Derek was still going on about how Jordan was a pain in the ass—in a good way—when I stepped out of the en suite and into view.
“Holy fucking hell, Prescott.”
“I look okay?” I asked, as I tugged on my cuffs, getting comfortable in my tux.
“Do you look okay ? Umm…Locke’s lucky he’s at the bottom of the stairs, ’cause if he saw you standing there in that waiting for him, he just might trip over his fucking feet to get to you.”