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)
He’s probably already retreated to a room for tonight.
This is going to be so fucking fun.
Standing, I stretch, then spot my backpack by the door. Toothpaste and a toothbrush sound perfect right now, so I grab the bag and head to the hallway bathroom. After I take a leak, I wash my hands, brush my teeth, and leave my backpack there.
River probably took the upstairs bedroom anyway.
Rooting around in my bag, I fish out my phone charger, return to the living room, and find a plug. Might as well juice up this bad boy, so I can watch a show or read a book tonight. It’s not like I’m going to be hanging out with River, drinking hot chocolate and cuddling by the fire.
Ugh.
What a pathetic idea anyway.
But it’s a good reminder not to read too much into little moments. There were a few times when he gave off I’m interested vibes. The I’m bossy remark, the way he curled his hand over mine in the store, how he stumbled on words when the conversation turned a little heated.
But clearly that was just me wanting what I can’t have. Good thing I didn’t say a word. I pride myself on knowing when to talk and when to listen—it’s what I do for a living and I’m damn good at it.
I’m more grateful than ever that I listened to my instincts to shut up.
River and I were never going to happen, and this snow is simply slapping me in the face.
Which means I will definitely get on the apps when I return to San Francisco. Boyfriend Material is one I’ve been hearing a lot about, so when I plug in my phone, I go to the App store, download it, and set up a profile real quick. I’ll do the rest when I’m home, but this is the first step in getting over the guy I can’t have. I flop down on the couch when a door whisks open, and River sails in from the back deck.
“Popsicle. It’s official. I am a certifiable popsicle, but there’s a hot tub outside, and I bet if I were in it, I’d be a melted popsicle.” He’s draped in his outgoing bar owner persona again—only it’s not a persona. It’s just who he is. Happy, upbeat, fun.
Maybe he’s over our first big fight.
Sure seems that way, judging from the smile he’s sporting.
“Did you take a dip in it to practice your melting theory?” I ask, even though he’s fully dressed, and his hair is dry.
He shivers dramatically. “No way. It’s too cold on the deck. But I was checking everything out. Rooting around. You know me. I’m like a cat,” he says, walking toward me.
“Curious,” I say, my voice still a little empty, even as we slide back into banter. How does this work? Do we just snap back in place, like a rubber band?
River stops at the chair across from the couch, sits, and tries to catch my eye. But it’s too hard for me to look at him, and I feel so stupid for wanting him with an ache so persistent it won’t go away.
“Owen,” he begins in a gentle, contrite tone I’ve never heard from him before.
It’s enough to make me look up. “Yeah?”
He leans forward, clasps his hands. “I’m really sorry.”
That’s not what I expected to hear, so I take several seconds to process. I’m a thinker by nature. I ponder, and the thing is—we’re not apologizers, River and me. Sure, we’ve said sorry here and there, but only over little things. Forgetting to get tickets for a concert. Missing a coffee meet-up. Saying something dumb about the other person’s favorite singer.
Never something like this.
This feels bigger. More important.
“You are?” I ask carefully.
“I was an ass,” he says, shrugging, but owning it. “I don’t know what got into me.”
But I know what got into me. Desire. Lust. Longing. And I need to do the same thing he’s doing—fix our friendship. “I’m sorry too,” I say, meeting his eyes. “I got all pissy. And I don’t know why I acted that way either.”
I try not to feel guilty for that lie. But he doesn’t need to know everything that’s in my heart.
He clears his throat, soldiers on. “I think I just wanted things to go a certain way today. I had this whole vision of road tripping with you, and listening to podcasts and music, and chatting and eating snacks, and debating anything and everything, and getting to Nisha’s and seeing her and Hailey again, and meeting all your friends, like TJ and everyone else,” River says, with an earnestness in his tone that keeps catching me off-guard. I’m so used to his charm, but this side of him—this open side—is wildly endearing too, as he rattles off a dream day. “I was so caught up in that, and I wanted you to have the Friendsgiving you love with all your buddies, and . . .” He stops, scrubs a hand across his jaw, his eyes swinging away from me. A few seconds later, they’re back on me, and they flicker with a new vulnerability. “Then things started to change.”