Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
The things I could say.
The things he could say.
But I choose silence instead, waiting for him.
He nods, then looks at me again as the music shifts to The National’s cover of “Never Tear Us Apart.” Owen swallows visibly, parts his lips, and I stall for a few seconds—my gaze caught on his full lips—before I jerk my attention back to the road.
“What I want most in a relationship . . .” he starts, but doesn’t finish right away as he stares out the passenger window, then draws a breath before turning back to me. “I want to be good to someone. I want someone who wants me to be good to him. Who’d want what I have to give.”
I nearly swerve into the next lane as a rush of warmth spreads across my skin.
I grip the wheel tighter, focusing on the road.
Just the road.
Not those swoony, sweet, and powerful words.
But they play on repeat in my head, his voice echoing, and I am so screwed.
Something stronger than temptation is taking hold.
Something clutching my heart.
I don’t know what the hell to do with it.
I just nod, letting the music fill the void. “I bet you have a lot to give,” I say in the understatement of my life.
“I do,” Owen says, and his tone is different. There’s a vulnerability in it that feels almost personal. Possibly suggestive, but it’s not sexual; it’s just intimate. “River?”
My breath catches, but I swallow it quickly. “Yes?”
“You never answered my question. Did you dislike Ezra all along?”
My mind cycles back to those days when Owen dated Ezra. When they swung by The Lazy Hammock. When they went to coffee together and I sometimes, maybe, caught a few minutes with my friend. When they went to concerts at night, and all I got was a morning-after report on the band.
Did I dislike him all along?
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.