Perfect Imperfections

“I know, but I still get all worked up and upset all the time.”

“Yup, you do.” Reg chuckled. “It’s cute.”

“I hate when you call me cute,” Jeremy growled.

“You love when I say you’re cute.”

It was true. He did. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay, JJ. Whatever you say.” Reg kissed the top of his head. “Good night.”

“Good night, Reggie.” Jeremy cuddled close, tucked his head under Reg’s chin, and sighed happily. “Thanks for cheering me up tonight.”

“Anytime.” He paused. “Seriously. Anytime.”

Chapter 12

“OH MY God, why is he dressed like that?” Jeremy said, sounding petrified. “Reg!”

They were in a club room off the lobby of the hotel where they’d stayed for the Chicago concert the previous night. They were leaving immediately after the interview for the show in Madison the following night, so there was no risk of their location being leaked yet again, and it made things easier to have the reporter come to them.

“It’s Halloween,” Francis said. “People wear costumes.”

Reg followed Jeremy’s gaze out the window to the men approaching them. One was carrying a few cameras. The other one… “Dude. What the fuck?”

“It’s a costume,” Francis snapped. “Would you two calm down?”

“That’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Jeremy had been pacing back and forth across the room, his usual preinterview nerves evident, but the sight of the reporter had him scrambling to Reg’s side on the leather love seat. “Make him change, Francis. I can’t talk to him when he’s dressed like that.”

“He’s a clown, for goodness sake. Clowns are happy.”

“No, they’re not!” Jeremy shouted, seeming more panicked as the reporter got closer.

“Of course they are,” Francis argued. “Everyone loves clowns.”

“Not me.” Jeremy looked up at Reg, his expression pleading. “I’m afraid of clowns. I always have been.”

Reg put his arm around him.

“Dude, there isn’t a single person alive who thinks a grown man in white face paint with those painted-on eyebrows, a blood red mouth, and that freaky-ass pom-pom costume is happy. That shit is freaky and unprofessional.”

“He’s here, so stop acting like idiots.” Francis stepped toward the door.

“No way.” Jeremy scrambled onto Reg’s lap. “I can’t sit in a small room and have a conversation with a clown. No. Make him go away.”

Francis wasn’t going to stop; his squared shoulders and haughty expression made that clear.

“I’ll take care of it,” Reg said, patting Jeremy’s knee before he slid him off his lap and got up.

“What’re you going to do?”

“I’m sending him home. I’ll give them half an hour to get another reporter here if they want to interview you.”

“You can’t do that,” Francis growled.

Reg shouldered his way past him. “Look, man, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but that shit”—he pointed at the clown, now right outside the door—“isn’t appropriate. He’s here to interview the biggest rock star of our generation. He needs to show some respect.”

Not having time to wait for a response and continue the argument, Reg tugged the door open and stepped outside.

“Hello. You’re Reggie Moore, right? I’m Clifford Crew with the Post.” The clown reached his white-gloved hand out. “It’s an honor to be able to meet Jeremy Jameson.”

The man seemed nice and genuinely excited, but it didn’t change the fact that Reg wasn’t letting him anywhere near Jeremy.

“Good to meet you, Clifford.” Reg took his hand. “But I’m afraid we have a problem.”

Clifford’s forehead crinkled in concern, causing the thick makeup to crack and making him look even more frightening. “What problem?” He darted his gaze around, and the red contacts he was wearing couldn’t keep up so it looked like blood was sliding over his pupils. Reg said a silent thanks that Jeremy was too far away to see it. “I’m on time, aren’t I?”

“Yes. But your clothes.” Reg looked up and down the reporter’s body. “And the makeup. Dude, you’re here for work, and you show up as a scary clown?” He shook his head. “Tell your paper to send someone else, and we’ll wait for a little while, but you’re not interviewing Jeremy dressed like that.”

“But I was told to wear this.” Clifford tugged on the colorful one-piece suit. “They said Jeremy would be dressed up for Halloween, and I was supposed to go along with it.”

“Who said that?” Reg narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“I don’t know. One of Jeremy Jameson’s people. My boss might know who it was. Do you want me to call? I can call.” He reached for what Reg assumed was a pocket, but came up empty when all he encountered was polyester. “Damn it. Give me a sec, I can—”

Flicking his gaze to the club room, Reg saw Francis on the phone and Jeremy curled into the side of the love seat, looking pale. “Did you choose the costume?” he asked as he returned his attention to Clifford.

“Are you kidding?” he said incredulously. “I’m dressed like a clown. Why would I choose this?” Clifford sighed. “My boss said it was part of the deal.”