and Robbie held the door. “I’ll head back down and wait for the others. You guys okay?”
“Yeah, we’re good. Thanks,” I replied, and we stepped out into the empty corridor. The doors closed and we were finally alone.
“We are so good,” Maddox said, his voice hoarse. It wasn’t a sore throat, it was his tired voice. He began walking toward his room. “But we’re about to be a whole lot better.”
“Uh, the others’ll be here in about five minutes,” I said.
He swiped his key and held his door open. “Then you better make it a very good five minutes, Mr. Hall.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed and went inside. “Sure thing, Mr. Kershaw.”
He chuckled as he followed me in and I turned and pulled him close. I slid my hands over his back and shoulders, down to his ass. “I’m all sweaty,” he murmured.
“I don’t mind,” I replied, then I kissed him anyway. His hands found my face and we stood right there in his hotel room, kissing, for what must have been a few minutes. I wanted to do it for longer. All night if I could. With no push for anything more than to kiss him until he forgot his own name.
When I ended the kiss, it took him a few seconds to focus. He had a dopey smile on his face; he was kiss-drunk. I swiped my thumb across his bottom lip. It was plump and wet. “I could kiss you all night,” I whispered.
“You should. All night. I want you to. Just like that, all night long.”
I cupped his jaw, his long earrings at my fingertips. “The others will be here any second. We should go.”
“I’m not staying long. I’m tired as hell.”
He could barely keep his eyelids open as it was. It was cute, but he really needed to sleep. “I can tell.”
He searched my eyes. “I want you to stay with me tonight. All night.”
“Maddox,” I breathed. “I wish I could.”
“But?”
“But . . .” My job, his work, the band, his reputation, my reputation, the company, the fans. “Everything.”
He pouted. “Come back for a little while. I’ll leave the room early. You stay for another five or ten so no one thinks twice. By the time you get here, I’ll be showered and not so gross. Though you didn’t seem to mind it just now.”
I chuckled. “You being all sweaty is the opposite of gross, just so you know.”
“How about I get the concert sweat off me, then you make me a different kind of sweaty later on.”
I laughed, then smacked another kiss on his perfect lips. “I’ll leave when no one suspects anything.”
So that’s what we did.
We made our way to the common room, and just a few seconds later the others arrived. It was mostly a quick congratulations on a successful concert and a run-through of what was happening tomorrow with us moving onto Vegas.
True to his word, when the business side of it was all done, he stood up. “Thank you to everyone for a successful opening,” he said, nodding to the crew that was there. “And you four dickwads,” he joked to Jeremy, Wes, Luke, and Blake. “Love you all, but I’m so freaking tired. I gotta crash.”
He left with a final wave, and Amber’s gaze cut to mine. Was she expecting Maddox to ask to speak to me again, for us to leave together again, or was it something else? I pretended not to notice and I stayed for another long, drawn-out fifteen minutes. Other staff called it a night before me, so it wasn’t like it was obvious, but when I knocked quietly on Maddox’s door, he opened it, pulled me inside, and quickly closed it behind me. He leaned his back against the door, pouting. “Thought you stood me up.”
He was wearing lounge pants and a baggy gray T-shirt. His hair was wet, freshly showered. He’d taken his earrings out, though he still looked gorgeous, of course, but he was clearly tired. “You need some sleep.”
He smirked and pushed off the door, putting his hand on my waist. “Wrong word choice. I need to be taken to bed, yes. Not to sleep.”
He leaned his forehead on my chest and sighed, so I pulled him in for a hug. He fell into me willingly and was heavy in my arms. “You need to be taken to bed,” I murmured against the side of his head.
He chuckled. “You’re a quick learner.”
I led him toward the bed and pushed him onto the mattress. I pulled off my boots and followed him, quickly pulling him back into my arms. I kissed him softly, sweetly, and he hummed, his eyes closed. We kissed like that for a long few minutes, never pushing for more. Just enjoying the sweetness, the intimacy.
It was easy to see he was too tired for much else, so I kissed his cheek, his closed eyelids, his forehead. I ran my fingers through his damp hair, brushing it back, and he was asleep in no time.
He used my arm as a pillow as his lips parted ever so slightly, his long eyelashes casting delicate shadows in the dim light. I traced the line of his eyebrow with my thumb. His cheekbone. His jawline.
