Code blue, p.6
Code Blue, page 6
“Not that it matters,” Roscoe continued. “He said no. He wants to stay here.”
Instant selfish relief flooded through me.
“And he’s not alone,” Ryan said with a grin. “He’s got Steve.”
I resisted growling. And blushing. “And Riko,” I mumbled.
“All right,” Jeremy said loudly. He was grinning at me, and Maddox was one step behind him. “This dickbag doesn’t believe I’m gonna make lunch.”
Roscoe and Ryan both turned to me, and I had to make myself not smile. “He is going to learn how to cook.”
Maddox found that hilarious, apparently. I ignored the way Roscoe was watching me and focused on how Jeremy was smiling at me on his way to the kitchen.
“Hey, get this,” Jeremy said, showing Maddox his coffee machine. “This can make iced coffee.”
“No shit, dude. Really?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he said. “How would I know that?”
“Because you have one every day.”
“People bring them to me. Do you know the last time I actually went into a Starbucks?” He looked upward, as if he was trying to recall. “I cannot remember. I think we were in high school.”
I checked the time and asked Jeremy, “Did you want to start making lunch now?”
He palmed his stomach. “Yeah, I’m hungry.”
“Have you got some crackers or something?” Ryan asked. “Juice?”
Ryan knew that Jeremy needed to eat all the time. Of course he did. He was his manager . . . It still irked me that I didn’t know until yesterday.
Jeremy went to his fridge and opened it, revealing that it was full. “Behold.”
“Holy shit,” Maddox said. “Are those . . . vegetables?”
Jeremy shoved him. “Fuck off.”
Maddox laughed and pretended to wipe a fake tear. “Babe,” he said to Roscoe. “Our boy is all growed up.”
Jeremy ignored them, sighed, and looked at me. “This is your fault.”
I laughed and turned to Ryan. “Sure you don’t want to stay?”
He gave a nod. “I better go. I told Wes I’d stop by to see him. You’re all in the offices tomorrow, right?”
Roscoe nodded. “Yep.”
“See ya then.”
After Ryan left, I went to the fridge and took out the chicken. “You ready?”
Jeremy looked at the raw chicken meat, then at me. He shook his head. “Uh, no.”
Maddox laughed again. “Jer, I’ve never known you to cook. Ever. Maybe a frozen pizza. Not actual food.”
He looked offended. “I cooked breakfast this morning.”
I scoffed. “You did not. You watched.”
“I took notes.”
“It was bacon and eggs.”
“And it was good too.”
Maddox snorted out a laugh. “This is gonna be so much fun.”
“You’re not watching,” Jeremy told him. “Go for a swim or something.”
“Oh, hell no, I’m not missing this,” he replied.
But Roscoe took him by the shoulders and led him out. “Leave them alone,” he said. Then he gave me a smile over his shoulder as they disappeared out the door.
What was that look for?
“Do not have sex in my pool!” Jeremy yelled out.
We could hear Maddox laugh.
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Can we undercook his chicken?”
I snorted. “No.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Lunch was grilled chicken strips on flat bread with salad. It wasn’t difficult but Jeremy still did a really good job, and helping him in the kitchen, standing next to him, teaching him, laughing with him was so effortless.
Sitting at the table on the back patio by the pool as we ate it—me and Jeremy, Maddox and Roscoe, and Robbie and Riko—it was so easy to pretend like some delusional fan that this was my real life. That I could sit at the table with them, as friends.
As a boyfriend.
Was I as bad as a deluded fan?
Christ. Was I?
“You good, Steve?” Maddox asked.
I realized they were all staring at me. The conversation had stopped. “Yeah, sure. I was just thinking about what you could have done better with the chicken.”
They all laughed, thankfully. And Jeremy groaned. “Everyone’s a freaking critic. And for that comment, Steve, you’re cooking dinner, just so we all know.”
I laughed. “I’m just kidding. It was actually pretty good.”
