Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Maybe I did.
From day one.
Since he took Owen from me.
“Yes,” I say, but I don’t elaborate. Don’t want to say why, especially since I’m just now starting to put two and two together. I cast about for a new topic, one that doesn’t tug on my heart unexpectedly.
Owen lifts his right hand, rubs his temple.
“Are you getting a headache?” I ask, since he gets tension headaches now and then. Usually when he’s been staring at a screen too long, or when driving, something he rarely does.
“A little, but I’ll be fine. I have ibuprofen.”
“Let’s get you something to swallow it down with,” I say, with too much cheer. Like a beverage is a cause for celebration.
Perhaps it is if it distracts me.
I glance down at the dashboard. The tank is half full. “Besides, I forgot to fill up. Let’s find a gas station. We can even grab some snacks, and that drink for you.”
“All I want right now is a can of LaCroix,” Owen quips, returning to his flirty, fun voice.
Where I should be too.
6
RIVER
This is Northern California, so even the gas station stores are organic and healthy.
In this case, we’ve got a full-on gourmet shop.
I wander down an aisle filled with baked chips, dried edamame, and roasted pumpkin seeds. “Gas station food, this is not,” I say as I pick up a bag of popcorn that touts itself as farm-to-table. “I didn’t know that was an option for popcorn in a freaking bag.”
“I’m sure the farmers picked the corn this morning and hand-delivered it right here,” Owen says, then turns the corner. “Whoa.”
“Did you find a bag of dried seaweed to munch on in the car?”
His lips crook into a grin. “If I did, I’d be rushing to the counter now. But seriously. Check this out. They have gourmet hot cocoa from Lulu’s Chocolate.” He lifts a tin, waggles it.
“Your favorite chocolate.”
Owen clutches the tin. “Awww, you remember. You’re the best.”
“You only go on and on about Lulu’s Chocolate all the time. You force me to go to the shop anytime we’re in the Ferry Building.”
“I force you? Really? Does it feel forced when you’re moaning in pleasure from eating chocolate? It didn’t seem forced when you devoured an entire salted almond chocolate bar a few weeks ago when we went there after the Dragons destroyed the Storm Chasers in that blowout game,” Owen says, picking up a Lulu’s chocolate bar, and waving it seductively in front of my face, like he’s trying to hypnotize me.
It’s kind of working.
“Are you trying to tempt me?”
Oh hello, double meaning. Nice to see you again.
A spark in his blue eyes is the answer. “Maybe I am. I’ll get both,” he says, tin and bar in hand, then rounds the corner into the next aisle. I follow, walking behind him, my eyes traveling down his frame, cataloguing the shape of his strong back. Mmm, I do love a good back on a man. Love the divots and muscles, broad shoulders and tight waist. Love the feel of sliding my palm along smooth skin, right into thick hair.
His thick hair.
And tugging the strands.
Pulling.
Holding him in place under me.
I stifle a groan as I slip dangerously deeper into temptation.
I could shake off this lust, but it feels too good. So instead my eyes travel a little lower, lingering on the curve of his ass. Has Owen always had a bubble butt, or have I just started noticing it? My hands itch to touch him. To explore his arms, his abs, his legs.
My throat goes dry as I stare shamelessly at Owen’s firm, muscled body.
But when he spins around, I drag a hand through my hair, snap up my gaze, and do my best impression of I’m absolutely, thoroughly interested in the garbanzo beans in front of me on the shelf.
I grab the can, study the label like it’s fascinating.
“Chickpeas, River? Are you buying chickpeas for Friendsgiving? Like as a hostess gift for Nisha? Here are your chickpeas, hun! I mean, you and Nisha and Hailey did get along well at the party.”
Friends. Gifts. Thank you. Yes!
I snap my fingers, hoping it jolts me from this bout of wicked lust. “Idea! Why don’t we buy a few things for Declan’s mom’s cabin? Like a gift for her? Since the guys are covering for me at the bar, and that’s huge,” I say, then stop to laugh. “Wait. That’s not fair. I’ll buy them. I didn’t mean we. They’re doing me a favor. I’ll take care of all of it.”
“I can help,” Owen says, almost as if he’s confused by why I’d suggest otherwise. My friend sets a hand on my arm, like he needs to reassure me. Trouble is his touch sends a flare of heat across my body. It reassures me of only one thing—the temptation to touch Owen back is growing stronger by the second. “I mean, they’re helping both of us, right?”