35. Brielle

The clink of ice against glass punctuates our banter. Xavier leans in, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "You're incredible, you know that? Let me get you another drink." His eyes twinkle with a playful challenge.

"Maybe just one more," I respond, definitely starting to feel the effects of the first one. The bartender nods at Xavier's signal and starts preparing a fresh cocktail.

"Okay, Brielle," Xavier says, resting his chin on his hand, elbow propped on the bar. "Celebrity crush."

I bite my lip, thinking. "Chris Hemsworth. But only as Thor. That hammer can do wonders." I wink, and he laughs, a deep, throaty sound that sends a tingle down my spine.

"Fair enough," Xavier concedes. "Mine's Scarlett Johansson. Can't resist a woman who kicks ass."

"Speaking of kicking ass…ever dream of being a superhero?" I ask, taking the fresh drink the bartender slides over.

"Doesn't everyone?" he retorts. "But honestly, my dream job would be a travel blogger. Imagine getting paid to explore the world."

I nod, sipping my drink, the sharp tang of citrus on my tongue. "Can't argue with that. But for me, it'd be running a bakery. Cupcakes over crunches any day."

"Sweet tooth, huh?" He grins, leaning closer. "I'll file that away for future reference."

"Your turn. Story time. What's something ridiculous you've done?" My curiosity piques as I notice the mischievous glint in his eye.

"Streaking through a football field," he confesses without missing a beat. "My roommates dared me. Got tackled by security before I made the end zone."

I laugh, almost choking on my drink. "No way! I guess you weren't fast enough!"

"Hey, not all of us have Olympic speed," he teases, nudging my shoulder gently.

"Touché." I raise my glass in a mock salute. "Here's to being caught with our pants down. Literally, in your case."

"Cheers to that." Xavier chuckles, clinking his glass against mine.

Our laughter fills the space between us, light and easy, like bubbles rising to the surface of our drinks.

"Okay, your turn," Xavier challenges me. "Ever pull off something truly scandalous?"

"Scandalous?" I arch an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. "How about creating fake report cards in high school?"

He leans forward, intrigued. "For yourself?"

"Nah, for friends. Charged them twenty bucks a pop." I shrug, as if it's no big deal.

"Entrepreneurial," he teases.

"Totally." I laugh. "Had this whole system with a scanner and editing software. Until one day…"

"Wait." He holds up a hand. "There's an ‘until one day'?"

"Of course there is." I laugh. "One kid's mom worked at the school. She almost fainted when she saw her son's straight As."

He snorts, covering his mouth to stifle the burst of laughter. "What happened?"

"Let's just say business closed that day." I wink. "But hey, everyone got their money's worth."

"Wow." He shakes his head. "You were quite the rebel."

"Past tense?" I feign offense. "I'm still a rebel, Xavier. Just…more law-abiding."

"Right." He chuckles, tilting his head. "Because you're such a bad girl."

"Duh."

We fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that's full of unspoken words and shared smiles. The laughter dwindles into a charged silence. Xavier's eyes flicker to my lips. My breath catches. He leans in, and suddenly his lips are on mine—warm, insistent. My heart stutters. It's unexpected, unwelcome. I jerk back, my hand flying up to my mouth.

"Whoa," I gasp, the word barely a puff of air.

"Shit, Brielle, I'm—" Xavier's voice cracks, his face crumpled with apology. "I thought…sorry, that was too fast."

He runs a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me. His shoulders slump and he takes a step back, putting space between us. It feels like a chasm now, filled with awkwardness.

"Way off base," he mutters to himself, a blush creeping up his neck.

I'm frozen, still processing the brush of his lips against mine, the surprise of it all. Part of me wants to comfort him, to smooth over the embarrassment.

The worst thing is that I should have enjoyed it; I should want him because Dad approves and he's my age and sweet and charming, but the only thing I want from him is friendship.

"Xavier, it's okay," I finally say, though my voice doesn't sound as convincing as I want it to be.

"Is it?" He looks up, searching my face for signs of reassurance, but finding only confusion.

We stand there, two people caught in the aftermath of misread signals, the playful air evaporated, leaving a sticky discomfort in its wake.

I take a deep breath, let it out slow. My pulse is still racing, but I force a smile.

I can't tell him the truth.

"Really, Xavier, it's fine." I reach out, touch his arm. "I appreciate you—and our parents' matchmaking attempt."

His eyes meet mine, hold steady. There's hope there, and something else. Vulnerability.

"Can I ask you something then?" His voice is tentative, like he's stepping across thin ice.

"Sure," I say, curious despite myself.

"Would you go on a date with me? A real one, I mean. Where we can talk more…get to know each other. Without surprises." He gives a half smile, self-deprecating.

I'm taken aback. He's sincere, and the offer is genuine. But my mind races—what about Grayson, Levi, Conrad?

"Xavier, I?—"

"Think about it?" he cuts in, saving me from having to answer right now.

"Okay, I'll think about it," I agree, because it's true—I will think about it. And because right now, it's the easiest thing to say.

My heart sinks. Xavier's eyes, warm and expectant, don't ignite a wildfire in my chest like Grayson's smoldering gaze, or Levi's electrifying touch, or even Conrad's enigmatic smirk.

"Xavier, I—" I start again, but words clot in my throat, heavy, unformed.

"Hey, Brielle!" Sierra's voice cuts through, bubbling with too much alcohol. She stumbles toward us, her laughter spilling over like a glass too full.

"Sierra," I say, reaching out to steady her. She leans into me, all weight and dizzy delight.

"Tonight is so fun!" she slurs, her words tangling together, a necklace knotted at the clasp. "You're the best for bringing me here!"

I grip Sierra's arm, her skin warm and clammy under my fingertips. Her head lolls slightly, eyelids drooping. I can smell the sweet tang of too many fruity cocktails on her breath. She needs a bed, water, aspirin—safety.

"Sierra, let's get you back to the hotel," I say, more to myself than her. My voice is firm, but she barely nods, giggling at a silent joke.

"Need a hand with her?" Xavier's voice comes from behind me, tinged with concern.

I glance over my shoulder, find his eyes in the dim light of the bar. "No, it's fine. You should stay. Enjoy the night." I force a smile, hope it isn't as wobbly as I feel inside.

"Are you sure? It's no trouble," he insists, stepping closer. The offer is kind, considerate, but it's not what I need—or want.

"Really, Xavier. We're good." I tighten my hold on Sierra, trying to communicate an urgency I'm not sure he understands. "We'll talk later, okay?"

"Okay," he concedes, though he looks unsure. He pauses, then adds, "Take care of her."

"Always do," I say, and with that, I steer Sierra toward the exit, her feet dragging across the sticky floor like anchors.

"Bye, Xavier!" Sierra calls out, a singsong note to her slurred words.

"Goodnight, ladies," he says, but we're already moving through the throng, his voice swallowed by the music and chatter. I don't look back.