“Nah, you can keep your compliments. You’re still cooking dinner.”
I rolled my eyes. “You can watch me cook. You might learn something.”
Jeremy made a face, looking at Maddox. “He’s awfully fucking judgy.”
I snorted. “I’m not judging you.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Roscoe offered, “Maddox can’t cook either.”
Maddox shot him a stunned look. “Hey.”
Jeremy gave a nod to Maddox. “They forget we basically left home at sixteen. And then the five of us lived together and our parents took turns to bring us food, or we ate ramen. Or frozen pizza.”
Maddox agreed. “We’ve spent half our adult lives in hotel rooms.”
When they put it like that. “That’s very true, sorry,” I said.
Jeremy put his hand to his chest. “So you were judging me?”
“No.”
He was indignant. “Anyway, I can cook on a grill. That counts as cooking. I mean, there’s meat. And fire.”
I laughed. “True.”
“You’re still cooking tonight,” Jeremy said.
After this conversation, that wasn’t unreasonable. “Fair enough.”
I could feel Roscoe’s gaze on me, as though he could see right through me. As though he might suggest I put someone else in charge of protecting Jeremy because I wasn’t being professional.
He wouldn’t be wrong. Would he?
“I’ll clear these up,” I said, quickly stacking plates. “And I should check on a few things.” I gave Jeremy a nod as I walked away. “Compliments to the chef.”
“I’ll help,” I heard Roscoe say, and I dreaded it. I knew he was following me in, vying for some privacy so he could perhaps ask me what the fuck I was doing.
Sure enough, he came in with his hands full.
“You can just leave those on the counter,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint. “I’ll take care of them.”
“Nah, it’s okay,” he replied casually. “I think they’re gonna swim anyway.”
I glanced out to the patio and sure enough, Maddox was doing a bomb for the biggest splash into the pool, and Jeremy was taking his shirt off.
God.
“How’s Jeremy been?” Roscoe asked.
“Yeah, fine. Like nothing’s wrong at all.” I shrugged. “Well, it’s been one day and we haven’t left the house. Having you guys here would be good for him, no doubt.”
“And how are you with it all?” he hedged. He was going for casual but it really wasn’t.
“I’m kinda pissed that we only found out about it yesterday,” I admitted. That wasn’t a lie, but it was a deflection from what he was really asking. “They’ve known this . . . person has been focused on him for six months and they’re only just telling me now? We were on tour, for god’s sake. At our most vulnerable, and they never said there was a possible threat.”
“Yeah. I’m with you on that. I understand they have a lot of fans who say a lot of crazy stuff. But there’s a difference between someone typing ‘marry me, Jeremy’ into Twitter, and sending repeated, targeted mail and redirecting VPNs.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Arlo’s internet team will probably find this person before the FBI,” he said. “They’re pretty good at what they do. They can cut through social media crap like a hot knife through butter.”
“Maybe they should give all the info to the fans,” I suggested. “They’d have the person’s name, address, place of employment, and social security number by dinner time.”
Roscoe laughed. “Ain’t that the truth. They don’t miss a single thing.”
I sighed and began rinsing a few plates. “You know, 99.9 percent of their fans are great.”
“But that point-one percent, right?”
“Yeah. And the media. Some of those paparazzi assholes I’d like to meet in a dark alley with no cameras.”
Roscoe laughed. “Same.” He was quiet for a bit but I knew something was coming. It didn’t take long. “Do you remember on the tour before last, you and I were in the van with Maddox and Jeremy and you said you thought Maddox and I had a thing? You said you could read people, and how he looks for me and waits for me, and you thought we were already together?”
Fuck. Here we go.
I continued rinsing the plates and gave a nod. “Sure.”
“Well,” he said, “I’m kinda picking up some vibes between you and Jeremy.”
My gaze went to his. I knew it was coming but it still didn’t prepare me for my reaction. “What?”
“He looks for you,” Roscoe said. “He waits for you.”
