Page 32 of The Prodigal Son

When we pull apart, our eyes meet again. It’s brief. This isn’t the place to be so open with our attraction, and he knows it.

After putting some shit away and making sure my guitar is taken care of, I walk out to the bus with Jensen by my side. The fans are there like always, waiting for me to cross from the building to the tour bus.

As they scream my name, I leave his side for a second and sign a few of their things, more than usual, if I’m honest. The entire time, I feel him watching.

Lola is there to pull me away when I don’t give up signing shit.

“I have to get cleaned up. You can wait in the bus and then we can head out to a bar or something after,” I say to Jensen once we climb aboard.

He glances skeptically at Lola, who is doing the same back to him. I’m a little afraid of leaving them alone with each other. I hope she doesn’t threaten to cut his balls off to his face, but I wouldn’t put it past her.

I shower quickly, and by the time I come out, they are enjoying small talk with the rest of the band. Rio has poured some drinks for everyone, and I toss back a shot of tequila in the kitchen to settle my nerves.

Why the fuck am I nervous?

“Ready to go?” I ask Jensen after slipping a baseball hat on my head.

He stands from the recliner. “Ready.”

We say goodbye to the band before we leave. “Don’t stay out too late,” Lola calls like a mother.

There’s a black SUV waiting for us, but Jensen and I don’t even have a destination in mind. As we climb in, Jensen asks, “When does your bus leave?”

“Four hours,” I reply with disappointment. “Where are you staying tonight?”

“I got a hotel downtown. Just a few miles away. I think it has a restaurant and a bar.”

A hotel bar. Perfect.

“Sweet. Let’s go there.”

As the driver takes us to Jensen’s hotel, there is a sense of haste between us. For sex, maybe. For that first kiss. For a moment alone with him. It’s like a race.

When we get there, we head straight for the rooftop restaurant. I keep my eyes down as we go so no one recognizes me, which honestly isn’t often. Without the cowboy hat, I’m just a regular guy. The server puts us in a quiet corner with a palm tree and a large planter to hide us from view.

As soon as we sit down, I look into his eyes.

“Is this okay?” he asks. I’m not sure what he’s referring to, but I have a feeling it’s the date-like situation we’re in. Out on a date in public? No, it’s not okay, but not for the reasons he’s thinking.

It’s not okay because I don’t date. The idea of having a meal with a complete stranger to put our compatibility to the test sounds like torture to me, but for some reason, with him, it doesn’t sound bad at all.

I’m far more used to hooking up with guys I click with at bars or online, and nine times out of ten, it’s a one-time thing. Sometimes, we repeat the hookup so much it starts to feel like a relationship. That hasn’t happened in a while, though.

“This is great,” I reply, leaning back in my chair and giving him a crooked smirk.

The server comes by and takes our orders. The need for a drink is visceral. I’m desperate for something to settle the unease in my bones.

As she leaves and Jensen and I are alone, the air feels heavy. That almost-kiss we shared in the greenroom is dying for us to acknowledge it.

Jensen has such an air of confidence about him, and I’ve never been with a guy like that. As he leans back in his chair with one arm slung over the back, my mouth starts to water. I imagine him sitting like that while I unzip his pants. I imaginepleasing him, feeling the weight of his cock on my tongue, and hearing him tell me how much he likes it.

My cock twitches in my pants.

“Do you date a lot?” he asks with interest.

“No,” I reply with a shake of my head. “I’m sure you can understand why.”

His eyes narrow as he nods slowly. “I do understand.” To be fair, I know almost nothing about Jensen so far, but with that look in his eye it gives me the impression that he’s harboring secrets.

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