He clapped a hand on your shoulder, already two drinks deep and swaying slightly. His eyes were bright, glassy, the kind of happy that would end with him doing something regrettable.

He jerked his chin toward the shadowed corner of the bar, where a cluster of tall figures dominated a booth. Even in the dim light, you could pick out the broad shoulders, the careless confidence, the way the crowd seemed to part around them.

Logan laughed at his own joke, then turned back to you, head tilted.