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)
What if we don’t work out as a couple?
Tonight, we’re all new and electric. But this is a honeymoon. What would we be like in three months, six, a year? Would I fall out of desire for him? Would he for me? And would we truly stay friends? I’m not convinced we could, and the possibility of us splintering feels like losing a vital piece of my heart and soul.
My head spins with too many terrible outcomes, so I shift gears. “What were you like in high school?”
Owen laughs. “Do you mean if I was a jock or a nerd or a popular or a geek?”
My eyes roam up and down his chest. “No. What were you like? Were you outgoing? Were you quiet? Were you friendly? What did you do on weekends? I already know you wrote for the school newspaper and did the morning news. And let me tell you, if I saw you on my high school TV station, I would have always known whether we were having quinoa or tofu for lunch.”
“Is that what your high school served?”
I arch a dubious brow. “I grew up in a Northern California hippie community. You bet your sweet ass those were the choices. And I bet yours were the same at your private school in the city.”
Owen shrugs. “You’re not wrong. And to answer your question: I wasn’t quiet, but I wasn’t as outgoing as I am now. I didn’t have the confidence I do now, to go to bat for my players in my job. To listen and to learn and to find just the right opportunities to tell people’s stories—all of that comes down to confidence and patience, and I think I honed both in college.”
“Me too,” I say, breezily as the water sloshes around us, and a bead of sweat slides down the side of my face. “Well, not how to be amazing at PR and insanely patient, since that’s your thing. But how to have the guts to chat with anyone. How to make people feel better—how to listen.”
“You’re good at all that. A great bartender, and a business owner too.”
I wiggle my shoulders. “King of the gay bars.”
“Is that what you envisioned you’d be when you were in high school?”
“Ha. No. But I wish. If I knew then I’d be the Mayor of Gay San Francisco, I’d have had more confidence to ask out guys.”
Owen growls, like a dog warding another away from its toys. “Jealous?” I ask.
He shrugs, then laughs. “Pretty dumb to be jealous of guys you didn’t date in high school. But I do think it’s amazing you’re the Mayor of Gay San Francisco now. Well, self-proclaimed mayor,” he says, nudging me with his elbow.
“Honestly, I thought I was going to be a therapist. I figured I’d study psych and become a shrink.”
“And that’s kind of what you are, River,” he says.
“I suppose I am. And I love it. Wouldn’t change a thing, even though, trust me, if you went back in time and saw me in high school, you’d have been shocked. I didn’t have a single date. Not one.”
Owen pouts in mock sadness. “Aww.”
“My school was so small and there were maybe two other queer guys, and they dated each other. But I had friends. Gobs and gobs of them. All the lesbians loved me.”
Owen cracks up. “Did they now?”
“Yes, true story. I mean, half my school experimented, it seemed. But that’s what being young is for, I guess. We were all coming out then. It was like a big Pride fiesta,” I say.
“It’s funny because I hardly remember a time before I was out, know what I mean?” Owen says. “But that’s what happens when you come out at fourteen.”
I laugh, ruffle his damp hair. “Same. We are such birds of a feather, aren’t we?”
As the bubbles churn, he hums thoughtfully. “We are, River. I definitely think we are.”
The last sentence comes out a little vulnerable and a lot sexy.
I want to curl up in it, and with him.
I’m not sure what’s happening to me, or to us tonight.
But it feels like someone’s cast a spell, and I’m terrified to break it, because this night, every minute, every hour, gets better.
So much better it borders on perfect.
I thought I knew Owen so well already. And I suppose I did. Eight years of friendship will do that to you. But even talking about high school tonight feels like we’re mining new territory. Like we’re climbing to another level.
Owen reaches for me, slides one arm behind my back, then grabs hold of my hips with both hands, scoots me over his legs and has me sit between them.
“Oh hello, hello. Let’s snuggle in a hot tub,” I say as I heat up more. Pretty sure it’s not only from the temperature of the water.