18. Owen

18

OWEN

The most predictable thing about weather is that it’s wildly unpredictable.

Last time I checked my phone, my weather app said there’d be half a foot by morning. Skiers rejoiced. But as the sun introduces itself to me the next day in all its bright morning glory, I squint, trying to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.

Most of the white stuff is gone.

Are my eyes that bad?

Grabbing my glasses, I slide them on and I yawn, peering out the window.

Okay, there’s still some snow, but maybe only a couple inches. Most of it is melting. A pang tugs at my chest. I suppose a part of me was hoping for another snow day.

That would have been perfect timing. Right place, right time, right moment. To hole up in this chalet for longer still, curl up by the fire, and tell River I am in mad love with him. And then we could fuck and kiss and cuddle.

My stomach growls.

And eat. That too.

I only snacked yesterday, including a midnight snack after sex—pumpkin seeds and the rest of the popcorn bag and a couple of bananas. Guess we’ll need to replenish the hostess gifts for Declan’s mom soon.

But are we getting out in this snow?

The road looks pretty slushy, and we’re high up in the hills. River’s car is tiny.

I cast a glance at the man next to me, sound asleep on his stomach. His dark blond hair is a wild mess, his inked arm on display, curled above his head.

Smiling, I briefly contemplate kissing all those tattoos. Running a hand through that hair. Pressing a soft kiss to his stubbly cheek.

But that’s selfish.

If I know one thing about River it’s that he likes his sleep almost as much as he likes his dog.

He’s a Garfield, hating mornings with a passion. Makes sense, being a bar owner, working nights. I’m the opposite—mornings are my jam. My workout time, my coffee time, my get-ready-to-tackle-the-day time.

A quick look at the clock tells me it’s nearly ten though.

I never sleep that late. But I guess soul-deep sex has that effect on me. I grin wildly. Yup, and I’d like another serving please. Then another.

I swing my legs out of bed, head to the bathroom, then consider a shower. We both took a super-quick post-sex shower last night, but I’m a believer in morning showers too. Since, well, I do have a day job, and I like going to work nice and clean.

Same applies to seeing friends.

I turn on the faucet, adjust the temp, and take a speedy wake-me-up shower.

A few minutes later, I’m dried off and getting dressed.

And River’s still sound asleep.

I stand in the doorway of the bathroom, tugging on a casual button-down, enjoying the sight in front of me.

This man.

A reel of what we did in this bed last night flickers before my eyes. A jolt runs through me, and my cheeks heat.

Best sex of my life?

Yes. Yes, it was. Because it was so much more than sex. I’m reminded of what TJ said to me about the sexy times in his stories. They’re about things like intimacy, trust, opening your heart.

Last night in bed sure felt like the start of that, and today, I’ll continue it.

So, hey, River, when you asked what I was into last night, and I said you, I meant it in every way. I am so into you. I am so in love with you. I want you to be mine and I’ll be yours, and I hope you feel the same.

When I fasten the last button, I gather up our used towels, and exit the guest room. Stopping at the laundry room, I toss the towels in a hamper, then head to the living room, where I quickly straighten things up. I put board games away, then grab the BMW Blow Job Extravaganza blanket, and drop it in the laundry too.

There.

The place looks decent again, like two dudes didn’t bang all night in a bunch of the rooms.

Three rooms, to be precise.

Kitchen, living room, guest room.

Quite a triumvirate of sex, if I do say so myself. I laugh quietly, pride surging through me, then head into the kitchen to hunt for coffee, since man can’t survive on hot cocoa in the morning.

As I open the cupboards, a rattling sound hits my ears.

My phone.

I haven’t looked at it since we played Would You Rather . Grabbing the device, I spot a text notification flashing across the screen.

TJ: Better wrap up that eggplant, buddy. Tobey is on his way.

Tobey? Oh. Nisha’s cousin. With a kernel of dread digging into my chest, I click on the next one.

