Page 14 of The Long Way Home
I catch the faint crease at her brow, the way her chin tips just enough for the light to find her eyes. The crowd fades. The heat dissolves. Even Josh’s voice slips somewhere behind me, unfinished.
Right as the corner of my mouth starts to lift, the thought hits me.Rachel is Josh’s little sister.And that puts her in the one category I don’t get to touch.
I jerk my gaze away. I force my posture a little straighter while trying to convince myself that noticing her, really noticing her, isn’t a problem. Acting on it is very much so a problem.
I know a lot about her, which is weird, seeing as I’ve never actually met her before today. For example, I know she hates coffee but drinks some kind of chai tea, whatever the hell that is. She is not afraid to call Josh out when he’s being an idiot—which is often. She once made him drive three hours to pick her up because she didn’t trust the guy she’d gone out with. I could go on and on.
Josh talks a lot when he’s drunk, and he talks even more when he’s worried. Still, I’m not sure why any of that stuck.
As she gets closer, I notice she isn’t loud about being pretty. Someone who looks like her is typically flaunting it. She’s not checking reflections or angling herself toward anyone. She doesn’t look like she is waiting to be noticed at all, and somehow that is all I find myself doing.
Her friend reaches the tent first. Blonde and clearly confident, she is already laughing at something Josh said. Watching it, you’d think she’s known him her whole life. “Margo,” I think I hear her say to him as she stretches out her hand. I know she didn’t say it to me, because I’m pretty sure the world doesn’t exist outside of Josh for her right now. She seems to fill the space without trying. Josh is practically orbiting her, tripping over himself to keep her laughing. It’s weirdly entertaining.
Rachel hangs back a half-step, shifting her weight, caught between following and standing still. A faint crease shows up between her brows, making her look thoughtful or maybe a little lost.
I take a slow sip of my beer, watching her pretend not to notice me.
“Rhett,” Josh says, pointing like I’m a damn welcome sign. I straighten, and wipe my hands on my short.
“This is my best buddy, Rhett,” Josh adds, stepping aside. “Rach, I’m sure you’ve heard me talk about him a thousand times now. He’s solid. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” I raise an eyebrow and mirror his motion toward Rachel, holding out my hand.
Her smile spreads across her face. She steps closer and grips my hand. “Well, that’s really reassuring, Josh. And nice to finally put a face to the name after all these years.”
Her voice has a husky edge, and it lands somewhere in my chest, uninvited.
“Josh tells me you’re a freshman.” I nod toward the empty chair. She slides onto it, smoothing her hands over her shorts. Damn it, I glance again at her legs that seem to go on forever. I’ve got to force my eyes to anything else.
“So far, no dorm catastrophes or stolen shower shoes,” she confirms, leaning back slightly. “I think I’m doing okay.”
I lean back too, grinning. “Give it a week.”
I toss a glance over Rachel’s shoulder to see her friend and Josh drifting toward the grill. They are totally mid-flirt and oblivious to us. I don’t even need confirmation. Today, I’m on Rachel-duty. I sip my beer, watching her. Normally, I’d be irritated if Josh bailed on me for a girl, but for some reason, I’m not.
“I guess we’re on our own.” I gesture in their direction.
She lets out a small laugh. “I guess so.”
“So, are you into football?” I ask, sliding a cold beer across the table toward her.
She takes it, brushing her fingers over mine for a second.
“If you’re asking if I know the rules, yes.” She takes a careful sip. “Josh is my only sibling. He hogged the remote my whole life. I can name every major penalty and quote three separate Super Bowl winners.”
I laugh, rocking slightly in my chair. She doesn’t flinch or attempt to charm. Hell she doesn’t even seem to care that I laughed.
“Fair enough, I’m sure Josh was even more of a shithead back then.”
“When games were on, Josh yelled at the TV until the neighbors complained. I just learned to watch or leave the building entirely.”
“You stayed?”
She takes a slow sip, a grin tugging at her mouth. “I did. But only so I could argue with him. He’d get worked up, and I liked to ruffle him. I’d listen to the announcers just to throw their facts back at him. Always rooted for the other team. Drove him insane.”
Her laugh comes, easy and unguarded, hands lifting to gesture mid-story. I can’t help the smile creeping across my face. I tilt my beer, watching her over the rim. I don’t know what I expected, but it isn’t this.
“Well,” I say, lifting my beer toward her, “welcome to game day, Rachel. You’re doing better than most already.”
