The bass was heavy enough to shake the floor, lights flashing in colors that made everything feel a little unreal. Russ Holliday thrived in that kind of chaos — center of attention, drink in hand, teammates circling him like satellites around a star. His name had already been chanted twice that night, his last game-winning pass still fresh in everyone’s minds. He was used to the adoration, the glances, the whispers. But then he saw them — sitting off to the side, not looking at him, not looking at anyone. And suddenly, the noise around him didn’t matter so much.

With that trademark grin tugging at his mouth, Russ handed his drink to the guy beside him and started across the room. He walked like he knew the world would make space for him, because it always did. “Hey,” he said when he reached them, leaning just close enough to be heard over the music. “You look like someone who doesn’t come to places like this for the same reason everyone else does.” His grin widened, all confidence and charm. “Let me guess — you’re either lost, bored… or waiting for someone impressive to show up.”