Page 46 of Set Play

Shit.

“You okay?” she asks quietly, and my heart squeezes.

I give her a soft smile. “I’m good, Chispita. Just worried about Cill. He didn’t look too great just now.”

“Do you need to go check on him?”

I debate for a second before responding, “Yeah, I’ll use the ride back to the hotel to talk to him. Are you riding with us?”

She gestures to the girls behind her, “Nah, Reya rented a car, so I’ll ride with her.” She smiles up at me.

I lean in and steal a soft kiss from her. As I pull away, I whisper, “In that case, I will see you later. Be ready for dinner at…” I check my watch and calculate how much time I need to prepare. “seven thirty. Text me your room number. I’ll pick you up.” I give her one more quick kiss before turning toward the bus.

Luckily, Cillian isn’t hard to find; he’s in our usual row, staring out the window. “Hey man,” I say, easing down next to him, “you okay? What happened in the tunnel?”

Just when I think he’s going to ignore me, he turns to me, gray eyes wet and red-rimmed and whispers, “She said her name was Niamh…”

I nod, not following why it upset him so much. He pulls his necklace out from beneath his shirt, one I’ve never seen him without. “Do you know what this is, Teo?”

I shake my head softly. “It’s a Claddagh ring and symbolizes commitment to love, loyalty, and friendship. When I was young, I gave a matching one to the girl I knew I'd one day marry. One who disappeared before I could make good on the promise. A girl named…"

Heartbreak for my best friend settles over me as I whisper the name he can’t.

“Niamh.”

Chapter 24

Élise

Aknock echoes throughout my hotel room at seven on the dot, making my nerves jump. Suddenly, I’m second guessing everything about my outfit.

What if this is too fancy? Or not fancy enough?

What if he hates women in heels?

At that question, I stop and look down at my shoes, brow furrowed.

Nah, fuck that. That’s his problem. But…what if this requires a lot of walking?

Mateo knocks again, putting a pause to my spiral. Smoothing a sweaty hand down the front of my lilac slip dress, I throw the door open, intending to ask him if heels are appropriate footwear. But courtesy of my rambling thoughts, what comes out is, “Do you hate women in heels?”

It takes a second for my words to click in my brain as I stare at my bewildered date. “Um, I mean are heels appropriate for tonight? You didn’t really give me any guidance on attire. Is my outfit okay?”

“No.”

One word. That’s all he says. I gape at him. Did I hear that correctly?

The thought doesn’t get a chance to fully set in before he guides me by my hips back into my room. “Don’t spiral.”

Yeah, because those words have ever successfully stopped a spiral.

“I meant, no, I don’t hate women in heels, Chispita and I especially don’t hate you in heels. As for your outfit.” He uses my hand to spin me slowly. “You look fucking amazing. You could’ve worn pajamas and still looked gorgeous. However, this dress? Fucking phenomenal.”

I try to believe him, but old insecurities refuse to let go so easily. “You’re sure it’s not too much? Or not enough? I know some restaurants have a specific dress code. Did you know that dress codes were first enforced to—”

“Chispita,” he gently interrupts my ramble, making me cringe inwardly.

Was I…about to tell him the origin story of dress codes?