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)
River’s warm eyes flicker with understanding. “I love getting away from work. When I was a kid, I craved family trips. I crossed off the days on the calendar till our summer vacations. Camping and the beach and RV trips to Yellowstone. That’s where I fell in love with hiking,” River says, a soft smile on his face, and a faraway look in his irises. The memories of those days must be playing on a reel in his head, making him happy. “I remember the first few times my dad took me for a hike in the woods, and all I could think was it felt like how an amusement park must feel to other kids. Everything about wandering around in nature was such a rush for me. A ladybug here, a tree there, a stream in the woods,” he says, and the enchantment in his voice is so infectious. He sets down the popcorn, hops off the counter. He draws a deep breath, like he’s gearing up to say something hard, or something big. “You should go hiking with me sometime.”
I arch a brow, wildly curious what he’s getting at since hiking isn’t something we do together. “I should?”
“Well, you never go.”
I laugh lightly. “Because you always go with Delilah or your hiking club. It’s your thing and that’s cool,” I say, then add, “You don’t go to the gym with me.”
“Do you want me to?”
My brow knits in confusion. “The gym is just functional. I like working out. I like being in shape. But it’s not my passion like hiking is for you.”
“Exactly! Hiking isn’t functional for me. It’s fun.” River squares his shoulders, then declares, “We should do it together.”
But there’s that word again, and it bristles me.
Fun.
That seems to be the word of the night.
Empirically, fun is a good word.
A good thing.
This is fun. We are fun.
I’d do well to remember that.
“Sure, River,” I say, as I turn the heat off, move the pot from the burner.
“You don’t sound like you want to,” he says.
You have no idea how much I want to go with you. “I do. I do want to. I just . . .”
“Just what?” River presses, his tone pitching up, like he’s desperate.
I should just say it. Just be honest. I won’t stand a chance if I don’t attempt some honesty about my feelings.
Here goes nothing.
Grabbing two mugs, I answer him. “I want to go with you. Hiking, or a concert, or coffee. Anything, really,” I say, and that feels like a big step. I’m admitting I’d date him, and that has to count for something. But I can’t shake the feeling that tonight is the wrong time. This moment is fueled by the most powerful drug known to man—lust. Anything we plan tonight feels like it could crumble in the morning. “But it just feels weird, making plans. We said a few minutes ago to talk about it tomorrow.”
River’s shoulders sag. He frowns. “You’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s all just so much . . .”
“Fun?” I supply, kind of hating that word. I pour the cocoa into the mugs.
“It is fun. It’s good. Fun is good. This is like a fun cabin,” he says.
But will it be like Fight Club? What happens in the Fun Cabin stays in the Fun Cabin?
My jaw clicks, and the barest hint of a headache takes hold in the back of my neck. Absently, I reach up and rub a hand across my nape. I look away from River, rubbing more.
Then, a gentle hand wraps around my neck, startling me, but only for a second. Mostly, it just feels good as he massages. “Here. Let me do that for you. Felt so good when you did that for me,” he whispers, his voice sending goose bumps across my bare skin.
My heart thunders as I close my eyes and let him massage my neck for a few seconds. His fingers drift into my hair. “I just want to go hiking with you—that’s all. I don’t want to pressure you. I think maybe I just want to know that we can still do things together,” he says, and I swear, I can hear the unspoken words.
After we stop fucking.
After we leave the fun cabin.
After this night ends.
Closing my eyes, I wince, holding in all the emotions churning inside me. “We can go then,” I whisper, giving him that much, because it’s better than nothing. I straighten my spine, shift away from him, grab the mug. “Here. Have some,” I say, then hand it to him.
River lifts the cup and takes a drink, his eyes twinkling. “Mmm. Cocoa master indeed. You can come to The Lazy Hammock and serve this. It’d be a hit. You, the hottest guy in the bar, handing out your hot cocoa. Can you make it spiked? Wait. I can just add liquor. We’ll call it . . . Fun Cabin Hot Cocoa. That’ll be its cocktail name,” he says, then wheels around and opens cupboards, hunting for liquor, I suspect.