Page 136 of Prodigal Son

Destiny sat in a hotel bar, sipping the last of her watered-down iced tea and vodka. Her hair was loose and clinging to her bare shoulders. She crossed her legs and admired her black dress. It had been a beautiful wedding, even if her date was a tool bag she would never be calling again. She should have left hours ago, but going home alone seemed the final nail in her coffin.

Constance, the bride, had been the last of her single friends. It was only Destiny now. Everyone else was having babies and buying homes and SUVs and contributing to the bigger picture in some way or another. Not Destiny, though.

The bartender replenished her cocktail. When she reached for her clutch, the small purse slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor. She groaned.

“Let me get that for you.” The deep voice sent chills racing down her spine, and her breath caught when she looked up. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Sh–sure.”

The beautiful man sat down beside her, and she breathed in his clean scent, finding it calming with an edgy trace of outdoors. His skin was tanned as if he worked outside even in the winter months, and his sandy brown hair was tied back with a strip of leather.

The bartender asked what he wanted, but the man held up a hand. “Nothing, thank you.”

“You don’t drink?”

“Not tonight. You are Destiny Santos, the reporter from Channel Six, correct?”

Oh, God, he knew her. “The one and only.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

He was literally so beautiful if was difficult to look him in the eye. There was no way this guy picked her out in a crowded bar. He was Brad Pitt Legends of the Fall beautiful. Literally striking enough to make basic speech a challenge. She found his eyes comforting, but felt no familiarity or sense of connection that they might have met before. If they had, she couldn’t place him.

“I, uh, I’m single.”

“Good.” That single syllable sent chills racing to all parts of her body that had gone dormant over her long, cold, sexual ice age.

She waited for him to say more, but he only stared at her. “Did you, uh… Are you sure I can’t buy you a drink?”

“Oh, no thank you. I’m married. My wife wouldn’t like that.”

Her face numbed and her jaw fell open. What the hell was he doing talking to her then. “Right. So, did you want an autograph…?”

“Adam. And no. I have everything I came for.”

She was officially freaked out. This guy went from celebrity-grade eye candy to possible kidnapper in the span of one minute.

She slid off the stool, ignoring her drink. “Well, I’m gonna go find my friends.” Her friends had left hours ago, but he didn’t need to know that.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the guy wasn’t following her, and he was gone. Doing a three-sixty, she searched the bar. “What the fuck?”

Confused and distressed, she pulled out her phone and called Vito. As soon as he answered, she said, “Hey, I need you to come pick me up. I’ve had way too much to drink.”

She substantially sobered by the time Vito arrived. “You seem fine to drive.”

She didn’t want to freak him out and tell him she was scared about some guy following her, or worse, that she hallucinated some guy, so she simply said, “I’m past the legal limit.”

Once in the car, she was silent.

“You okay?”

“Just…sad. Constance was the last of my single friends. Now it’s just me.”

“Hey, I’m single.”

“Guys are different. People just look at you and see a bachelor. For girls it’s more of a blemish.”

“You’re being ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with being single. You’re a strong, independent woman. Men are children. Why tie yourself down?”

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