Closer by Morning (6 page)

They both laughed. Matt plated up their food and they ate at the kitchen table. It was nothing special. The sauce was from a jar but it tasted okay and the chicken was moist. Good company mattered more than great cooking.

“Did I tell you I ran into Jamie the other night?”

Conrad's eyes widened. “No. Where was he?”

“At work.” Matt told him about their unexpected meeting at the police station.

“How was he?”

“The same.” Matt sighed. “Serious. Businesslike. Until the end of the interview when he took me to one side to tell me he misses me.”

“For a smart cop, he can be very slow to get the message.”

Conrad was the best kind of friend—loyal, supportive, funny. He worked in the sales office of the art house cinema and theater in town. Working tirelessly for low pay in a job he loved. He was currently raising funds for a small theater group that supported actors with disabilities. The group wanted to stage a new, specially written play later in the year, but with the government cutting funds, it was going to be a struggle.

“I hope to have some charity nights at the theater throughout March and April. I also need prizes for the raffle we're having a week on Saturday. Do you think your bosses might make a donation?”

“Free legal advice?” Matt asked. “It's not the most exciting of prizes.”

“Maybe not.” Conrad chuckled. “What about your Hollywood friend? Do you think the lovely Mr. Zachary might consider donating a prize?”

“I don't know.”

“Will you ask him?”

“Shouldn't you approach him through the TV company?”

Conrad pulled a face. “It takes too long. Especially now that they'll have sack loads of hate mail to open.”

“Poor Dale. I hadn't thought of that.” The protest outside the studio had been all over the news when Matt came home. The shit had really hit the fan. Though the program itself was taking the hit, rather than the actors. For now, at least. Moral outrage had a habit of getting personal fast.

“So, you'll ask him?” Conrad persisted.

Got to love him. When it came to a cause, Conrad didn't quit. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe. Do it.”

“Okay,” Matt relented, laughing. “He's got my number.
If
he calls me, I'll ask him.”

If he calls me.

It was hardly likely to happen.

Was it?

Chapter Five

“The next cunt to blow a fucking horn will regret the day they were torn from their mother's womb.” Hung-over and pissed off, Elton Weaver was an explosive ball of anger. His face was puce as he ranted.

“He's going to have a heart attack if he doesn't calm down,” whispered Aaron Oxford. He was standing with Dale at the side of the set. Filming always involved a lot of standing around but today they had done little else.

Rather than looking better in the morning, an evening of news coverage and social chatter meant the crowd outside the studio had trebled in size. With the identity of the real killer unknown, the frightened community had come out in force to attack the one target they were able to—the TV company responsible for a fictional murder.

Adding to the tension on set, leading lady Roxanne Maxwell had called in sick. “Migraine,” her assistant had informed the director. “Roxanne's migraines usually last at least two days.”

“Tell Roxanne to put some fucking painkillers down her scrawny neck and make sure she's back on set tomorrow morning.” The assistant blanched under Elton's venom. “We're only two weeks in. It's not too late to replace her and begin reshoots with a new actress on Monday. I hear that my first choice actress for the role has become available and she loves the script. See how Roxanne's migraine feels after that.”

Roxanne's absence put extra pressure on Dale. Without her, they had to concentrate on his scenes. With the bleating car horns and whistles reaching new levels of intensity, Elton wisely decided to focus on non-dialogue scenes that could easily be re-sounded later. Dale spent the morning climbing in and out of windows, skulking in dark alleys doing creepy, stalkerish stuff. Finding the right mood for the scene wasn't easy. Still, with the constant racket outside, it was easier than delivering dialogue.

Nevertheless, it was a long, arduous morning.

“I still think we should put out a statement,” he told Elton while they waited for the set to be relit. “A few careful and compassionate words could defuse this whole situation.”

The stench of stale gin oozing out of Elton was stronger than ever. The old man must have hammered it last night. “Let the PR team handle it. They put out a statement first thing this morning.”

Dale had read that statement. It was a shallow gesture, absolving the production of responsibility while offering scant compassion for the murdered boys. “It was bullshit. Listen to the noise out there. It obviously did no good.
We
need to say something.”

“Forget about it,” Elton said dismissively. “Your job is here, playing a part. Focus on that.”

At last, they broke for lunch. Dale's trailer was on the back of the school building, farthest away from the protestors, but even there he could hear the horns and whistles.

He had a headache. Hardly surprising. He swallowed two painkillers and turned on the TV, hoping to drown out the noise. There was a talk show on. Four people sat around a table, offering noisy, underdeveloped theories on the correlation between real life violence and what was seen on screen.