I shook my head, because that was ridiculous. I assumed he was going to talk about me. How I was around Jeremy, not how Jeremy was around me. “That’s ridiculous.”
Roscoe raised an eyebrow and half-smiled. “Is it? Because I started to notice it on the Code Red tour. In London and Paris. Tokyo.”
“He’s on my detail,” I tried. It was true though. Since Maddox took a step back, Jeremy took the lead, which meant as head of security, I took Jeremy. “He should look for me and know where I am. There were some pretty crazy crowds over there.”
Roscoe nodded slowly. “True.”
“And me being here is called close protection for a reason.”
“I know. And I get that. It just feels different.” He shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe I’m misreading it. I know he respects you, and after the week we spent in Vermont, just us four . . . you’re closer to him than the others, and that’s cool. It’s no big deal.”
I wasn’t sure where this was going. “What’s your point, Roscoe? If you’re worried about me not being able to do my job . . .”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “God no. I’m just . . . I don’t even know. Maddox thinks I’m crazy. He said Jeremy’s straighter than straight, but I’m not sure.” He laughed and sighed. “Okay, look. I think he might have a bit of a crush, or a bro-crush on you? I don’t know. And I have no idea which way your door swings, if you get what I mean.”
Oh, fucking hell.
Say nothing. Say nothing.
“And we’ve all seen Jeremy with a lot of women,” he continued.
Yes, we had. I didn’t need the reminder.
“But I’ve never seen him with anyone like he is with you. He laughs a lot with you, and he’s a bit touchy-feely with you.”
I remembered how he back-hugged me earlier. “He’s always affectionate with the guys.”
“Yeah. With the guys. Never with Ryan, never with Amber, not even with me. But he is with you.”
“He trusts me,” I said.
“He does. Steve, I’m just telling you what I see. And if he is truly straight, then maybe he’s caught some feelings that might freak him out at some point? I don’t know. I guess I’m just saying with everything that’s going on, with the stalker and the FBI, and now maybe this? He’s dealing with a lot. Just if you weren’t aware, now you are.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed my arms. Then, realizing how that made me look defensive or self-soothing, I shoved my hands in my pockets instead. “I know what he’s dealing with.” God, this was bad. I ran my hands through my hair. “Fucking hell.”
“Look,” he said gently, “I get it. Believe me . . .”
But then he stopped talking and did a whole lot of staring.
“Steve, do you . . . ? Are you . . . ?”
I shot him a death glare.
“Holy fuck.” He shook his head, stunned. “I didn’t know. It’s not my business. I thought it was all him.” He began to smile. “But if it’s mutual . . . ?”
I sighed. “It’s not. It can’t be. He’s . . .” I could barely form words. My mouth was dry. “He’s, like you said, very straight. And I’d very much like to keep my job, so if you could not say anything to anyone, that’d be great.”
Roscoe’s eyebrows knitted as he tried to put my words together for a few seconds. I said Jeremy was straight, basically admitting that I wasn’t. “Steve—”
“Not even Maddox.” That wasn’t fair and I knew it. “Sorry. I don’t mean . . .” I let out a breath. “I can’t have anyone finding out. I just can’t. It’s already cost me—”
“Steeeeeeeve,” Jeremy called out from the pool.
I sighed.
“Steeeeeeeve,” he called out again.
I bit back a groan and walked out toward the pool. Maddox was sitting on the step, his pale and lean body half hidden in the water. Jeremy was still in the water, but had his arms folded on the edge of the pool, his chin on his hands. His hair was wet, his skin glistening in the sun.
He grinned at me. “Maddox doesn’t believe me.”
“About what?”
“All the trophies in your apartment.”
Jesus.
“Okay, one.” Maddox laughed. “I can’t believe you went inside Steve’s apartment.”
“I wasn’t having him wait in the car alone. I’d hate to think of what trouble he’d get into.”
Jeremy grinned, and Maddox laughed at him. “And two, what’s this about an MMA national title?”
