Page 42 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

“Maybe,” I admit.

“Are you thinking about going back?”

He's watching me now with the version of himself that sits underneath the easy charm. Something catches in my chest before I can stop it.

“Eventually,” I say. “Once things settle.”

“What needs to settle?”

“The client situation, mostly.”

“Riley.”

“The Comic Sans thing is very unresolved.”

His jaw shifts, but he lets it go. I'm grateful and I resent being grateful. I force down one bite of gnocchi.

The dessert menu arrives. I order the sorbet. Cold, light, and safe. The kind of thing my stomach might actually tolerate tonight.

Liam glances at the waiter. “Nothing for me.”

When it comes, small and pale green, he looks at me with the serious version of his face. The one that doesn't soften anything.

For a second I think he might reach for me, and I want him to enough that it catches me off guard.

He doesn't. His hand moves an inch closer on the table instead, and my breath catches before I can stop it.

My hand stays where it is. Waiting.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, quiet and direct, no lead-in. “Really.”

When I look up he's not guessing anymore. He's waiting.

“Yeah,” I say, staring at the sorbet. “Just tired.”

“Okay.”

“Work's been a lot.”

“Sure.”

“I'm fine, Liam.”

“I know,” he says.

He picks up the check before I can reach for it.

“You didn't have to—”

“I know,” he says again.

Outside on the Strip the energy hits like a wave. Bass thumps from club doors, a woman in sequins stumbles past with a yard-long margarita, a street drummer pounds on buckets while sparks fly from a fire performer. For a moment I forget my secrets and watch the city refuse to sleep.

We don't call an Uber. Six blocks feels like the right distance for two people who aren't saying what they're thinking. Liam walks beside me, matching my pace. When a group cuts between us at the crosswalk he shifts closer.

Half a block from the building his hand settles on the small of my back, steady, and my whole body shifts toward him before I decide to let it.

He steers me around a cluster of tourists, then the path clears. His fingers flex once against my back like letting go takes effort.