“It's Roxanne Maxwell who I feel most disappointed by,” the lead mouthpiece said. “That such a wonderful, classy actress would demean herself by appearing in an awful show like this
Blood Stone
thing.”

“Opinions are like assholes,” Dale said, turning off the TV. Everyone might have one but after a morning from hell, he didn't want to listen to these loud-mouthed broads.

There was a knock at the door. Aaron Oxford entered without waiting for an answer. Oh, Aaron—cute, available Aaron. The last thing Dale felt like was sex, which was the only reason Aaron came knocking around lunchtime.

“Hell of a day, eh?” Aaron leaned against the kitchen counter, brushing his fingers down the front of his T-shirt. Caressing the taut muscle beneath.

“Only halfway over.” Dale sighed. He opened the fridge and took out a Diet Coke.

“Elton just blew another stack.” Aaron chuckled. “He's bawling out the sound guys. Like any of this is
their
fault.”

“He needs to calm down. He'll have a stroke if he's not careful. With all the booze and his temper, he's a prime candidate.”

“Roxanne hasn't helped. Cheeky bitch. Leaving everyone else to deal with the backlash.”

“Listen, Aaron, I could really do with some time alone right now. My head is killing me and I need to get it together for this afternoon.”

Aaron's smile wavered temporarily. He puffed up his chest further and narrowed his sexy eyes. “I know a good stress reliever. Let me take care of you.”

Dale held up his hands. “Any other time and I would love to. You know I would. But not today.”

Aaron licked his lips and grinned. “How about a blow job? Just lie there and relax. You don't have to do anything. I'll take care of you.”

Dale shook his head. “Sorry, buddy.”

Aaron came closer, undeterred. “I love it when you come in my mouth. The force of it. The taste. Don't deny me that. I haven't eaten since breakfast.”

“Dude, really. It's not gonna happen. Take no for an answer, won't you?”

Aaron flinched, no longer smiling. Dale felt like the biggest asshole. Shit. He had nothing to be sorry for and yet Aaron was acting as if he were the one in the wrong.

Aaron shrugged. “Okay, whatever. It's not like you to say no, that's all.”

“Today I am. It's no offense to you. I'm just not in the mood.”

“You're
always
in the mood.”

“Not today.”

Aaron left without an argument. His parting look was enough to leave Dale feeling lousy. This wasn't meant to be a big deal. Just a couple of horny guys away from home, helping each other out. It didn't mean he was available for sex on tap. No emotional attachments. That was the agreement. For God's sake, he made no promises and didn't expect anything in return.

In the past, he was always careful about the liaisons he made on set. He chose his lovers wisely for their discretion and subtlety. Ensuring they set clear boundaries from the start. He must be getting old. He was getting careless. He'd fallen into bed with Aaron far too quickly.

Aaron was a really nice guy. Great-looking and the sex was hot. But Dale wasn't interested in anything more than sex.

Now he didn't even want that.

There was something else—someone else—he wanted.

Someone for whom he felt more than just a sexual attraction.

Matt Blyth.

A guy he'd only just met on Monday and who hadn't been far from his thoughts since. Matt evoked feelings and emotions unlike anything he felt for Aaron. Unlike anything he'd felt for another guy. Ever. Strange feelings. Unusual feelings. Like falling in love. But it couldn't be. That was impossible.

Dale pulled Matt's business card from his wallet and looked at it for the millionth time. It was already creased and worn from handling. Last night, at the cottage, he'd lain on the sofa and turned it over and over in his hands. Summoning the courage to call his mobile. Never quite getting it.

Despite all the hints and not-so-subtle glances, he still wasn't sure that Matt was interested in men at all, let alone him.

He looked up the company website. Benedict and Taylor. There was a great photo of Matt in the staff directory. Handsome in a dark blue suit, softly smiling. He looked so different from the disheveled sweaty boy he was used to seeing at boot camp. Suited and booted, clean-shaven—the contrast in images only made Dale want him more.

He read the brief biography. Where he came from. Where he went to college. The places meant little to him but the information made him feel closer to the handsome man in the photograph.

What are you waiting for?

It had been a miserable twenty-four hours. Thinking about Matt was the only brightness he'd had. What did he have to lose?

Dale grabbed his phone and dialed Matt's number. His heart beat faster as he waited for it to connect.

“Hello.”

“Matt? Hi, it's Dale. Dale Zachary. From boot camp. How are you doing?”

“I'm great. I doubt you can say the same. Tough couple of days, eh?”

“You saw the news then?” It made him smile. In a small, far from ideal way, Matt had taken an interest in what he was doing. “Not the kind of publicity we would have hoped for.”

“It'll blow over. These things always do.”

