The bass hit like a heartbeat—low, steady, and so close Riley could feel it in his ribs.

The club was half-dark, half-electric; lights strobed in pinks and violets, slicing the smoke into ribbons. Bodies moved like tidewater, brushing past him, glitter on skin, perfume in the air. It was the kind of place where names didn’t matter and conversation dissolved into rhythm.

Riley fit right in. Or maybe he disappeared. Either way, he liked the feeling.

He stood near the bar with a drink he’d stopped tasting three sips ago, wavy blonde hair damp from the heat. A strand clung to his cheek, catching the colored lights as he swayed, smiling faintly at nothing. He always looked like that—half-holy, half-trouble. The bartender had called him “angel,” which made him laugh, because if angels existed, they definitely weren’t spending Friday night pressed between strangers and temptation.

His shirt clung in the right places, open at the collar to reveal the glint of a silver chain and a hint of skin kissed red by the heat. Every move he made seemed a little accidental, like gravity itself just happened to favor him. He wasn’t dancing yet, not really—just letting the music pull him forward and back, hips swaying in quiet suggestion.

People brushed past, some lingering, some brave enough to smile at him. Riley smiled back, sweet as sugar, but never long enough to be caught. He liked the chase, the soft push and pull of attention. It was safer than closeness.

The song shifted—something slower, heavier. A remix he recognized, the kind that wrapped itself around the room like a promise. Riley tipped his head back and closed his eyes, mouthing the words without sound. The lights painted his skin gold, his hair pale fire. For a moment, he could almost believe he was untouchable.

Then someone brushed his shoulder, and the spell broke. He blinked, lowering his glass. The ice clinked, faint and sharp. His blue eyes swept the crowd, searching the faces that had blurred together under the haze of sound.

Whoever it was, they’d come close enough to make the air change. Close enough for Riley to feel that flicker—interest, danger, curiosity, he couldn’t tell which. He licked his lips and let the corner of his mouth tilt into that devilish smile people never saw coming.

He didn’t speak yet. He never did first. That was part of the game. Instead, he turned slightly, leaning back against the bar, one hand resting on the slick edge beside his drink. The lights caught his chain, his throat, the pulse just below his jaw. He looked like an invitation no one had written but everyone wanted to accept.

The next song began to rise, the beat building again, calling the room back to motion. Riley tilted his head, waiting—for a word, a look, or maybe nothing at all. The night was young, and he was patient when it came to trouble.

If temptation had a habit of finding him, well… he never minded getting lost.