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)
Grant lifts his Diet Coke. “And since you have the pact, maybe the two of you should do that Friendsgiving thing together that you guys were talking about.”
Owen dips his face, his tone going coy. “But I didn’t invite River.”
“Bet you wanted to,” Declan says, egging him on.
“What would you say if I invited you, River?” Owen asks me, all doe-eyed and innocent.
I flutter my lashes right back. “You haven’t invited me yet, hun.”
Owen leans closer on the bar. “I guess we’ll see if I do.”
“I guess we will,” I say, like I’m fine with him not inviting me, even though maybe I’m not fine with it at all.
When my shift ends a little later, and we head to the game room to play pool, my mind isn’t on stripes or solids.
It’s on whether Owen’s going to ask me to Friendsgiving or not.
I do want him to, since I bet it’d be a hoot, and I love a good time. Nisha, Hailey, and I hit it off at the party.
Maybe I’ll just try to reel Owen in.
“Admit it. You’re dying to watch me wow the crew in Tahoe with my Everything But The Kitchen Sink pie,” I say as I lift the stick and laser in on the blue-striped ball.
Owen takes a beat as a smile curves his lips. He’s quiet, like he’s thinking. His eyes spark with possibility. “You know what? That’s a good reason to invite you. To see if you can pull off this pecan-pumpkin-apple-pie feat.” He gestures with his pool cue. “River, would you like to come to Friendsgiving at Nisha and Hailey’s Airbnb in Tahoe next weekend and test out your pie skills?”
Next weekend.
Fuck my life.
My shoulders sag.
Knew it was too good to be true.
“That’s one of the biggest weekends here at The Lazy Hammock,” I say, dejected.
“We could man the bar for you,” Grant offers, gesturing to his fiancé and himself. “You could even bill it that way. A night with two of the city’s pro baseball players doing the serving.”
Owens eyes light up. “As the PR guy for the Dragons, I have to say that idea is the best. I swear I can see the hashtags now and the retweets.”
“You do love your social media, Owen,” I say.
Owen rests his chin on the end of the pool stick. “Like I love pecan pie,” he says, then tilts his head, his expression serious, maybe even a touch nervous. “So, what do you think, River?”
That it sounds like an entirely fun way to spend a weekend.
Bonus that it comes with zero risk of pact-breaking temptation since we’ll be in a house full of friends and food and games.
“Yes, let’s do it.”
It’ll be like every other time we hang out.
When we don’t kiss, touch, or anything else. And I’m fine with that. Because why wouldn’t I be?
2
RIVER
“Who’s a good girl?”
Delilah wags her tail, thumping it against the hard-packed earth, the Golden Gate Bridge a majestic arch behind her.
“That’s right. You’re the best girl in the world,” I tell the planet’s greatest dog as we finish a hike in Muir Woods on a chilly Friday morning, with the spectacular vista of the Pacific Ocean as our backdrop. “You deserve a special dog biscuit when we get home. What’s that, you said?” I wait for her answer, then respond. “Of course I got you one from the gourmet, organic dog bakery. As if I’d shop for you anyplace else.”
Bending down, I pat the front of my fleece jacket. My black and white Border Collie mix jumps up and paws me and licks my face, making me laugh. Then, we cover the last hundred yards to my car, where I grab a collapsible dog bowl, pour her some water from a bottle, and let her indulge.
I snap a slow-mo shot of her drinking water, since dog tongue is funny, and send it to Owen.
River: Hate to break it to you but Delilah already claimed shotgun for the trip.
Three bubbles dance on the screen forever as I pick up the bowl, dump the rest of the water on the ground, then open the back door for my girl. Once inside, I buckle her into her doggy harness.
“Seriously, you should model this. You need to be a spokeswoman for dog seat belts,” I tell Delilah.
My pooch tilts her head to the side, then wags her tongue, which means Yes, I know, I’m a brilliant, well-trained, and eminently beautiful beast, but I won’t let it go to my head.
I hop into the front seat, when Owen’s reply appears at last.
In the form of a picture of his orange cat.
Walking away.
Tail in the air.
Like only a cat can do.
River: Goldilocks is such a cat. Anyway, Delilah is feeling generous so she’ll let you sit in the front seat once we drop her off at my sister’s.