Page 45 of Undercover Star
"I'm a police officer. And I'm telling you, the streets are dangerous."
"Then where are your bodyguards, Inspector? I'm sure as a police officer," and the sneer in Matisse's voice actually hurt, "you're in far more danger on the streets than I am. You, if I were to believe the papers, are the enemy."
"You done spouting bullshit?" Josh fought for calm, tried to sound rational and composed. He'd bet no great stakes on his success. "I'm not the one who got clipped around the head by a deranged fan."
"Shewasn'tderanged. It was an accident."
"Fine. It was an accident. But it shouldn't have happened. You should have had Oats and Rigger there with you, standing in front of you."
Matisse went ice-white at Josh's words. His eyes narrowed and hands fisted by his sides. Never mind that his T-shirt showed off his midriff and his jeans were neither buttoned nor zipped, he looked every inch the haughty star. And he was well and truly pissed.
"I have plenty of people in my life who want to control me. I don't need you on my case, too."
Frustrated lust and the casual dismissal of everything Josh thought they had started to build tipped him over the edge. "Know what you need? You need a leash. And a brain. And to grow some balls. You can't tell your fans you like men, but you can allow them to incapacitate you a week before a concert? How does that even make sense? Unless, of course, you're happy in your fucking closet. And that would be fine with me, as long as you're honest enough to say so, not string me along with promises of maybe." He was building up a fierce head of steam, and for once, he let his temper take the wheel, let the weeks of data coagulate into the pattern his brain seemed happiest with, and then let all those tangled emotions, all the want and joy and despair spill into the air between them.
"I don't want to stand in front of you because I think you're incompetent or too young or any of that bullshit," Josh roared. "I want to stand in front of you because I love you and I don't want to see you hurt. How hard is it to grasp that?" He hadn't meant to blurt it out like this. But he wasn't taking it back. Not a single word.
Mat stared at him, silent, while a red tide crept up his neck to wash over his face. He looked so young and vulnerable in that moment, Josh wanted to wrap him up and keep him safe. But that was how the whole train wreck had started. Josh didn’t think he could make matters worse at this point, but he bit his lip regardless. He didn't even ask whether Mat had heard him. He waited for Matisse's answer until his teeth ached from the effort of keeping the words inside him contained.
No answer came, and in the end, Josh gave up waiting.
He ran his eyes over Matisse, from bare feet to tousled blond hair, burning the view into his memory like something he wasn't quite sure he wanted to keep.
Then he turned and left the apartment.
Chapter Fourteen
Six days, sixteen hours, thirty-seven minutes. Misery, anger, and irritation hung like a shroud over Josh's days. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't concentrate on the mountain of work on his desk, and he snapped at anyone who dared to approach him, more than he had in a long time.
Six days, sixteen hours, and thirty-seven minutes had passed since he'd left Mat's apartment. A long time to contemplate maybes and what-ifs. A long time to wonder whether he should text, or call, or drop everything and head to Chelsea and... what? Apologise for worrying over Matisse getting hurt? Beg forgiveness for telling him he loved him?
Josh snorted into his mug of tea. Where was all this maudlin crap coming from? He hadn't ever leaned towards the melodramatic, and it pissed him off.
His previous few relationships had all ended easily. They'd simply drifted apart without too much hurt. This, though... this thing with Matisse had thorns and sharp edges. It tasted too damned much of unfinished business.
Yes, Josh had been an idiot for walking out when Matisse wouldn't say the words. And he should probably pick up his phone and send a text, at the very least to wish Matisse good luck for his concert.
