Page 154 of Reverse

I narrow my eyes. “Do I want to know exactly how many women you two have practiced this act on?”

“You’re the first. How are we faring?”

“Meh.” I shrug.

“No more time for chit-chat, the plane is waiting, and we’re going to have to fight traffic to get to it.”

“It’s kind of presumptuous of him to assume he can summon me on a whim.” Even I can hear the bullshit in my statement. “What if I had plans?”

“Then I would have had to kidnap you because I was ordered to, in no certain terms, ‘collect his soulless ginger and get her side stage.’”

“Reid isn’t there?” I ask, excitement clear in my voice.

“Nope, he left this afternoon.” Joel claps his hands together. “No more time to explain. Easton wants you at the concert. We can get there in time for the second half if we hurry.”

“Hell yes! Twenty minutes?” I ask.

“Better shoot for ten.” He jabs a thumb toward the elevator. “I’ll wait downsta—”

“The hell you will! Get in here.” I yank him inside my studio, and he chuckles as I race to the fridge and pluck a Coke and a beer from the shelf before holding each up to him. “Thirsty?”

“I’ll take the Coke, sweetheart. I’m driving, and your boyfriend will have my balls if I take a sip of alcohol before I do.”

“He’s overprotective,” I say, another surge of relief coursing through me.

“Of you, yeah, he most definitely fucking is.” I hand Joel the Coke and lift a brow.

“Are you being cryptic right now?”

“Little bit,” he glances around. “Cute place,” he muses silently at the size of it before he pops the top of his Coke.

“Thanks,” I grab the remote from my ottoman and thrust it toward him. “Make yourself at home. I have every sports channel imaginable. I’m going to,” I jerk my head toward my bedroom.

“I’m good,go,” he waves me away as I race to pack.

FORTY-FIVE

“Here Comes My Girl”

Tom Petty

Natalie

Though Joel drives like a bat out of hell to get us to the interstate, we end up stuck in over an hour of traffic, which has me fuming and Joel panicking. The second we board the plane and are buckled in, we’re cruising toward the runway.

“Whose plane is this?” I ask, checking out the large cabin, this private jet far more luxurious than the first plane Easton chartered for me.

“Not sure,” Joel averts his gaze.

“Bullshit. Please tell me this plane isn’t on loan from a big-breasted pop star or anyone of a similar nature.”

Joel chuckles. “I’ll let him explain himself.”

I search for any clue and come up empty. “Oh, I’ll make sure he does.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Joel says from the oversized, plush seat opposite me, opening our window shade as we turn onto the runway.

Vibrating with excitement, I reroll the sleeve of Easton’s jacket to my forearms and secretly marvel at the quick outfit I made out of it. Keeping the top open enough to show a little side boob, I belted the rest around tiny black shorts. I finished the look with black stilettos that are already killing my feet but will hopefully be worth the pain. “I can’t wait to see him play. It feels like it’s been forever rather than two months.”

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