Perfect Imperfections

“You looked really relaxed out there tonight,” Francis said as he stepped up to Jeremy.

Jeremy’s manager had too much going on to be able to fly to Minnesota for the opening show—“Your career doesn’t just run itself”—so he sent one of his PR guys in his place. Because Jeremy considered each and every one of those people to be the first step on the path to things he hated doing, it made no difference to him which of them was there, or if none of them were there. Well, none would be better.

“I feel good,” Jeremy confirmed brusquely as he headed to his dressing room, where Reg was waiting for him. He wanted a beer, a shower, and something to prop his tired feet on. In that order. All of it mixed with lighthearted conversation with his new friend.

“Well, it showed.” Francis was about the same height as Jeremy, but for some reason he walked much slower, so it always seemed like he was running along Jeremy’s side instead of keeping pace. “Keep doing whatever you’ve been doing and—”

“Hey, superstar. You looked good out there!” Reg’s whiskey voice boomed the second Jeremy flung his dressing room door open. With a smile on his face, the big man strode over, his long-legged, limber gait already familiar, and thrust a cold bottle of beer toward Jeremy. “Ready to unwind, or is there more on your plate tonight?” He clamped his beefy hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and squeezed it.

Taking the beer, Jeremy said, “Thanks.” Then he glanced at Francis. “The answer to Reg’s question needs to be no. Say it’s no. It’s midnight, and we have plans.”

Appearing distracted, Francis looked back and forth between Jeremy and Reg, ultimately landing on Reg’s hand, which was still on Jeremy’s shoulder. After a few moments, he mumbled, “I guess this answers my question about what you’ve been doing to relax.”

Reg snorted, said, “Touché,” and he tipped his beer up.

“Francis,” Jeremy snapped. “We’re done, right?”

“Uh, no.” Francis fumbled for his phone and then started scrolling through it. “Bill said you wouldn’t mind doing an interview after the show. Something about the only thing you had planned was playing chess anyway…. Let’s see…. Okay, here we go. The Times. The reporter and camera person were in the audience.” He glanced up at Jeremy, inconceivably seeming to be unaware of how much that information was not welcome. “You can do the interview in here. I’ll bring them up now, okay?”

Growling, Jeremy turned on his heel, stomped into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut.

“Nice tantrum, diva!” Reg shouted after him. “Now that you have it out of your system, drink your beer, take a leak, and get your ass out here to meet the press.”

“I don’t want to!” Jeremy called out, his arms crossed. That position brought the lip of the bottle near his nose. The scent of the beer was appealing, so he took a swallow.

“Oh, come on, now,” Reg’s amused voice filtered in through the door. “All the other rock stars are doing it.” When Jeremy didn’t respond, he continued. “It’s good for you.”

Jeremy chuckled despite himself. After gulping the rest of the beer, he tossed the empty in the trash can, walked over to the toilet, and started doing his business.

“It only hurts at first.”

Laughing out loud, Jeremy flushed, washed his hands, splashed cold water on his face, and came out of the bathroom. Ignoring the shocked Francis, he focused on Reg, “Anything else?”

“Umm.” Reg’s eyebrows knit in concentration. “I’ll be your best friend after?”

“Oooh, that’s the best reason yet.” He bumped his shoulder against Reg’s arm and grinned up at him. “You talked me into it.” Turning his head to look at Francis, he dropped the smile and said, “Get the damn reporter and photographer in here. And tell them they’ve got ten minutes. After that, I’m out of here whether they’re done or not.”

“That’s right.” Reg draped his arm over Jeremy’s shoulder. “I heard something about chess.” He dipped his chin and met Jeremy’s gaze. “Did I ever tell you I’m a kick-ass chess player?”

“Shut up.”

“No. For reals. I’m awesome.”

“I smell a bet coming on.” Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, Jeremy glanced away from Reg and glared at Francis. “Why are you still here? The clock is running, and if these people complain about not having enough time to ask me all their questions, I’ll tell Bill you were too busy staring at us to do your job, and he’ll fire your ass.”

Without another word, Francis rushed out of the room.

“You could be nicer, you know?” Reg pointed out. “I think you scared him.”

Shrugging, Jeremy walked over to the armchair in the corner and collapsed. “Whatever. I’m one of the nice ones. You should hear how other people talk to their staff.”