Jack nodded, slinked back into his vampire romance, and kept quiet for the remaining flight.
Tate was also quiet, his mind straying to Persimmon’s smile, broad shoulders, and tight stomach, unable to stop thinking the guy sexy and hot and…
* * * *
Home again. Channing. Safe.
Approximately two hours after landing, Albert called Tate’s cellphone, checking on his son. “You make it home?”
“I did. Safe and whatnot.”
“Good to know. You never know when, and if, a plane is going down.”
Tate guffawed. “Jesus, Dad, keep those comments to yourself.”
“Being serious, son. Planes are dropping out of the sky every day. It does cross a father’s mind once in a while.”
“I’m having dinner tonight.”
Lift in voice. Bright smile. “With whom? Ben Lansing?”
“Not him. He’s not my type, Dad. A different guy.”
“Well, when you want to talk about the special someone with me, you let me know. I’ll be here to listen.”