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)
Not now. Don’t break my heart now.
“Yeah?”
“This,” he says, gesturing from him to me. “This is what I meant earlier when I said things started to change.”
My heart thunders. So he can feel it too.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Owen. Test the waters slowly. Take the temperature. “What changed?”
“In the car,” River says. “I felt all . . . hot and bothered by you.”
I try to rein in a grin, but it’s futile. “You did?”
“In the store too. I was checking you out as you were walking around.”
I burn up, a rocket blasting through the atmosphere. “You were?”
“That’s why I freaked out over staying here alone with you. All I could think was we were going to combust,” he says, his voice shaky.
My heart squeezes, like it’s giving itself a warm hug. “And we did.”
“We sure did,” he says, then drags a hand down my chest, making me shiver. “And I want to again.” River licks his lips, takes a breath, then locks eyes with me. “But I’m also terrified of losing you.”
There it is. The risk. The biggest risk of all.
I swallow roughly. “I’m scared of the same thing,” I say, and that feels like an even bigger admission than the one I shared before I kissed him.
The years.
“And I don’t know what to do about it, Owen.”
I breathe out hard, stripping my emotions bare when I answer, “I don’t either.”
River nods a few times, like he’s absorbing this then maybe resetting himself. “Maybe we should talk about it tomorrow.”
Yes. Tomorrow.
We’ll figure it all out tomorrow. Like I tell my players, it’s best to sleep on big decisions. See how you feel in the bright light of day. Morning has a way of making sense of everything—big talks, big moments. This is one of them, and tomorrow we’ll find the right time.
A huge sigh of relief falls from my chest. As much as I want an answer with a big fucking bow on it, I’m positive it’s not coming right now. “Let’s make the best of tonight,” I say.
Since I don’t entirely know what he’s most afraid of.
Losing me if we fuck. Losing me if we fall in love. Or losing me if we fall out of love.
And honestly, right this second, I don’t want to know.
A few minutes later, we’re dried off and standing in the kitchen where I’m making hot cocoa on the stove. I’m dressed in a pair of dark gray gym shorts and no shirt as I stir the milk and cocoa in a pot on a medium flame. River’s in blue flannel pajama pants, hanging low on his hips, giving me a fantastic view of his chest and arms as he dips his hand into the popcorn bag, picking up where we left off during the game.
Snacking and talking.
As I whisk the milk gently, River tips his forehead to the pot. “You’re like a hot cocoa master, and I don’t normally let other people make drinks.”
“Little-known fact. I have an official license to make hot cocoa, so I can understand why you’d hand me the keys,” I deadpan. “Also, I’ve been making it since I was five.”
River scoots up on the counter, swings his feet as he chews on more popcorn, then asks, “Is it from all the skiing you did? And do?”
“Hot cocoa is definitely a staple of the ski lodge. And yeah, I made it on our family ski trips.”
He dips his hand into the bag again. “What was your most memorable trip as a kid?”
I scrunch up my brow. “Besides skiing? Because that was kind of all we did.”
River’s hand freezes midway to his mouth, popcorn in his fist. “What? You didn’t do family trips?”
Gliding the whisk through the warming milk, I shake my head. “Not really, beyond Tahoe. My parents worked all the time. They were hardly around. And any time we went on a trip, Grace and I had to bring friends because our parents didn’t want to spend time with us,” I say matter-of-factly.
“That sucks,” he says, a note of sadness in his voice. He takes another handful of popcorn.
I shrug with a sigh. “Sure, but it is what it is.”
“Do you wish it had been different?”
“Maybe? But I think I turned out okay. I just don’t want that for my life,” I say, cracking open another admission about myself. Today’s the day for that it seems. Maybe this is part of the recon—laying bare what I want in front of him.
“In what way?”
“I don’t want to work all the time. Or be unhappy. Or have a partner who resents me or vice versa. I want to take trips, and explore the city on weekends, and do the immersive art in Santa Fe, and see the burning earth in Turkmenistan. I want to have a good time, and work hard, but play hard too. Know what I mean?”