Page 34 of Property of Fox

“What time are you meeting him?”

“I’m supposed to meet him at the entrance to the lobby at eight.”

“Eight? Girl, we need to jet then.” Keira tugs at my hand, practically dragging me behind her.

“Keira, slow down. What’s the rush?”

“We have like three hours to get you date ready, B. There’s no time to waste.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” The question falls on Keira’s deaf ears as she drags me outside towards the car.

“Brea, please don’t take this the wrong way, but no best friend of mine is going on a date in that,” she says while wagging her finger up and down at me. “First dates are special. You need to make an impression.”

“Considering I’d spilled a drink all over him the first time we met, I think we’re way passed the impression stage.”

“You did what?” she squeals. “I’m going to need every single spicy detail, B, while we get you ready.”

FOX

Comingup with an excuse to ditch the after party turns out was far easier than I had previously thought. With the event ending tomorrow and my newly inked name on the no-fly list, I need transportation home. Thankfully, the closest rental car company is only a ten-minute drive from the venue hotel. The tricky part will be actually picking up Brea for our date and not getting spotted by one of Eden’s feral readers in the process.

“We’ve got a couple of options for you to pick from,” the guy behind the rental counter murmurs while pulling some sets ofkeys out from a drawer behind him. “I’m going to assume you aren’t interested in economy cars?”

“Do I look like a guy who fits into a clown car? I know you’ve probably seen them at the circus unloading like a party bus, but let’s be real, the only people who fit in those are about half my size and blonde.”

“SUV or truck?” he counters, laughing.

“Truck.”

“Good thing you’re here in Texas. Trucks we have in spades. Let’s go take a look at what I have ready to go.”

He leads me outside. The parking lot a mix of shiny new models and older and weather-beaten pickups that have seen better days. I scan the options, my eyes landing on a black Ford F-150 that looks like it could conquer just about anything thrown its way.

“Now that's a truck,” I nod, striding over to it. “I could practically haul a mountain with this beast.”

“Are you planning on doing some hauling?”

“Hauling ass back to Indiana,” I answer flatly. “I’ll take it.”

“Great! I just need your ID and credit card, and you’ll be on your way.”

A quick transaction later, I slide into the driver’s seat, feeling the leather wrap around me. I set the GPS back to the hotel. Getting there is half the battle but sneaking Brea out without anyone noticing is going to take some finesse.

As I pull away from the rental lot, my phone vibrates on the console. “Read me my texts.”

A robotic voice answers. “One text from Rainbow Devil.”

Where are you? The after-party is kicking off, and you need to get your ass here.

I use voice-to-text type out a quick replay.

Still working on my ride home. It’s taking longer than I expected. I’ll be back soon.

I laugh as I order my phone to send it. The last place I would be caught dead is that fucking after-party. Eden’s little kiss stunt was more than enough acting for her fans. If that didn’t sell her story, it’s on her. I deserve a little me time on this shit show of a trip, and I’m taking it with Brea.

The drive back to the hotel feels longer than it should, a restless energy buzzing under my skin as I anticipate seeing Brea again. I finally arrive at the hotel and immediately scan the lobby entrance for any signs of Eden's fans. Luckily, the few not at the after party seem preoccupied with their conversations and drinks, leaving me unnoticed as I pull in. At first glance, I don't see Brea anywhere. Did she change her mind about meeting up with a stranger?

But then, a car pulls up behind me, and Brea steps out of the passenger side. She looks stunning in a black dress that hugs her curves and high heels that accentuate her figure. Her long red curls are pulled up, revealing her elegant neck. She leans into the open passenger side door, talking to the driver. A female, I think. She glances around a few times before she waves to her friend, who pulls away from the curb. Brea walks towards the entrance. She stumbles over her heels but recovers gracefully. I wait, unable to stop watching her, until she passes by my truck. Rolling down the window, I call out to her.

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