Riley POV

The second Avery showed up, waving a sparkly dress and chirping about “charity, cocktails, and a touch of class,” I should’ve bolted. But I didn’t. Because apparently, I’m soft for my best friend and have zero spine when she says the phrase “open bar.”

That’s how I ended up here, heels on, hair curled, standing in a room full of people who look like they either own yachts or bodyguards. I sipped something fruity and overpriced, trying not to visibly gag when a dude in a velvet blazer used the word “synergy” unironically.

Avery, of course, looked like she belonged on the cover of Rich & Ruthless Monthly. She linked her arm through mine with a smug little grin. “This isn’t so bad,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “You clean up well, babe.” “Gee, thanks,” I deadpanned. “You going to pat me on the head next?”

Avery adjusted my strap and gave me a once-over. “People are staring. Own it.”

“They’re staring because I look like a hostage,” I muttered.

“You’re welcome.”

I pulled out my phone, trying to see if Nate had made it yet.

Me: Forced to socialize with puckheads. Rip.

Nate: Stuck in traffic. Be over soon.

Vague. Suspiciously vague. But also kind of sweet.

I invited him. Not officially, but I half hoped he would say yes, and he did. I pretended I wasn’t checking the doors every five minutes. Or scanning the room every time someone tall moved in my peripheral vision. Or sipping my drink just a little faster than normal.

Avery disappeared into the crowd, chasing down Liam with a kind of determination that made me consider faking a sudden illness. I found a quiet corner near the bar and people-watched with growing boredom. I recognized one or two faces from local sports posters, probably athletes, but none of them looked familiar enough to care.

At one point, I thought I saw Nate, just a flash of someone tall with his build ducking behind a server carrying mini sliders, but it was too quick. Probably just wishful thinking.

I grabbed another drink.

The lighting was soft, golden, like someone tried to airbrush the whole room in real time. The band was decent. The vibe was rich. Everything gleamed. But under the surface? It was all polish and pretense. Laughter that didn’t stick. Conversations so shallow they evaporated.

I could see why Avery liked these things: expensive dresses, polished vibes, free wine, but all I saw was surface. Gloss over boredom. Loud laughter that didn’t reach anyone’s ears.

I was about to fake a bathroom emergency when I felt hands slide around my waist.

Familiar. Warm. Solid. Confident in that quiet, reckless way that made my pulse stutter instead of race.

“Hey,” Nate murmured into my ear, his voice low, amused. “How’s my favorite anti-social doing?”

I turned, caught completely off guard, and yep, there he was. Hoodie traded for a blazer, still rumpled like he’d argued with it in the car. His hair is a little messy, but I couldn't help but think it was cute. Smirking like he owned the damn room.

“You showed,” I said, surprised, trying to play it cool. “I figured traffic won.”

“Nah,” he said. “I needed to see you in a dress.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a guy.”

“Guilty.” He grinned, but there was tension underneath. His eyes flicked around the room like he was scanning for landmines.

We stood there for a beat, me finishing off the last of my drink, him looking weirdly tense. His eyes darted around the room like he was searching for someone.

“I think I just spotted a player I know,” he said suddenly. “Mind if I say a quick hey?”

“You know athletes?” I asked, eyebrows up.

He shrugged, already stepping back. “Small town. Big bar scene. Be right back, okay?”

I nodded, watching him weave through the crowd.

I waited. And waited.

Twenty minutes passed. No Nate. No text. No explanation. Just empty space and the sound of champagne flutes clinking like a slow, mocking metronome. I scrolled through my phone just to look busy. Just to pretend I wasn’t standing there like a kicked puppy in a cocktail dress.

Finally, I found Avery laughing with Liam near the silent auction table, leaning into him like a woman on a mission.

“Done?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Done,” I said, tight-lipped. “Ready to bail?”

She said goodbye. I didn’t.

I didn’t owe him that. I told myself I didn’t care.

I didn’t want to admit it felt like something sharp had lodged behind my ribs.

I’d gone to this event because of Avery.

I’d stayed because of Nate.

And now? I left with nothing but blisters and a bitter taste in my mouth, with the slow burn of disappointment curling low in my chest.