TJ: Also, Nisha doesn’t know you have a thing for your bud, and I couldn’t really intervene and tell her since not my place and also not cool . Ergo, I didn’t stop her from sending Tobey your way this morning. But it’s kinda your fault since you didn’t answer any of my texts last night asking how it was going. Which either meant: 1) You confessed your love and got the dicking of a lifetime. 2) You confessed it, were rejected, and promptly drowned your sorrows in a bottle of Patron, and now you’re praying to the porcelain god, and if so, I’m sorry, bud, and I feel for you. Or 3) You didn’t man up and instead played Parcheesi all night.

TJ: If it’s option three, I’m going to name my next villain after you. And by name, I mean use your first name and last name in the book. So, your answer better be one, for your own good.

The dread deepens as I click over to Nisha’s messages from this morning.

Nisha: My imaginary helicopter is still in the shop but my real one is on its way. Tobey will be there soon to pick up you and River. And I know what you’re thinking—that I only want you here for the farm veggies you’re bringing. (Truth—I’m addicted to them, and you know it, you enabler.) But mostly, I want to see you. So, I’m doing what I do best. Making it happen. See you soon, O!

And the dread wins, upending all my plans for the day.

Cursing up a storm, I check the time, then the time of Nisha’s text. She sent it about forty minutes ago. Tahoe is thirty minutes from here in good weather.

Which means . . .

A flash of bright green appears in the corner of my eye.

Sporting big black pawprints.

Then, the crunch of tires on gravel lands on my ears.

It sounds like Darth Vader’s theme song.

There is no holing up in this cabin, there is no love confession, and there is no private moment to tell River I want him to be the start and end of my days.

Nope, not when Tobey’s green vet-mobile pulls into the driveway and parks right next to River’s little red car. Nisha’s cousin is a mobile vet in Tahoe, and I wish he were here to tend to a four-legged friend instead of a two-legged mammal who should have said something last night.

This is the problem when you wait for a perfect opportunity.

You miss it.

Before Tobey gets out of his van, I speed down the hall, turn into the bedroom, and cross the distance to the bed. The man I’m in love with is still fast asleep.

A soft snore fills the silence. Holy fuck, that’s cute. I’m so going to give River a hard time about snoring.

But first, I set a hand on his shoulder and gently rustle him. “Hey, you.”

Flipping to his side, River’s eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright. “Did they deliver the jelly beans? I’m not making Moscow mules with those. Send them back.”

I drop my head to my hand, laughing hard. “River, you’re dreaming.”

River blinks, rubs his eyes, meets my gaze. “No jelly bean delivery?”

I shake my head. “You don’t use jelly beans in Moscow mules. We’re in Markleeville. In Declan’s mom’s cabin. Nisha just sent her cousin to take us to her place. He’s here.”

River furrows his brow, then yawns deeply. “Ohhhh. Right. Okay.”

His gaze drifts down to the covers, sliding below his hips, giving me a tantalizing view of his V-line. But right when I’m about to say, “Damn, you look good” the doorbell chimes.

An insistent church bell sound.

River sighs again and tosses the cover to the side, and I groan in appreciation of the naked sight of him.

“Let me make myself presentable,” he says, then strides across the room. My eyes follow him as he heads to the bathroom.

Then I leave and go straight for the front door.

I swing it open.

Nisha’s cousin looks nothing like her. Nisha takes after her mom’s side of the family, her Indian heritage strongly represented in her striking features. Tobey’s the spitting image of the actor who played the best Spiderman.

The one he shares the first name with. He has the same youthful vibe too, which tracks, since Nisha’s told me he’s some kind of whiz kid, and finished college and vet school early.

He gestures dramatically to the green van. “Your Friendsgiving chariot awaits,” he says.

“Thanks for the save. By the way, I’m Owen,” I say, extending a hand for him to shake.

“Tobey,” he says.

“Why don’t you come in for a few? River is just getting ready. And I should straighten up the kitchen.”

Nisha’s cousin steps inside, and I shut the door.

The spell of last night is officially broken.