He scoffs. “I’m a nobody, Say––”
“Bullshit. You were the prodigy who fell before his time, and I’m not the only one who knows it. Why else do you think they invited you to do the whole”––I wave my hand around again––“interview thing for the conference championships?”
“They invited me to analyze the game because I was the pretty boy football player who, for some reason, the media enjoyed following. It doesn’t hurt that I’m an alumni for the home team, either.”
Eyebrow arching, I twist myself in his arms. “You were more than the pretty boy football player.”
“Yeah, I was the guy who busted up his knee beyond repair.” He twists me back around and pushes me toward an archway in the back of the giant room still littered with people in fancy clothes. “Come on. You’re going to love Johnson.”
He guides me to a room on the right where circular tables are scattered among the fancy football people. There’s also a long, black platform tucked near the back wall with a podium set up in the center of it.
A hand waving back and forth grabs my attention from the sea of people.
“Yo, Daniels! Over here!” Johnson calls. He’s either oblivious to all the eyes watching him, or he just doesn’t care.
Regardless, my face heats on his behalf while Owen chuckles under his breath and mutters, “I should warn you. Johnson isn’t shy.”
“Noted,” I choke out.
As we weave through the crowd, my heart rate thumps like a jackrabbit before Jalen Johnson stands up and tugs Owen into a brotherly man hug, slapping his hand against Owen’s back.
“Hey, man. Good to see you.”
“Good to see you too, Johnson. This is Saylor Swenson.”
Johnson’s brows almost reach his hairline as he looks me up and down. “The Saylor Swenson?”
“The one and only.” Owen pulls out my chair, then sits beside me and squeezes my knee beneath the black table cloth.
Plopping down into his seat, Johnson rests his elbows on the surface, his expression painted with intrigue as he studies me carefully. With a nod, he decides, “You were right.”
I glance over at Owen to find him staring back at me with a shit-eating grin.
“R-right about what?” I ask.
“The guys always gave him shit for never getting over you. Hell, you were practically a unicorn in the locker room anytime someone brought you up. A mythical creature who managed to consume a guy for years while being a thousand miles away. Impressive, Saylor Swenson. That’s quite the feat.”
“Oh.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and study the silver spoon in front of me. “Owen was just being stubborn.”
“Nah,” Johnson argues, leaning back in his chair. “He used to say that a girl like you was hard to come by. I’ve only known you for two minutes, and I can already confirm that he’s right.” Then, he turns to Owen. “So what’d you do to win her back?”
“Pretty sure it was Grady who won her over,” Owen answers.
Laughing, I don’t deny it. Grady was a great icebreaker. Without him, I’m not sure I would’ve ever had the courage to talk to Owen again.
“Aw, man. I miss that kid,” Johnson says. “I haven’t seen him since last summer when you came to a game.”
“Yeah, he was sad he couldn’t come,” Owen tells him. “But they didn’t want kids attending this, and I wasn’t going to let a stranger watch him at the hotel, ya know?”
“I get it. You’ll have to move back down here so we can hang out again.”
Owen laughs but doesn’t argue as a deep voice interrupts, “Hey, Daniels. These seats taken?” A silver fox in a light gray suit with the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen motions to the set of chairs on Owen’s left.
Standing, Owen offers his hand. “Not at all, Mr. Steele.”
Mr. Steele shakes it. “Good to see you again.”
“You too. This is Saylor Swenson,” Owen introduces me.