The next day, I was back to normal. The migraines faded and the nausea left, leaving me to clean up the mess in my social life. Dax was upset about something that happened that night at the club, and Riley was blowing up my phone with apologetic messages and voicemails. I wished I could remember what had happened, so I knew how to feel and how assess each situation.
So when I finally felt well enough to answer Riley's call, I found myself back at his parent's restaurant. When I arrived, a waiter seated me at a table in the back, where I was told to wait for Riley. Ten minutes had passed before Riley appeared from the kitchen, holding two plates of food and a bottle of wine. He set the plate down and poured me a glass of the aged Chardonnay, but said nothing.
"What happened at the club?"
