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147 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 18, 2014
"Two: You will not wake me before ten. And seriously, that's more for your own safety than anything else. I cannot stress enough that I can be a real bitch in the morning."Then as Mason continued to interrupt before Jack reached his # 7 final rule, Jack gives Mason the following little 'Come to Jesus' talking to:
"Have you ever been on a plane, Mason? You know how when the nice lady stands up and starts speaking and she's telling you all these things that are going to supposedly save your life and nobody talks because everybody's listening? That's what we should be doing right now, okay? You get to be the boss soon enough. For now we listen to the pretty boy, okay?"Yep, I was all in. Hook, line and sinker. : )
“I want him. I don't know why he affects me as badly as he does, but he does and I like it and I want it.”

Reviewed for Prism Book Alliance
"Heavens, no," Mason drawled. "After all I'm sure you have some elusive winged pixie out there that swoops down to retrieve you from all moments of danger. Who am I to play Captain against your need to go charging into danger?"
"There's nothing wrong with wearing your heart on your sleeve, Mason. As long as you've got it there because you want it to be seen, because you're proud of its beauty and its power. It only gets ugly when you've placed it there because you're offering it up as an easy sacrifice."
"You are an idealistic princess."
"And you are a miserable troll," Mason smiled. "Good thing they made you pretty, hmm?"
"I guess we're both kinda fucked up, aren't we?"
"Yeah," mason chuckled. "Yeah, we are."
“Good. So, do you have any questions?”
“Yes.” Mason tried to settle his annoyance with a smile. “Actually I do. An important one. The most important question-slash-statement that has been asked-slash-said since you sat your ass in my car.”
The man turned and glared and Mason softened his expression. “What’s your name?”
Perturbed faded to confused and then confused shot quickly to defensive. “My name is whatever the hell you want it to—”
Mason held up a hand, policeman style. “Don’t say it. Do not even bother to say it. You have boundaries and so do I, and one of mine is that I freaking hate cheese. And that, sir, is the cheesiest line in the history of lines. You want to be Mr. Blunt then I sincerely hope that you can deal with getting it back. Now, just answer the damn question.”
The man paused, looked Mason up and down, and finally tsk’d. “How’s Fabio work for you?”
“Well, that depends on whether or not it’s your name.” Mason reached out and punched the button on the radio to force the appliance into silence. “I believe it’s your move, sailor.”
The man sighed as if Mason had asked him to give up a first-born son. He rolled his eyes when Mason looked back over. He pursed his lips. His fingertips started drumming on his own denim-bound knees. And then he huffed another breath and dropped his head against the seat. “Fine, have it your way. My name is Jack.”
An unknowable, un-understandable feeling of relief washed through Mason. His shoulders relaxed. The frown eased off his forehead. He reached across the seat to extend his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Mason.”