Riley's POV
The thumping bass of the club vibrated through the plush velvet couch, right up into my bones, but it did nothing to ease the tight knot of anxiety in my stomach. Kirk, seem to be having fun, a smug grin plastered on his face. I felt like an exhibit, perched awkwardly on the edge of the expensive seating in this noisy, ostentatious VIP section. Norman was late. Terribly late.
My fingers, slightly damp, fumbled with the clasp of my clutch. For what felt like the dozenth time, I pulled out my phone and redialed Norman’s number. Each ring echoed the growing panic in my chest. It went straight to voicemail. Again.
"Norman, it's Riley," I whispered into the phone, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to ignore the curious glances from Kirk’s companions. "I'm still at the club.
