“C’mere!” she said, lacing her arm through his and drawing him into the huddle. “Look who it is.”
Owen grinned at the dark-haired guy she pointed to. “No way!” He pulled him into a one-shouldered hug and shook his hand. “Khalon Russell.” He patted the guy’s shoulder. “How’s it going?”
Two years younger, Khalon Russell had always been a like-minded individual. They’d met when the guy had joined the private academy the Scions attended, then Principal Hamrick chose Owen to mentor Khalon through his first few weeks. They’d struck a solid friendship.
“Good.” Khalon gave a slow smile and nod. “Glad to finally be done with school.”
“What about college?” Owen asked with a laugh, and something in his periphery lured his focus away.
Her. Red-Cup Girl was drifting closer, trailing a bunch of rich kids who didn’t really seem Soph’s speed. Or RCG’s speed. In fact, she seemed to hold back. Was that because of him, or the company she was keeping?
“I’m going to spend a year in Nigeria with my godfather,” Khalon said. “Then…” He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Huh. That sounded a lot like Khalon had things to work out. Once again, they were on parallel paths. “You’ll figure it out.”
Khalon gave him a speculative look. “I thought of joining the Army. Any tips?”
“Yeah, don’t.” Owen snickered, telling himself not to look at the girl now hovering to Soph’s ten o’clock. “Nah, seriously—if it’s what you want, do it. What’s your dad say? And your uncle?”
It’d been a hot minute since Khalon’s uncle was president, but former presidents wielded a lot of influence. Could get his nephew into any school he wanted.
Even as the guy answered, Owen noticed RCG shift into view over Khalon’s shoulder. When her friend leaned into her, she again lifted that cup to her mouth—used the thing like a shield as her friend nodded to Owen and whispered something, turning RCG’s gaze his way.
Yeah, not needing that complication, he refocused on Khalon, whose mouth was still moving. Shoot. What had he missed? No idea because his ears were straining to pick up whatever RCG’s friend said that caused them to laugh hard over the din.
RCG stood about five-six, had an athletic build, and by that outfit, had a good sense of style. Yet, while she hung out with the rich crowd, there was something…different about her. She didn’t look relaxed or comfortable here. Was it the barn? The country atmosphere?
It seemed more…
Her friends were laughing and likely had something else in their red cups other than the punch the Neeleys were serving. Her, though? Straight-laced. Alert. Those pretty brown eyes searched the crowds more than once. And they weren’t just looking for him or a good time. It was…awareness. But something else too. Maybe vulnerability? Cloaked in…wariness.
“Hey!” Soph punched his bicep.
“What?” he balked, flinching as he protected his arm. “What was that for?”
“I was talking to you!” Soph’s furrowed brow lifted, then smoothed when she saw what had distracted him. “Oh.” She let out a huff and faced him full-on. “You don’t want to get involved with that.”
He arched an eyebrow at the way she said “that.”
“No, trust me, Owen. She’s Holland’s older sister.”
“Holland?”
“The girl who threw herself at you when we went to prom last year—she was lit, and I don’t mean in the good way. I know how you feel about stuff like that.”
Fair. He’d seen too many friends wreck their lives with substance abuse. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Don’t waste your time—with any of that crowd.” She sniffed. “You’re way above all of them.”
Was Soph sure about that? Because the beauty seemed light-years beyond him.
RCG looked away, pretending she wasn’t trying to avoid him, but she was close enough to have heard Soph’s comments. He’d already told himself once he didn’t need the complication.
Yet like a riptide that yanked him from shore, her presence demanded his attention. Sucked every bit of common sense out of him. And somehow he found himself heading in her direction.
A weight plowed into his back. “Metcalfe! What’s up, dude?”
Owen turned to find Ben Neeley in a big black Stetson. They clapped hands and drew each other in for a one-shouldered hug. “Congrats on not failing too many classes to get flunked.”