“I hope so. These guys are angrier at us than the guy who's actually out there doing the killing.” Dale took a deep breath. “Listen, I'm calling 'cause I'd like to take a break from all of this shit. What are you doing tonight? Feel like getting together?”

Silence.
Oh shit. Totally misjudged this
.

“I'm not doing anything. I would love to,” Matt said. “What did you have in mind? Hitting the gym?”

“No. God no. Something more relaxing. I was thinking drinks. Maybe something to eat.”

“Sounds good. Just the two of us? Or a group of people?”

“I don't know that many people. It'll just be the two of us. If that's okay with you.”

“It's very okay with me.” A pause. “Dale, can I just ask so we're clear from the start. Is this a…date?”

Dale's heart raced. “Would you like it to be?”

Boom. Boom. Boom. Heart thundering. Had time stopped running?

“Yes,” Matt answered at last.

Dale smiled widely. “Then, yes. It's definitely a date.”

****

After the call from Dale there was nothing that could spoil Matt's afternoon. Not even his boss, Edward Benedict, who told him to head over to the police station. An early morning drug raid had rounded up seven of their clients and the police wanted to interview them all. Annabel and Derek Reed were already there but the cops wanted to crack on with the next interview before the others were completed.

“Fine, but I need to be out of there by five-thirty. Annabel will have to cope on her own after that,” he asserted. It was her night on call. Let her do some work for a change.

Matt wanted to get home in good time to prepare for his date. A date with Dale Zachary. Ha. That was one in the eye to Conrad and Annabel, who both insisted he was deluded in thinking Dale was interested in him.

Dale had made it very clear on the phone. It was a date. “With all the heat I'm getting over the show we'll have to be careful. I don't want to go anywhere too public where people might hurl abuse all night.”

“I would offer to cook but I'm pretty lousy in the kitchen,” Matt admitted.

“Don't worry. I'll ask around this afternoon and text you later when I find somewhere discreet. Does dinner sound good? Or would you rather go somewhere livelier? A show, maybe?”

“Dinner would be great. I'll leave it up to you.”

Matt was beaming when he hung up.

He'd never had a real date before. Jamie had been his only proper boyfriend and his idea of a romantic night was pizza and a movie. Tonight would be a whole new experience, in all sorts of ways. He could hardly wait.

But there was a job to be done first.

The police station was a scene of chaos when he arrived. There were extra cops on duty to cope with the raids and the cells were all full. He checked in with the desk sergeant.

“I'm here for the drug interviews. Benedict and Taylor client.”

The harassed-looking sergeant shook her head. “You'll have to take a seat and wait it out. All of the interview suites are full. As soon as one comes free, you're next.”

Typical Annabel. She must have sold the boss a sob story about not being able to keep up with the demand. In reality, she could have handled this on her own. The police couldn't process the suspects any faster than they were.

Matt took a seat and waited. He sent Conrad a text, informing him of his date. The reply came back immediately.

Fantastic news. Hope it goes well. Don't forget to ask about a charity donation.

Hell, Conrad just wouldn't quit. Matt put a reminder on his phone to ask Dale later. Maybe he would sign a photograph they could put in the raffle. Knowing Conrad, that wouldn't be enough. He added another note to ask Edward whether the firm would help out too.

A shadow fell unexpectedly across him. “You're getting to be a regular in here.”

He looked up. Jamie. In a crumpled blue T-shirt and jacket. His eyes were puffy and dark, as if he hadn't slept in days.

Matt smiled, keeping it friendly. There was no point in being a dick about this. “I've seen more of you this week than all of the last three months. Were you part of this drugs sting?”

He nodded. “Just an extra pair of hands in the round-up. The operation has been ongoing for months. I wasn't involved in that.”

That explained the tired eyes. He must have been up since three preparing for the dawn raids.

Now what?
Jamie stood awkwardly in front of him. Their smiles were forced. The atmosphere was uncomfortable. Matt searched for something to say but even work-related trivia eluded him. He hoped Jamie wasn't working up to another ‘let's try again' speech. Judging by the look on his face, he had something on his mind.

He opened his mouth to speak.

Just in time, the custody sergeant shouted over. “Matt, you're on. Interview room four. Your client's already in there.”

Perfect timing.
Matt stood and smiled softly at Jamie. “Catch you later,” he said, hurrying for the exit.

****

Time didn't make the pain any better. Seeing Matt again—twice this week already—hadn't just reopened an old wound, it had made it bleed profusely. Watching him walk away caused a tightness in Jamie's chest. A feeling of panic raced through him. He had to pause and take a breath to steady his nerves.

It was a huge mistake, their split, and he blamed himself. He'd been working too hard and had taken their relationship for granted. Matt had been neglected. Jamie got that. It wouldn't happen again.