Page 19 of The Prodigal Son

“I need a fucking drink,” I grumble under my breath to Lola as we enter the throng of people.

Everyone cheers as they see me come in. Guys in suits with beautiful women with rhinestones on their arms come to shake my hand. I don’t catch their names or titles as I search the room for some fucking alcohol.

VPs of something, marketing directors, associates, whatever. I don’t fucking care. But I need to keep the record label happy, so I give them all warm smiles and keep them engaged.

Finally, a waiter walks by and asks if I want anything.

“Yes,” I say with too much enthusiasm. “Tequila soda with lime. Make it a double.”

“Easy,” Lola says under her breath.

“Stop mothering me,” I whisper back so no one can hear.

The suits are all talking, trying to keep my attention, and when the tequila eventually hits my lips, everything calms inside me. I crack jokes with them and get comfortable for a while.

From what I can tell, these men are all like my father. Conservative, haughty, self-indulgent assholes who only care about themselves and their own pockets.

But more importantly, they’re filling mine, so I have to say and do the right things. In the back of my mind is the cruel and nagging reminder that if they knew the truth about me, they might not be so nice.

Then, as I’m taking a drink from my glass, my eyes catch on someone familiar across the room. Mr. Tall and Handsome is here.

Holy shit.

He’s standing by the window with the blonde woman, both of them looking nervous as they watch me. Are they just fans who managed to snag some backstage passes?

He’s clearly straight, so it’s stupid of me to want to talk to him, but I do. I worked hard tonight. I deserve to indulge in a hard drink and a conversation with a hot man.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say politely when the conversation dies down. The men carry on talking without me as I make my way over to the other side of the room. There’s a buffet that I use as an excuse to head in that direction.

I snack on a few chips before making eye contact with him. Even more handsome up close, I see. Dark hair swept to the side with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. I could cut fucking glass with that bone structure.

“Hey there,” I say, picking up a shrimp from around the bowl of ice. “You guys enjoy the show?”

The man clears his throat, and I realize that he looks a little more starstruck than the woman. She’s shy, I can tell, but he can’t take his eyes off me like I’m over here sparkling.

“Absolutely,” he says as he comes closer. “You were incredible out there.”

“It was so good,” the woman chirps quietly at his side. She tries to cling to his arm, but he pulls it away, reaching for a handshake from me.

“I’m Jensen Miles. It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Virgil.”

I nearly choke on the shrimp cocktail as I laugh. “Jesus, please don’t call me that. Theo is fine.”

There’s a twinkle of interest in his eyes as I slide my hand into his. He squeezes my palm so firmly that it sends a jolt of excitement down my spine.

Easy, Isaac.

“I’m Gabrielle,” the woman says, and I have to tear myself away from the dark oak-colored eyes of the man to remind myself that she’s standing there.

“Lovely to meet you, Gabrielle. Thanks for coming to the show.”

“I’m so starstruck,” she says with a giggle as she covers her mouth.

“You two from around here?” I ask, wanting to make small talk. I’d rather talk to them and stare at him than go back to the boring suits.

“No, we flew over from Austin for the show.”

I wince at the sound of my hometown. I don’t openly claim Austin as my home, not as Theo, at least. Theo is from all over. A little Nashville. A little New York.

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