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)
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.
“Six-nine-six-nine,” he says.
I groan. “Are you twelve?”
“Do you have something against sixty-nines?”
“Nope. I have something for them,” I say, taking the ante and raising it.
River narrows his brow. “Well played.”
As he presses the brakes, I confirm the existence of a dog pic. He’s going to lose his mind for this shot.
“This is worth it,” I say.
“Excellent. Because I brake for dog pics.”
“Things I just learned about you,” I say.
“And there’s so much more to uncover.”
I’d like to uncover it all.
River pulls to the shoulder, puts the car in park, and admires the pic, shaking his head in delight. “Shut the front door. She’s the cutest dog ever,” he says, then beckons me to check out an image I’ve already seen. “You cannot tell me you’ve ever seen a cuter dog.”
He’s right. I can’t. “She’s literally the definition of adorable,” I say, as I lean in closer to him to stare at the shot. Delilah is lounging on the couch on her back, all four legs straight up in the air, but her face is tilted to the side. She’s watching Clueless on the TV.
“She has such good taste in flicks,” he says, admiring his creature as he moves just inches away from me.
Our heads are almost touching. We’re entering the smushie-selfie range. Like this, I catch a faint whiff of his shampoo, and the hint of a forest and rainfall making my mouth water. I draw a surreptitious inhale, letting it waft through my nostrils and go straight to my head.
My breath shudders.
My eyes float closed as the scent fries my brain. Scrambles all my thoughts.
“This is the best, and I’m so glad we stopped,” River declares.
Me too, though it has nothing to do with the dog and everything to do with how fucking good you smell. So good, I want to put my mouth on your throat, sweep my lips over your skin, drag my nose along your neck.