Page 41 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

“You always do that,” he says.

“Do what?”

“Laugh like you're surprised it happened.”

“Because most of the time you're not funny.”

He grins. “That hurts, Riley.”

“You'll recover.”

“Eventually.” His eyes catch the light. “But not tonight.”

I take a sip of water to hide the smile that creeps across my face anyway.

Liam leans back, sleeves pushed to his elbows. His gaze drops to my collarbone and the way the dress fits tighter than anything I've worn in weeks. His jaw tightens slightly.

He catches me looking.

“Problem?” he asks.

“None,” I say.

“You keep looking.”

“You keep giving me something to look at,” I shoot back.

His smile changes, slower and more certain. Like he just learned something useful.

I'm barely eating. The nausea is persistent, the gnocchi untouched on my plate.

“Connor texted today,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“About the Harrington dinner. Wanted to know if it's still on track.”

“It is. Ethan's handling it.”

“Good.” I nod. Like this was useful information. Like any of this is about the dinner.

Connor still doesn't know. That thought sits underneath everything else.

His fingers brush mine when he reaches for his glass, and his hand stays against mine a beat too long.

His gaze drifts past me to the window and the bright chaos of the city.

“Portland,” he says. “What do you miss about it?”

“The coffee.” No hesitation. “The quiet. The rain.”

“Vegas has rain.”

“Vegas gets a drizzle twice a year and calls it a storm.” I pick up my water. “Portland rain starts before you wake up and it's still going when you fall asleep. The kind that makes staying inside feel earned, not like giving up.”

He considers that. “Sounds less like missing the rain and more like missing somewhere that let you disappear.”

I look up at him.