34. Brielle

The neon sign of the karaoke bar flickers in the distance, and my stomach knots up. Sierra's beside me, her energy infectious as she bounces on the balls of her feet.

"Come on, Brielle! It'll be a blast!"

I hesitate, shifting from one foot to the other. "Sierra, you know I can't sing. I'll just…I'll make a fool of myself."

She grabs my hands, her grip warm and reassuring. "It's not about hitting every note, Brie. It's about letting loose. Having fun!"

I try to imagine myself on stage, microphone in hand, but the image blurs with anxiety. Fun isn't the word that comes to mind.

"Everyone's going to be cheering for you," she insists, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Plus, friends push each other out of their comfort zones. That's what makes it thrilling!"

Her enthusiasm is hard to resist, and a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. Sierra's right—staying in the safe zone hasn't exactly made life memorable lately.

"Okay, okay," I concede with a soft sigh, feeling the resistance crumble inside me. "Let's do this."

"YES!" Sierra pumps her fist in the air, grinning from ear to ear. "You're going to be amazing!"

As we step toward the entrance, the sounds of laughter and music spill out onto the sidewalk. Maybe it won't be so bad after all. Maybe.

Inside the bar, the energy shifts—more vibrant, more alive. I weave through clusters of people. The back room is an alcove of chatter and clinking glasses. Familiar faces from college, some blurred by classes I barely remember. My heart hammers a rhythm, not entirely due to nerves.

"Over here, Sierra!" A voice cuts through the noise, and someone waves from a booth crowded with laughing students. I follow, squeezing between chairs and elbows, drawn to the enclave of camaraderie.

It doesn't take long for Sierra to hit the stage and start singing. Unlike me, she likes to be the center of attention—and sounds good doing it.

The last note of Sierra's song hangs in the air, sweet and a little shaky. She turns to the crowd, grinning wide, and her foot catches the edge of the stage. My hands shoot out, steadying her as she laughs it off.

"Rock star moves," I tease, guiding her toward an empty seat beside me.

"More like clumsy karaoke enthusiast," Sierra chuckles, plopping down. She brushes a stray hair from her face, eyes bright with the adrenaline of performing. The seat's vinyl squeaks under her.

"Hey," she says, suddenly serious, "sorry about the room mix-up."

I shake my head, quick to dismiss it. "Don't sweat it." I mean it. There's a warmth in being here, supported, no questions asked.

"Still…" She bites her lip. "I should have let you book with us."

"Sierra," I insist, "it's fine." Her concern is touching but unnecessary.

Besides, I don't want her to ask any questions. "I'm going to go grab a drink."

I slide off the stool, slip through the throng of bodies. At the bar, wood worn smooth with time, I lean in, catching the bartender's eye. "Gin and tonic," I say, simple, crisp.

He nods, turns to grab a glass. Ice clinks, liquid pours, bubbles rise. I take the drink, cool condensation against my palm, and retreat to a quiet corner.

I take a sip, sharp and refreshing, closing my eyes to savor the moment. Alone but not lonely. A pause in the whirlwind of the night.

Then there's a tap on my shoulder. Startling, unexpected. I turn, finding myself face-to-face with shaggy black hair, brown eyes. He has this half smile, like he knows a secret.

"Hi," he says, voice smooth over the noise. "You must be Brielle. I'm Xavier."

I blink, the name ringing a bell, distant. My dad's words echo. This is the guy he wanted me to meet.

"Xavier…" I trail off, recalibrating. "Right, my dad mentioned you."

His smile widens, acknowledging the awkwardness without dwelling on it. "Hope you don't mind me saying hello."

I shake my head, courtesy winning over surprise. "Not at all." The glass in my hand offers a welcome distraction, something to do with my fingers.

"Enjoying the karaoke?" he asks, leaning casually against the bar.

"More watching than participating," I admit.

"Same here." He chuckles, and it's a warm sound. "I'm more of a listener."

The bass from the speakers pulses through the floor, a steady heartbeat for the night. I take another sip of my drink, buying time, figuring out what to say.

"I'm sorry my dad's trying to set us up," I apologize, laughing a bit awkwardly.

"Trust me, I don't mind." His gaze doesn't waver, even as I take in his confession. "I've kind of had a crush on you," Xavier admits, and there's this honesty in his voice that warms the air between us.

Color creeps up my cheeks, unbidden. It's flattering, this attention, but awkward too, because of how it came about. "Oh," I say. "My dad, he means well, but he can be…" I let the sentence hang, unfinished.

Xavier waves off my apology, his smile never faltering. "No worries. I'm actually glad for the chance to talk to you."

"Really?" My voice is a mix of surprise and skepticism. A guy like him, needing an introduction?

"Really." His affirmation is gentle, encouraging.

The bar hums around us, alive with laughter and off-key singing. But here, in this bubble, it's just us and the conversation that's beginning to flow more easily.

Despite the ease, my mind wanders, unbidden, to Conrad's brooding eyes, Grayson's playful grin. They're a siren call, pulling at me from somewhere not here. The hotel room I'll share with Conrad feels worlds away, yet it's all I can think about.

"Hey, you okay?" Xavier asks, noticing my distraction.

"Yeah, just…" I trail off, not sure how to explain without revealing too much. "It's been a long day." A half-truth, but it's all I'm willing to give.