Zain POV
The low thrum of music vibrates through the floor, not enough to be annoying yet, just enough to make the tables hum. The place isn’t even half full, which is the only reason I agreed to come this early. Crowds I can handle. Crowds while emotionally constipated? Harder sell.
Liam slides into the booth across from me, two drinks in hand, one for each of us. He shoves mine across the table with a wink.
“Peace offering,” he says.
I snort. “What are you apologizing for this time?”
He leans back, spreading out like he owns the damn place. “Nothing. Yet. Just figured after last night, we could both use something that isn’t a crisis or a conversation about feelings.”
I lift my glass and take a sip. Whiskey, light on the ice. Smart man. “You’re assuming last night needs a crisis.”
