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)
Hmmm. I could dissect this even further, break it down into principles of a theory. “It sounds like Ansel either believed, or pretended to believe, sex wouldn’t get in the way of the friendship, but then it turned out he was a full-on Gay Harry?”
“Yes, Ansel’s my Gay Harry. And I don’t want to see that movie again.” River tapped his chin, a little lost in thought. “And by that reasoning, a heterosexual man and woman can be friends, as long as the guy isn’t Straight Harry.”
I nod. “And queer men can be friends with each other, except for Gay Harry. Seems to me Gay Harry’s theory that we think anything with a dick is fuckable—”
“Does a great disservice to all the genuinely fuckable dicks of the world,” River said, holding his coffee cup high.
I raised mine as if we’re toasting. “To all the genuinely fuckable dicks in the world.”
Then we laughed because Gay Harry was full of shit, and men could be friends with whoever they wanted.
Only, I was curious what River thought would happen if one of his friends became his lover. “Seriously, though. Allowing that we, being reasonable adults, can be friends with someone bangable, did Ansel convince you that we can’t stay friends with someone we. . . banged? That sex will always get in the way?”
River took a long drink of his coffee, thinking it over. “It’s a big risk, with the friendship at stake. What if the friend turns out to be a Secret Gay Harry? Ansel didn’t seem like he’d be one, but he was. Sex is a powerful drug and thus a humongous gamble, so friends who want to sleep together should decide if it’s worth the risk. I hereby declare that the River Rule.”
I stopped at the street corner. “Hypothetically,” I began, as we waited to cross, “would you and I stay friends if we slept together?”
The question had begun as idle fishing for intel, but in the silence that followed, I cleared my throat, surprised at how much I wanted an answer, startled by my need to hear what River thought of me. But did I want him to say we’d stay friends, or that he wanted to sleep with me?
Or maybe . . . both?
River took another long drink of his coffee and gazed up at the clear blue sky of a spring day in California, seeming to weigh my question for a long moment. Finally, his light brown eyes stayed locked on mine, and he asked, “What do you think, Owen?”
I didn’t know what to think.
Or to feel.
Except I felt something electric.
Something that flashed even hotter when River’s eyes roamed over my frame in a way that felt . . . more than friendly.
I wasn’t sure what to make of that tingle sliding down my chest. I had Jack. My hookup pal. The guy I was interested in.
I definitely wasn’t interested in River.
Except, this wave of goose bumps rolling down my back said otherwise. It shouted that I was into my friend, the guy with the surfer smile, the breezy vibe, the ink on his arms that pops on his fair skin. Most of all, the never-ending banter.
But I wasn’t Gay Harry, who couldn’t see past lust to what else a person had to offer. I agreed with River that friendship mattered and shouldn’t be risked lightly.
“I think if we slept together,” I answered slowly and thoughtfully, “you and I could stay friends. Because we are friends.” I tried my best to answer logically. “And I’m not Ansel.”
“True,” River conceded. “Still, I’m not sure I’d ever want to take that gamble with you. I wish I hadn’t taken it with Ansel because I lost a friend.”
“Or maybe you learned who he really was,” I posited.
“A lesson I didn’t want to learn. And I don’t want to gamble with our friendship. Even though you are a cutie, Owen,” River said, shifting tone. The man could be the textbook definition of a flirt.
“Cute is for chipmunks,” I scoffed.
“Oh my God! You’re a chipmunk hater. We definitely won’t ever sleep together now that I know that you have a grudge against chipmunks.”
Sleep together.
Right then, I knew three things. One, the way he said sleep together turned me on immensely. Two, I couldn’t act on that feeling. Because, three, I didn’t want to gamble with our friendship either.
“I had no idea you had such strong feelings about chipmunks,” I said, when I was really thinking—Do you want to sleep with me?
“I have strong feelings about everything,” River went on, waving a casual hand my way. “I called you a cutie because I can’t call you a hottie,” River said. “Even with those Clark Kent glasses. I can’t call you hot because you’re seeing someone. And because we have too much fun together. Because you make me laugh, and I make you laugh harder.”