The neon signs of Atlanta blurred into streaks of fuchsia and gold as Jack leaned against the velvet booth of a corner lounge. The bass from the speakers was a low thrum in his chest, but his focus was entirely on the cold glow of his phone screen.

Jack let out a sharp exhale, spinning the phone on the polished wood. “I’m not looking for a game, man. I’m looking for an answer.”

Jack grinned, his ego tucking itself away for the night. “Nah,” he whispered. “I’m right on time.”

He’d sent the text twenty minutes ago. “You up?” Simple. Classic. Cruel.

Camp caught the beat, nodding. “The dial tone is the loneliest sound in the city, bro. But don’t let it get to you. If she picks up, she’s yours. If she doesn’t? Well, the night’s still young.”