Читать книгу Kiss and Cry - Narrelle M Harris - Страница 5

Guilt should have been Milo Bertolone’s last emotion as he hefted his overnight bag onto his shoulder and made for the departure lounge. Visiting one of the projects funded by his charitable organisation to ensure it was on track was a good thing, right? And he was almost certain he’d told Frank he’d be away for the weekend.

Definitely he’d texted now, and anyway, it wasn’t like his boyfriend would miss him that much, the hours he was working in the studio.

Preoccupied and getting cranky with it, Milo nearly walked straight into another airport wanderer. He ducked gracefully aside at the last minute and got an eyeful of someone tall, muscular and familiar.

‘Josh Baker?’ Milo blurted, and immediately regretted it. As someone semi-famous himself, the whole bit where someone asked you if you were you could be more a burden than a delight, especially if he had places to be. ‘Sorry, ah, I’m Milo Bertolone. We’re going to be on that ice skating show together.’

Milo was tall but Josh Baker towered, built with all the height and formidable physique expected of the Hobart Kites ruckman. He focused his blue eyes on Milo like a seagull eyeing a stray chip: aggressive and hungry. Milo found the effect disconcerting and slightly arousing. Footballers were generally some of his favourite eye candy.

‘You’re the singer, yeah?’ demanded Baker. His gaze raked assessingly over Milo, head to toe, not lingering but calculating. Like Baker was sizing up the opposition and looking for weak spots. That was a lot less arousing.

‘That’s right.’ Milo extended a friendly hand, hoping to diffuse the curious mood. Baker shook it with a dominating grip. ‘You’re in Melbourne early for the filming?’

‘Here to see the olds,’ Baker corrected him. ‘Got a bit of business to attend to. I’ll be back in Hobart Monday, then back for filming at the end of the week.’

‘It’s a nice little hop back and forth to Hobart, I guess.’

‘Yeah.’ Baker was darting glances around the airport halls, clearly disinclined to chat.

‘Looking for your ride?’ Milo suggested.

‘Yeah.’

‘I’m nipping up to Sydney for the weekend. Bedding down a Foundation project.’

‘Your queer kids, yeah?’

Milo felt there was more to it but, really, that was the nub of it. Projects for the queer kids. A project in memory of one queer kid in particular, Paolo Cruz, his first love.

‘Yeah,’ he agreed. He tried another tack. ‘It’s good to see you’ll be back in the line-up, injury-free, hey? You give the Kites have a good chance to get to the semi-finals this year. Though I’m a Cats fan, myself.’

‘Mm, sure,’ said Baker, but he’d lost interest a while back.

Oh well. ‘I better get moving and find my gate. See you at filming.’

‘Sure,’ said Baker again, as he strode off towards a densely built man likewise striding towards him. Milo recognised the second man as the coach of the Hobart Kites, though the man’s name eluded him for now. They met and began arguing in low tones. The coach spoke sharply over the top of the taller, fitter man and hustled him towards an airport café.

Milo checked his watch. Still an hour till the flight. Ten years ago, Milo would probably have arrived at the airport with ten minutes to get to his gate, but a decade of living with the Most Organised Man in the World had at least taught him to avoid Airport Panic by getting here with plenty of time.

Which meant time for coffee before he really had to be anywhere. He went to the nearest concession café, into which Baker and his coach had disappeared.

A few minutes later Milo sat with his café latte in a booth, exchanging cranky texts with Frank, and then more conciliatory ones. He hated fighting with Frank.

‘If I win the show I can use the cash…’ came a gruff voice from the other side of the booth.

‘That goes to the Club’s nominated charity, you galah,’ sniped the reply.

‘What am I supposed to do then?’

Milo recognised the voice as Josh Baker. The other bloke was probably the coach, then.

‘Not be a fucking idiot, but it’s obviously too late for that. I suppose you’re both neck deep in it. Thought so. Shut up. Not another fucking word out of you. Leave this with me.’

‘But-’

‘Shut it. Every time you open your mouth you dig a deeper hole. You piss off to your parents’ and try for the first time in your life to behave like a responsible adult. I’ll look after this mess.’

‘Thanks, Coach.’

‘That’s right, you better thank me. Jesus, I have less trouble with my actual kids. But I look after my boys. Even the fuckwits. Ah, don’t sulk. Just keep your nose clean and keep fit. You screw up again this year and you’re out of the game.’

Milo wondered at the argument – Baker had a reputation for trouble and this sounded more of the same. He better not let it spill over into the reality show, Milo thought, then berated himself for his paranoia. Surely he’d experienced enough incidental violent crime for anyone’s lifetime.

If any further conversation followed, Milo missed it, as he glanced at his watch and realised he’d have to run to make his gate on time after all.