Page 95 of The Prodigal

“Do they have chairs?”

“Chairs?”

“Yeah, plastic chairs, like the ones you have outside.” It’s like he doesn’t even work here.

He nods. “Yeah, each room has one.”

Speaking from experience, that isn’t true. Not all rooms have one, but whatever. I don’t have the energy to argue.

I’ll just steal his if it’s not at my fucking doorstep. “Thanks,” I say as I leave, wishing Eden was talking to me so I could brag about actually thanking another piss-poor employee. But instead, I get into the car silently and pull around to our rooms.

“Here’s your key.”

Her eyes flash as she takes in our respective room numbers. “I want 101, not 102.”

Like I give a shit. “Okay. Anything else? Maybe a limo in the morning to take you to the airport?”

“Fuck you.”

That’s my girl. Fight back.

“Order us some fucking food since you seem to be talkative.” She grabs her suitcase and gets out of the car, causing me to smile like an idiot.

“Well, now you’re just being cruel,” I tease. “Twofucksin a row…Be still, my heart.”

I could fuck the taste out of her mouth right now.

She leans down and sends me a much-deserved glare. “Goodnight, Remington.”

After the food is delivered to Eden’s room, I step outside and take a chair, distracting myself by scrolling through my phone.

Several texts are there from my family and even Maverick. But they all go unanswered since none of them are who I want to talk to. She sits next door with her curtains closed and aDo Not Disturbsign hanging on the door, hating my guts while I sit out here, waiting like a fool in love.

Something is wrong with me.

There has to be.

I have never sat outside in a chair and worried about what someone thought of me.

Just call me a pussy.

Or Duke.

They mean the same thing.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and for a brief second, I think it’s Eden, but then Duke’s number flashes across the screen.

I know why he’s calling, and I’m pretty sure he plans to yell.

Fuck it. Why not? I could use a laugh.

“What?” I answer, already lighting a cigarette for this entertaining conversation.

“Is that any way to greet the man who brought you into this world?”

“Well, it depends,” I chide, “if my date minds the interruption.”

“Shit.” He sighs. “I know you didn’t get my brains, but you do know how babies are born, right?”

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