20. River

20

RIVER

The universe clearly has something against me. Eros, or Cupid, or whoever, is cursing me.

There’s no other explanation for the magical fucking dog van to have appeared. It’s like that kids’ book, with Ms. Frizzle and the bus that traveled underwater, and through the solar system, and back in time, and fuck that bus.

All I wanted was to sit down with Owen and talk, and ask if he thinks we can pull this off. If he’d be willing to break that pact we made. If he can throw the Harry and Rod rule to the wolves.

I have no idea if he’ll say yes or break my heart like the Big Dick Law dictates he will.

So instead of talking to Owen about all things D and L-O-V-E, I’m making drinks at three o’clock on a Saturday.

Cheers to me.

At the makeshift bar, aka kitchen counter, I whip up a martini for Jillian and an old-fashioned for her husband, Jones. “Beauty and brains before brawn,” I say to the woman who runs her own boutique PR agency in the city, and her football player hubs, giving her the drink first.

“And to think we were almost stuck with just wine, until a real bartender arrived,” she says.

“Surely that’s why Nisha sent the dog van for me,” I say as I measure out the whiskey.

“And I’m so glad she did.” Jillian takes a sip of her drink and gives an approving moan. “This is divine.”

“You’re going to make me jealous, babe,” Jones says in a deep rumbly voice that suits his big frame.

I wag a finger. “No jealousies at my traveling bar, hun. All my drinks are equally divine.”

“Excellent,” Jones says, and when I slide an old-fashioned his way, he joins in the drink moaning too.

They’re a fun couple—she has an Ali Wong vibe about her, and he’s the all-American football star with a dry wit. Ordinarily, I’d chat them up about the sport, work, and dogs, since they train their Chihuahua mixes to do agility competitions.

But I’m not in my best mood today, so I return to mixing and slinging drinks, serving up concoctions for the other guests. Like Tobey, who’s single, as well as Brooks and Steven, who remind me of Jesse Williams and Tom Ellis. They both do non-profit PR and have been together nearly a year. And Reese and Holden, one of Owen’s PR friends and her baseball player beau who’s on Owen’s team.

Which means Owen is wearing his game face as he slices carrots.

He can’t help it. Every time he interacts with a ball player, his instinct is to look out for their needs. It’s why he’s good at his job. It’s why he’s risen up through the ranks at the San Francisco Dragons.

But it’s also bugging the hell out of me today.

Then again, everything is, and I hate being annoyed.

It’s not in my nature.

And yet . . .

“You have to do the Big Dipper run on Heavenly, Reese. It’s exhilarating,” Owen tells the blonde, then turns to Holden. “But you will just sit and wait in the ski lodge like a good second baseman who’s not allowed to play any sports besides baseball.”

Holden salutes him. “Aye-aye, boss.”

I bristle, annoyance ratcheting up in me.

And I definitely need a drink now, since there’s no way Owen is going to let down his guard here, so I mix myself an old-fashioned too.

Another tall, strapping man—I’m not complaining about the eye candy, even though there’s only one piece of candy I want—shifts closer to me. “Want to send one of those bad boys my way?” TJ asks as he pulverizes potatoes with a masher.

“Nothing goes better with mashed potatoes than... well, than everything,” I say as I mix. “They go with literally everything.”

“Mashed potatoes are a perfect dish,” TJ seconds. “As long as there’s butter in them.”

“And I will drink to that, hun,” I say.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Owen’s spine straighten.

He whips his gaze to me. Behind those glasses, his eyes flick from me to TJ and back.

I want to tell him I’m not flirting with his friend.

I’m just . . . in bartender mode.

Just like he’s in PR guy mode.

And, usually, those settings work just fine for us.

Right now, though, I’m not keen on either one, but I do my best to mix and chat, making small talk with everyone. The whole time, I’m sneaking glances at Owen as he meticulously slices carrots.

I’ve never noticed how he slices vegetables before.

Why would you, dipshit? You don’t ordinarily watch people slice carrots.

But it’s not the way he’s cutting the veggies that’s transfixing me. It’s his hands. Those hands felt so good all over my body last night. They felt incredible in my hair, down my arms, on my waist.

Great.

Now I’m getting turned on in the kitchen while I should focus on my Friendsgiving job. Listening, asking questions, mixing drinks. Being an excellent guest.

But dear Lord, it was heaven when Owen roped his fingers through mine in the hot tub. How he held me.

My stomach flips from the memory.

I want to walk over to him right now, set his knife down, take his hand and tell everyone he’s mine, just mine, all mine.

But I won’t put him on the spot in front of his friends. In front of his colleagues.

I can’t assume he wants what I want, and I definitely can’t just smash my way into his love life like a bull in a china shop.

