Page 27 of The Prodigal Son

“Don’t even try to hide it, lover boy. They can see you grinning from the parking lot.”

“He’s coming to the show tomorrow,” I murmur behind my hand.

“I figured as much,” she replies flatly. “Just text Jill and tell her to save you a ticket. He can pick it up at the will call.”

“You’re not mad at me?” I ask, propping my chin on my hand and gazing at her in the opposite seat.

She drops her phone. “No, but if he outs you or hurts you, I’m going to find him and cut his nuts off and wear them as a necklace.” She nods at my phone. “Text him that.”

“I will.”

Are you sure?

I know it’s last minute.

We can hang out again, right?

Yes. Definitely.

I don’t think there’s going to be any fancy guys in suits this time,

so we can just go do our own thing.

Perfect.

I can cover the flight too.

Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.

Awesome.

Your tickets will be at the will call.

Should I tell them one or two?

My knee is bouncing wildly under the table. If he says two, then I’ll know he’s just a fan and not interested in me in that way. I can live with that…I guess. Not what I want, but I’ll deal with it. Just to get to see him and soak in all of his hotness would be enough for me.

But if he says one, then I’ll know he wants to be alone with me.

One.

The single text practically pulses on the screen. I’m never the guy to reconsider moving too fast. If I had my way, I would have dragged his tall ass all the way onto that tour bus last night without a second thought.

So what’s with the fucking butterflies? What on earth has gotten into me?

Then I guess that means I’ll see you tomorrow.

See you tomorrow.

Eight

Jensen

“Please stow away all tray tables and return your seats to a fully upright position.”

I stare out the window of the plane, a nervous energy building inside me as I look out at Salt Lake City below me.

It feels as if someone else is piloting my life entirely. I’m no longer in charge; I’m just coasting down this hill without brakes or a way to stop.

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