Page 48 of Undercover Star
He struggled to breathe, there in the smoky semi-darkness lit by roving beams of colour.
He wanted to run, but he stood rooted to the spot, eyes glued to the gorgeous man up there on the stage.
He saw Matisse square his shoulders and take a deep breath.
And say what Josh had never, ever expected to hear.
"This last song, before I go and make my apologies in person, is for Josh. Whom I love with all my heart."
Chapter Fifteen
The corridor leadingto the backstage area was a writhing mass of screaming, pushing fans. Josh was trapped in the heaving humanity—mostly young and female—like a fly in honey. Matisse's declaration hadn't been quite the stunner Josh had expected it to be. Not in the VIP area, where Josh had been. There'd been a bit of a hum, and a bit of surprise, but Matisse's final song—a brand-new ballad—had drawn tears from many fans, a standing ovation, and a solid fifteen minutes of cheers and applause.
The crowd milling in and around the backstage area didn't seem to mind Matisse's new status at all. They were chanting, laughing, cheering.... Josh didn't have another experience to compare it to, but he was learning to read crowds, and this one wasn't hostile.
Sweat, perfume, and a hint of alcohol turned the air thick and made breathing difficult. Josh knew he should get out, go home, and text Matisse when he got there. It would be the sane thing to do, seeing that Mat had to be exhausted and most likely busy fielding the media.
He knew, but he couldn't bring himself to leave, even though he was stuck in the press of people, with no way forward or back.
"There you are." A hard grip on his bicep snapped his head around. "I knew you'd be here somewhere," Rigger proclaimed, placid as always. "Follow me."
Rigger had three inches in height on Josh's six-two. He was also wider by several inches, and had a voice to match. He put them to use now, and the crowd parted in front of him to let them through.
"Should call you Moses."
Oats greeted them when they reached the gate. He winked at Josh. "Good to see you, man."
In his dark jeans, black T-shirt, and dark blue concert hoodie, Josh looked much like Oats and Rigger and the others on Matisse's security team. Maybe that was why none of the fans tried to crowd after him when Oats unlocked the gate and pulled them through. The half-hug was unexpected.
"How is he?" Josh was starved for news of Matisse, and desperate for a glimpse of him
"Bouncing off the walls," Oats told him. "Post-concert buzz. Usually takes a couple of hours until he stops spinning. It's bound to be twice as bad after the stunt he pulled today." They stopped outside a door with Matisse's name on it. "We're stuck here until he's calmed down enough to sit in a car. See if you can do something about that." Oats gave him a suggestive little wink. "I'm sure you have some making up to do." He knocked twice and then opened the door.
Lynn, in the middle of putting shirts on hangers, squealed when she saw him. She dropped what she held, wrapped him in the briefest of hugs and slipped out the door. A shove between his shoulder blades—very clearly not administered by the diminutive stylist—made sure he took her place.
Bouncing off the walls was a good description. Matisse, swigging from a water bottle, shuffled between a mirror surrounded by lights, a stack of papers on a table, and—of all things—a small keyboard. He didn't pause anywhere for long, picked out a few notes here, and scribbled a line or two there, drank some water, and then repeated the process, humming snatches of tune and writing notes.
