Page 85 of Fire
I’m the one handling your tickets, asshats. And no, you can’t bring dates. VIP tickets don’t grow on fucking trees.
Pres
Yeah, if I can’t bring my boyfriend, you can’t bring some rando from Tinder.
Myles
What about Grindr?
Cash
No dates!
Myles
Damn. All right. Guess I’ll just…mingle backstage then.
Merc
Ew, Myles. Just no.
Pres
Hen! Answer me!
We’re on our way to LA, and my phone has been buzzing incessantly for five minutes straight. I’m trying to ignore it as I work up the courage to ask Zara if she wants to have dinner with my family when we’re in town. But when I glance down at my screen and see the mile-long text chain from my siblings, I seriously start to reconsider.
Maybe she’s not ready for the Creed family yet.
I’m not even sure I’m ready for the Creed family yet.
Fucking hell.
Me
Jesus. Give me a second. I was busy.
That’s a lie. I haven’t done a single thing since we took off except stare out the window while my mind catastrophizes all the ways this conversation with Zara could go wrong.
She tells me she’s not ready.
She says she doesn’t want that kind of relationship with me and never does.
She realizes how attached I’ve become and ends things.
I die miserable and alone.
My right hand nervously plucks out a rhythm on the arm of the chair until my fingers cramp up when I see her exit the bathroom. I grab my phone and am met with a slew of next messages.
Pres
Busy? Sure.
Merc
Busy with what???
Myles
