Page 61 of Whirlwind

“Nashville. Where are you? Let me guess—Antarctica?”

He laughed. “Hell no. The Azores.”

“Of course you are.”

“I have a great idea, and you can’t say no. Cannot no way in hell say no.”

“Saying yes to you has always gotten me into trouble.” I laughed. Violet’s eyebrows perked up as she tossed her phone on the bed and headed back into the living room.

“Beck, meet me in Greece.”

“Meet you where?”

“I’m on my way to Mykonos for a few days to film a video with a European DJ friend of mine, and I’ve also got a collab with this Italian jewelry designer. We’re putting together a video for the promo on his yacht.”

“As ever, making it happen, every which way.”

“Every which way. Always,” he said. “Come hang out with us, man. I haven’t seen you in a fucking dog’s age. I know you finished your tour and you must have free time now. Come to Europe—it’s a week at most.”

A dark chuckle was my only reply.

“I miss you, dude,” said Tag. “You know I’m just what you need right now.”

He was right.

Time with Tag meant antics, high living, rush seeking, amazing models in bikinis 24/7, and total live for today, live in the moment.

Violet’s boots clicked toward me, her incredible body a vision in her black bra and panty set. My heart thudded in my chest, and I steadied myself as she handed me a crystal tumbler with bourbon.

“Message me the details, Tag.”

“Yessss! Awesome. This is gonna be great.”

Tag always thought that everything was “gonna be great.” Always. But it was that enthusiasm, that positive mindset that led him to his huge success. He was right where he wanted to be, and it was great. From where I was standing right here, right now, I envied that autonomy, that complete freedom he had. He was the master of his ship. He navigated according to his moods and desires and all else followed.

And he was making big, big bucks doing it.

I put my phone down on the round, glossy, wood table in the foyer and swallowed the fiery bourbon.

“Tell me that was Tag Sorenson?” Violet walked by my side into the living area.

“That was Tag Sorenson.”

“Holy shit.”

“You know Tag?”

“Jesus, Beck, the whole world knows Tag Sorenson! I remember your Instagram posts from several years ago—the two of you wind surfing in Hawaii, skydiving by a volcano.”

“That’s right. That was the last time we saw each other too.” I drained my glass and ripped off my leather jacket, tossing it on the sofa. “Tag, Jude, and I went to high school together.”

“Geez, what high school was this? For the gifted and the gorgeous?”

I let out a laugh. “An arts high school in L.A. Tag dropped out after freshman year to trek around the world and film himself doing crazy shit.”

“And look at him now.”

“Amazing, right? He goes from idea to idea and makes it happen. He’s big time now. Has a lot of corporate interest, big brands are after him. He’s in a position where he can pick and choose and do whatever the hell he wants according to his mood.”

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