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“Dude.”

“What?” Leo asks, arching a brow.

“Naomi's been throwing heart-eyes at you since you walked in.”

Leo lets out a long, exhausted breath before folding his arms across his chest. “I know.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Lucas blinks. “Go talk to her, man.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm busy,” Leo replies, nudging his head towards the man behind the bar. “I'm still waiting for my drink,” he lies.

Lucas stares at him for a beat before shaking his head dramatically. Then his attention shifts to me.

“… And you,” he groans.

“What about me?”

He points between Leo and me. “I swear, by the end of tonight I'm getting at least one of you laid.”

I take a sip of my drink. “I admire your optimism.”

Leo lets a chuckle slip, catching himself before it grows. He’s mildly entertained, but careful, redirecting the moment so Lucas has no chance of turning his focus back onto him. To his luck, Ryan now meets at his side with Sofie trailing along, sensually stringing the rest of the group to meet at the bar and ordering shots.

I’m ready to pull out my next excuse when Lucas reels me back in, “What about him?”

I glance at the bartender pouring tequila. He looks about in his late twenties maybe. Dark hair slicked back, sleeves rolled to his elbows, moving with the kind of practiced efficiency people in places like this develop after years of dealing with drunk customers.

I look for exactly two seconds before turning back to Lucas.

“Not my type.”

The bartender slides the shots across the counter. Amani grabs one immediately, raising the glass. “To me,” she declares.

We all raise our glasses, throwing back the clear liquid. The tequila burns its way down my throat. Lucas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before scanning the room again like he’s browsing a catalogue. “Nope… not him… definitely not him…”

While he’s busy playing matchmaker, I slip my phone from my pocket.

Just to check the time. Nothing else.

The screen lights up in my palm, and I immediately regret even checking. Not only has it only been an hour, but there are still no messages from Dante.

I slide the phone back into my pocket.

Fuck him anyway.

“Damn, the men in this club look fucking boring, and I’m not even into guys…” Lucas huffs.

Then he suddenly straightens.

“Oh wait—what about that guy? If he isn’t your type, I don’t know wha—” He stops mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. “Wait… isn’t that...”