I looked at Jeremy and rolled my eyes. “There were no trophies for the nationals. Only regional and state.”
I never got to compete for the belt.
Roscoe was now beside me but I refused to look at him. Yes, Jeremy had been to my place. But only because I wouldn’t let him stay in the car without me.
“There’s like twenty-something trophies,” Jeremy said. “Regional, district, state. All champion too. No second place.”
“Why was there no national trophy?” Maddox asked, still grinning.
I considered how to answer. “Injury.”
They both made a pained face. They understood how injuries could derail a career.
“Hey,” Jeremy said. “You never answered about the reminder.”
“What?”
“You said you were going to pack the trophies away but they were a good reminder. You never told me of what.”
I smiled at him and repeated back what he’d said to me. “That if someone broke into my place, they picked the wrong guy because I can kill people with my bare hands.”
Jeremy laughed, then effortlessly lifted himself out of the pool. His muscular body dripping wet, his torso and arms rippling with muscles gleaming in the sun, his shorts low on his hips.
Christ.
I looked away and, of course, my eyes went straight to Roscoe’s. And of course he was watching me. “I have some work to do,” I mumbled as I went back inside.
Fucking hell.
In the space of twenty minutes, I’d managed to boot myself out of the closet to Roscoe and basically admitted that it wouldn’t matter how much I liked Jeremy because he was straight.
Except Roscoe thought he might not be?
Had Jeremy been looking for me, waiting for me like Roscoe had said? In London and Paris and Tokyo. Those cities on tour were crazy-busy, and the boys were exhausted by then.
Had Jeremy fallen asleep on my shoulder in the van in London?
Yes.
He was tired. So what?
Had I relished every second of it?
Also yes.
Had he taken my arm when we’d left that restaurant in Paris because the paparazzi were there?
Sure he had. Because it was dangerous and the crowd closed in around us.
Did he ask me, and only me, to go with him to some Izakaya Alleys in Tokyo at one in the morning for the best street food in the world?
Yeah, but that was a safety thing.
And Singapore, when we left the press conference, he’d grabbed my arm again to walk through the lobby and climb into the van.
Weren’t those all work-related? Where Jeremy needed my professional help, not my company.
Roscoe was imagining things.
Surely.
I was so sure Roscoe was going to call me out on my behavior, but no. He’d noticed Jeremy’s behavior toward me.
But I’ve never seen him with anyone like he is with you. He laughs a lot with you, and he’s a bit touchy-feely with you.
He looks for you.
He waits for you.
I’ve never seen him with anyone like he is with you.
And then this . . .
If he is truly straight, then maybe he’s caught some feelings that might freak him out at some point? I don’t know. I guess I’m just saying with everything that’s going on, with the stalker and the FBI, and now maybe this? He’s dealing with a lot.
He was dealing with a lot. Neverending pressure, and now threats against him.
He was dealing with a lot.
But the idea of leaving him, of someone else taking over his protection, of not seeing him every day, made me feel a bit ill.
I needed to get my shit together.
So I busied myself cleaning up the kitchen and then hiding with my laptop, writing reports and sifting through the newly adjusted schedule for next week. I messaged the transport team and drivers, and then I made the terrible mistake of searching up Jeremy on social media.
There were Facebook groups, fansites, Twitter, and TikTok accounts solely dedicated to him. Hundreds of them, if not thousands. I wasn’t looking for any threats. That wasn’t my job, and quite frankly, I wouldn’t know where to start.
Most of the posts were pictures and photographs that weren’t exactly difficult to look at. Jeremy on stage, sweaty, his shirt clinging to him. Or no shirt at all, drenched and ripped, microphone in hand, the veins in his neck straining as he sang.
The pictures were ‘thirst traps’ . . . whatever that meant.
Photos of him on the Code Red tour, laughing, smiling, with the guys, by himself.
With me.
It was strange to see myself in photos online. As if I was seeing photos of someone else.
