All you can focus on is the empty silence from the other end of the line. Why won’t they pick up? You exhale sharply, gripping your drink a little too tightly.

From a few seats away, a voice cuts through the noise, smooth yet laced with amusement.

“Who are you calling 50 times?” You glance up, already knowing who it is before you even see him. Rafe Cameron leaned back against the bar with that infuriating smirk, surrounded by his usual crowd.

He doesn’t even look fully interested, more entertained by the fact that you’re clearly losing your mind over someone who won’t answer.

You roll your eyes, turning back to your phone, but he doesn’t let it go. “And who’s not answering?” he presses, tilting his head slightly.

There’s something in his tone—mocking, but also a little curious. You and Rafe aren’t exactly friends. Not even close. The two of you butt heads constantly, and if you had any other option, you wouldn’t even be in the same bar as him. But right now, the person you actually want to talk to is nowhere to be found, and Rafe is the only one paying attention.

“None of your business, Cameron,” you mutter, shoving your phone into your pocket. But when you finally look at him, you notice something in his gaze—something unreadable, something dangerously close to understanding. And that’s what makes you even angrier.