You don’t tell someone you’re crazy about him in the middle of a public event. I won’t do it.

Instead, I knock back the rest of my old-fashioned.

“So, how did you two meet?” I ask Jillian and Jones, and the pair of lovebirds launches into the tale.

I am interested as they tell me the story.

At least, I’m doing my very best to be, and I hope my face doesn’t reveal where my thoughts truly are.

Maybe it’s my fault, but “how did you meet” becomes the question at dinner a few hours later.

TJ points at the hostess and her wife. “You two have to go first,” he says, then to the group in a stage whisper, “Since they have the cutest story.”

“Novel-worthy?” Reese asks TJ.

“Meaning, will I steal it as a premise for the next great romance? You know, I just might,” he says, takes a bite of his salad, chews, then shoots a wide-eyed look at the moms-to-be. “’Fess up.”

Nisha smiles shyly.

Hailey grins, sets a hand on her wife’s shoulder. “We were in the library. We both wanted to check out the same book. It was a Calvin and Hobbes.”

“And instead, we checked out each other,” Nisha puts in.

The entire table awws.

“Okay, that’s meet-cute worthy, especially since Calvin and Hobbes are cool. What else have we got?” TJ asks, gesturing to Brooks and Steven. “The Brit and the American. I’d like to hear this story.”

Setting down his martini, the Brit laughs and shakes his head. “We’re just a typical boy-meets-boy-online story,” Steven says.

“Nothing wrong with that. It’s how lots of couples meet these days,” TJ says.

“I swear, half the couples at my bar met on an app. Many of whom are happily married,” I put in as I spear a forkful of salad and chew. Contributing to this conversation is better than stewing about when I’ll get a moment alone with Owen.

Steven waggles a platinum band. “We’ll be getting married in the spring. I’m so glad I used Boyfriend Material.”

Owen chokes, covers his mouth with his hand, and nearly spits out his water.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” Nisha asks, momming him.

“Fine. Just fine,” he says, sputtering, his cheeks flashing pink.

I burn. That stupid fucking app. Owen better have taken down his profile last night right after the first time I made him come. If not then, definitely after that second orgasm when he called my name at the top of his lungs.

But I’m sure he didn’t delete it. After all, he didn’t look at his phone once after we kissed. I kept him plenty busy, thank you very much.

Maybe he killed his profile in the magic dog van.

If he didn’t, I will hack his phone and destroy that profile, because there is no way anyone else will get his hands on Guy With Glasses.

And what the fuck is wrong with me?

I am not a jealous guy.

I am not a possessive alpha.

I am not this person at all.

But I can’t stand the thought of Owen seeing anyone else, touching anyone else, falling for anyone else.

“Drink some water, sweetie,” Nisha says to Owen, handing him his glass.

“I swear I’m okay,” he mutters.

“Wait. Is that how you two met? Did you and River meet on that app?” Once Tobey’s question makes landfall, the table goes quiet.

The guests are waiting for an answer.

Owen looks up at Tobey, his eyes wide, his lips parted. But no words come out.

The silence is so awkward, you couldn’t cut it with a knife. There is no utensil the right shape for this kind of awkward. My instinct is to jump in and smooth things over with a quip, but I don’t want to. I kind of want to know what Owen will say now that the dumb app is up for discussion.

But he’s silent. Except, he seems to be breathing a little harder than normal.

“Tobey, they’re not together. They’re just friends,” Nisha corrects him gently.

TJ chuckles under his breath, then takes another bite of mashed potatoes.

What’s the deal with that chuckle? I file it away to ask Owen later.

Tobey winces, holds up his hands in surrender, a stuffing-covered fork in one, a knife in the other. “Gah. My bad. So sorry. I was just getting a vibe in the van. But I was wrong about the murder podcasts, so I must not be good at reading people. Good thing I can speak dog, huh?”

“I’d like to speak dog,” Holden offers, then digs back into the salad.

Owen clears his throat. “We’ve been friends forever. River and me,” he says, slapping on a grin. But he just seems... off .

Well, same here.

Also, fuck friendship.

And I think I just growled.

God, I hope this meal ends soon.

Steven clears his throat, flashing a smile, ever the diplomat it seems. “But it’s a great dating app. If anyone is looking for a girlfriend or boyfriend, it’s fantastic.” He directs his gaze to me, then Owen. “And really, if either of you two blokes is looking for a boyfriend, I highly recommend it.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I say, while plotting to take down an entire dating app Ocean’s Eleven -style, mirroring how the bombing expert shut down the Vegas power grid.

“And really, I bet you’d both clean up on it,” Brooks adds.

“Are either of you? Looking for a boyfriend?” Nisha asks, turning her gaze to Owen, then to me.

I wait for Owen to go first.