Page 6 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

Now

Is she here?

“ O li!”

My attention snapped from the slideshow of photos toward the shout.

I didn’t have to search for the source. Gemma jogged to me in excited, staccato steps punctuated by her stiletto heels, arms spread wide.

I met her in a crushing hug, careful to hold my wine glass as far from her skin-tight ivory dress as possible, and breathed her in.

A fraction of my nerves settled. She was the balm that made everything better.

Nothing seemed so bad when I was with her, and it’d been too damn long.

Sure, we FaceTimed and texted constantly, but it’d been a few months since we’d last hung out in person.

We only lived a few hours apart, but between work and my spending weekends with Kieran, we never seemed to find the time.

We still talked about every detail of the wedding weekend, though.

Maybe she and Grant weren’t having a bridal party, but I still very much had maid-of-honor status when it came to the parts that mattered, like wedding dress shopping and tie-breaking when the two of them couldn’t decide on cupcake flavors .

“Thank god you’re finally here,” Gemma grumbled into my ear. “My mom is already driving me insane.”

“Are we surprised?” Her mom meant well, but she tended to overstep wherever she could. She was opinionated, even about the most trivial details, and she always voiced them.

“No,” she snorted.

Grant emerged from the crowd. Over Gemma’s shoulder, I caught his eyes softening when he spotted Gemma and me pulling apart from our embrace.

“There she is,” he said with a charming grin, coming to my side and giving my shoulders a squeeze. “You get in alright?”

“Yeah, we got checked in and everything. This place is even more gorgeous in person, Gem. You’re gorgeous. Everything is gorgeous.”

She really was. From her simple, elegant dress, her tanned skin, her freshly highlighted blonde waves in a trendy half-up style, and her eyes sparkling under the string lights—she looked like Aphrodite incarnate. Or an angel. Or a princess. Or a combination of all three.

“I was just admiring your embarrassing photo display.” I pointed a thumb at the slide show behind me. “You had a great haircut on your thirteenth birthday, Grant.”

He groaned.

Gemma giggled. “Isn’t it precious? I swear there were a thousand more pictures his mom gave me that I wanted to put in there, but he vetoed most of them.”

“I would have vetoed all of them if I could have,” he said. “You and Mom conspired against me.”

Gemma and I shared a look. They had conspired. They even enlisted the help of Grant’s younger brother, Jared, to scour old Facebook albums for every embarrassing photo of Grant that existed .

My eyes flashed over Gemma’s shoulder, involuntarily scanning the crowd again.

Is he here? Would now be a bad time to oh-so-casually ask Gemma about his RSVP?

“Where’s your man?” Gemma asked.

“Great question.” I craned my neck toward the bar, searching for Kieran, knowing he wouldn’t join me if he saw I was talking with Gemma.

Kieran and Gemma didn’t exactly get along.

Well, Kieran didn’t really get along well with Gemma .

Not to her face—he was always perfectly nice to her in person—but he’d made less and less of an effort to conceal his opinions about her in private over the two-ish years we’d been together.

He wasn’t the most “online” person and had a general distaste for people he perceived were “showy.” So, naturally, someone who made their living posting about their life on the internet, like Gemma, wasn’t his cup of tea.

When I finally spotted him, he was caught in conversation with Gemma’s younger brother, Michael. I immediately rolled my eyes, knowing the two of them were likely already deep in conversation about sports or workout regimens.

I tipped my head in their direction. “Looks like he already met your brother.”

“Oh, god.” She followed my line of sight. “Yeah, we’re doomed. They’re going to be best friends before the night is over.”

“I’d better get over there before they start arm wrestling or something. You go,” I shooed her. “Mingle with your guests. I’ll run interference with your mom. We’ll talk later.” I wrapped an arm around her middle for another quick hug. “You’re beautiful. I love you. ”

“I’m going, I’m going.” She kissed me on the cheek before grabbing Grant’s hand and disappearing back into the growing crowd.

I threw a glance toward Gemma’s mom to double-check that she was still occupied before weaving my way to where Kieran and Michael stood. As I drew closer, the tail end of their conversation confirmed my suspicion.

“I’m telling you, man, that guy is going to be a first-round draft pick next year,” Kieran said animatedly. “I’m putting money on it.”

“You’re kidding!” Michael bellowed. “With the ankle injury he had last season? Not a chance.” He shook his head and slugged the last of his beer before noticing me with a double take. “Olive, I like your boyfriend, but he’s dead wrong about football.”

“I was afraid you two would hit it off a little too well,” I said breathlessly, eyeing the pair of men as I propped an elbow on a high-top table.

Kieran’s laugh was his only response as he pointed to Michael, ready to jump back into conversation. “Hey, what do you think of the new tight end for the Ravens? What’s his name?”

“Don’t even get me started on that lucky son of a—”

And that’s my cue.

“Okay,” I clapped my hands together. “I’ll let you meatheads get back to it. Find me if you need me.”

They barely acknowledged my exit as I turned, hoping to spot another friend nearby.

Martinez has to be close.

Gemma’s mom was still chatting with a few folks—no need to interfere with anything just yet. I scanned the perimeter where I’d seen Martinez earlier but didn’t catch sight of him. I craned further, popping up to my tiptoes the best I could in my heels to check near the string quartet .

My breath caught in my throat. The sheer force of my double take sent a shooting pain up my neck.

He was standing there, leaning casually against a pillar on the edge of the courtyard as if he’d been there the entire night.

As if he were a decoration, accenting the space as much as the architecture and the florals.

Bathed in the warm glow of the string lights, with one hand in his pocket, the other holding a short glass of amber liquid, was Nate fucking Cassidy.