Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I fan my hand in front of my face, reverting to flirting once more. “And now I need to cool off.”
“Cooling off is overrated,” Owen says, as I pull out of the lot, and back onto the highway.
Maybe I don’t entirely want to cool off either.
Once we hit the stretch of concrete ribbon, my thoughts return to Owen’s comment at the register. To my own wayward mind. And sometimes, wayward minds win. “By the way, you’re right.”
“About what?”
I shoot him a sly smile. “I am definitely bossy.”
My remark takes a few seconds to land, but when it does, I catch a glimpse of his lips curving into a sexy little grin. The tip of his tongue flicks across the corner of his mouth, then he turns to face me. “Is that so?”
“Yes. It is.”
Owen leans his head back against the headrest, grinning. “Have to say, I’m not at all surprised to learn that.” Then he adds, his voice dropping lower, hitting a smoky tone, “Also, bossy can be good.”
I should pump the brakes.
Truly, I should.
But the more miles I put between San Francisco and us, the harder that gets.
7
Owen
After I take two ibuprofens, I pop a pumpkin seed in my mouth and chew. Once I’m done, I grab the can of bubbly water and knock some back.
Dual purpose—the food and drink stop me from talking.
From picking up where we left off.
Asking all sorts of questions.
Did you dislike Ezra for the reason I’m hoping you did? Because you were jealous of him since he was with me? Since it sounded like you were, and that would honestly be awesome because I’ve been there, done that, when it comes to your exes too.
Or other questions.
What are you looking for in a relationship, River? Because I know you’re looking. That’s not a secret. You barked it out the other night at your bar. Like, maybe . . . could you be looking for a guy like me?
I stuff more pumpkin seeds between my lips since I’m not ready for answers I won’t want. Like, I’m holding out for Frank Ocean, or gimme a silver fox I can call Daddy, or worse. Not you, Owen. If I’m finally going to tell my friend how I feel, then I need an escape hatch in the event of his no.
An escape hatch that ideally leads directly to my apartment so I can mope around with ESPN, and Discovery Prism, and a playlist, and cake, and a really good book, preferably with zero romance, angst, or heartbreak in it. Maybe something with pirates. Or talking animals.
Yup.
I officially know when to tell River I’m crazy for him.
Not fucking now.
I can’t handle spending the next forty-eight hours at Nisha and her wife’s rental with a guy who might reject me.
That’ll be uncomfortable, not just for me, but for everyone.
My job is to present a positive face. To smooth relations with the press and public, and to make sure my players shine. That carries over to my personal life. So, I’m not going to put River, my friends, or myself in an awkward position simply because I couldn’t wait to blurt out a lovesick confession.
Nope. I do PR for a goddamn living. I know better than most that there’s a time and a place for everything, and my job is to find the right time, place, and also way to say things.
Which means I’ll tell him after we leave Nisha’s.
Maybe on the way home from Friendsgiving.
Like, say, when we’re cruising back across the Golden Gate Bridge and into San Francisco.
Or maybe when we’re a block away from my apartment.
Because if his answer is anything other than Thank God you finally said something, because I am wildly crazy about you too, and by crazy about you I mean I need to fuck you right now and then date you, and be your boyfriend, and can you please show me how good you can be to a man, like you said you want to? Because, Owen, I desperately want everything you have to give, I’ll be more devastated than I was that time I went into my favorite bakery and they only had a red velvet abomination.
River’s phone pings, and a text message alert pops up.
I say nothing since, well, it’s his phone.
His eyes swing briefly from the road, then a smile bursts across his handsome face. “Ooh, it’s Echo. There might be a dog pic. Imma need to pull over right now.”
Cracking up, I gasp for air at his antics, and the way they relieve my own sexual tension. “You can’t be serious.”
But he’s slowing the car, checking his mirrors, indicating he is very serious. “As a shark. Can you check? See if there’s a pic.”
Wow. River is even more addicted to his dog than I thought. “Okay,” I say, doing as told. Grabbing his phone from the holder, I slide my thumb across the screen, but it’s locked.