JACK
I f*****g hate interviews.
“My morning’s ruined,” I tell Wade, who sits next to me in the car on the way to the radio station in the heavy Manhattan traffic.
“Quit whining,” Wade says, irritating me even more. My legs are cramped, and I uncross them nervously.
“Couldn’t spring for a limo, huh?” I grumble.
“You’re like a child.” Wade rolls his eyes at me. If I have to be miserable, then I’m taking him down with me.
I shuffle through the pockets in the seats in front of me and then shift my attention to the non-alcoholic beverages in a small cart to my left.
“I hope there’s going to be coffee when we get there.” I cross my arms over my chest as I watch the city go by. The complimentary hotel coffee was s**t.
“Are you going to be like this the entire time we’re here?” Wade grumbl
