Page 111 of Puck Prince

But his eyes are aimed in our direction.

On me.

And my smile fades.

As we stare at each other, my stomach bottoms out. My heart stops.

The entire room seems to jolt, and I blink, not wanting to believe it’s real. But no matter how many times I look away and back again, nothing changes.

Kennedy is dancing with Spencer Santos.

33

CALLIE

“Callie! Callie!”

I hear Owen’s voice behind me, but I keep running.

I have to get out. This isn’t a panic attack or me overreacting. Spencer is here, and he has been watching me.

I can’t be upset with Kennedy, though. She never met him, and it’s not like I kept pictures of him on my phone. She has no idea who he is. If anything, I should be worried for her right now, but I’m in fight-or-flight mode.

I bolt out the main entrance of Pour Boys, shoving past the groups of people congregating on the sidewalk under the red neon sign, and dart around the corner of the brick building.

Only then do I stop running. Only then do I lean against the cool bricks and take a breath. Or several jagged attempts at one, at least.

Owen catches up to me, panting and with wide eyes. “Callie, hold up. Jesus.” He stops in front of me. “What the hell is going on? I thought we were having fun. I thought?—”

I shake my head, unable to fully form words at first. I’m breathing like I just ran a marathon. “I just… Take me home. Please.”

“Take you home? I don’t understand.”

“I want to go home.”

“But why? We’ve been having a great night, haven’t we?”

“Yes, but—” I’m gulping in air like water, and I can’t decide if it’s helping or I’m choking on it.

“Then why do you want to leave? It’s a game day party. We usually shut this place down. I can’t just?—”

“I’ll get an Uber then.” I pull out my phone.

Owen’s eyes lock on my shaking hand as I try in vain to pull up the app. Then his face softens. “Okay. Tell me what happened, and then we’ll go home.”

I don’t want to tell him.

That would require me telling the truth—the whole truth, and nothing but the ugly truth—about my past, which I am not about to do in the dusty parking lot outside of a bar. A bar Spencer is currently inside of.

The last thing we need right now is Owen splattering Spencer all over the dancefloor.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” My voice comes out strangled, hopeless.

Owen chews his lips for a moment before accepting my words. “Alright, let's go.”

The car is quiet as we drive back to our complex. I watch the streetlights and cars as they fly past us. I gaze at the Houston skyline, thinking about how lovely it is where I live now. I look at people in crosswalks, dressed for a night out, talking and laughing.

I do pretty much everything but look at Owen.

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