“Seven?” I ask.
She kisses my cheek before she walks out of my office, telling me, “Yes,” as she leaves.
Anderson’s car was in my driveway when I pulled in, so I reversed straight back out and drove to Rhianna’s, knowing she wasn’t going to be home. Stepping straight into her closet, I retrieve an outfit and get ready. Luckily for me, we’re the exact same size, but we don’t dress the same. I do have a few pieces of clothing hanging in her closet for emergencies, and tonight definitely qualifies as an emergency. However, I don’t choose one of my dresses. Instead, I go for something different.
I leave my hair the way it is and pick one of Rhianna’s black dresses that stops just above my knee. I add some lip gloss and call an Uber, leaving my car at my sister’s house.
Noah’s having the event at a local restaurant, so I chose low heels for the occasion. I really have no idea what we’re celebrating. I agreed because she wanted me there. And if I need her, she’s always there for me.
When I arrive at the restaurant, instantly I know I’m overdressed. Way overdressed. Not one of the women is wearing a dress. They’re all in lunch attire, even though it’s evening. Some are wearing jeans, some skirts, but nothing fancy. Striding in, I spot my sister straight away, her arm around Noah as he talks to someone and she’s hanging on his every word. Noah spots me and waves me over, making Rhianna glance up. She removes herself from him and smiles.
“You didn’t go home?” she asks, noticing her dress.
“No,” I reply, causing both of them to scan my body. “Good to see you again, Noah.”
“Always a pleasure, Rylee. Thanks for coming. Is Anderson with you tonight?”
“No.”
“There’s an open bar. Help yourself. Your sister has been,” he jokes, making Rhianna wiggle her eyebrows.
“You want to get drunk and go skinny dipping?” she asks.
Noah’s watching Rhianna with eager eyes. He literally only has eyes for her, and it makes me so happy for her.
“I’m going to get a drink,” I respond, not answering that question. If you give her an inch, she will take a mile and then run with it.
“Or ten,” Rhianna calls to my back, which makes me chuckle.
When I step up to the bar, I order a gin and tonic with lime.
“Didn’t take you for the drinking type,” a dark voice says right next to me. My eyes find that voice, and the first thing I see is tanned hands followed by strong forearms with prominent veins.
Arm porn.
Vein porn.
When I manage to move my eyes away from those sexy arms, I blink, once, twice, three times. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
I haven’t seen him since high school, and even then, he was someone you never got too close to. And here I am, standing next to him as he nurses a drink in his hand.
“It’s water, if you must know,” he says as I glance at his face after staring at his glass for a few moments.
August has been in prison for over six years, and I know his sentence was for much longer than that.
How is he standing here next to me? I have no idea.
“August,” I say, to which he nods then looks away, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip. I watch as he swallows, then the glass is placed on the countertop again.
“Rich girl remembers.” His voice is a deep timbre, his hair the color of mahogany, deep and rich, with only subtle hues of light—nothing like Anderson’s. In school, August was two years above me in grades, but everyone knew who he was. He was the bad boy that every girl wanted despite being scared of him.
And believe me, every girl with eyes wanted him.
August Trouble had an air of mystery about himself. No one ever seriously knew him, and the few girls who claimed they did, talked about him as if he were some sort of god.
He hasn’t changed much. He still has that hard air about him. Except now, he has a scar above his lip, his face is sharper, the angles more prominent, and his hair is shorter than the undercut he had in school. He’s bigger—a lot bigger.
“Do you even know my name?” I ask.
Rich girl. That’s definitely not my name.
His eyes, green as the forest, shine back at me.
“Rich girl,” is all he says, then taps his fingertips on the bar.
“That is not my name,” I declare, turning my nose up at him.
August bites his bottom lip, his scar becoming more prominent as he does, and he turns to check me over with those eyes. The black dress suddenly feels all sorts of wrong on my body.
“Rhianna,” he says in a fast breath.
I try to not deflate. I mean, if you don’t know us, it’s hard to tell us apart. And this man hasn’t seen either of us in six years, so there’s no way he could tell us apart.