6. River

6

RIVER

This is Northern California, so even the gas station stores are organic and healthy.

In this case, we’ve got a full-on gourmet shop.

I wander down an aisle filled with baked chips, dried edamame, and roasted pumpkin seeds. “Gas station food, this is not,” I say as I pick up a bag of popcorn that touts itself as farm-to-table . “I didn’t know that was an option for popcorn in a freaking bag.”

“I’m sure the farmers picked the corn this morning and hand-delivered it right here,” Owen says, then turns the corner. “Whoa.”

“Did you find a bag of dried seaweed to munch on in the car?”

His lips crook into a grin. “If I did, I’d be rushing to the counter now. But seriously. Check this out. They have gourmet hot cocoa from Lulu’s Chocolate.” He lifts a tin, waggles it.

“Your favorite chocolate.”

Owen clutches the tin. “Awww, you remember. You’re the best.”

“You only go on and on about Lulu’s Chocolate all the time. You force me to go to the shop anytime we’re in the Ferry Building.”

“I force you? Really? Does it feel forced when you’re moaning in pleasure from eating chocolate? It didn’t seem forced when you devoured an entire salted almond chocolate bar a few weeks ago when we went there after the Dragons destroyed the Storm Chasers in that blowout game,” Owen says, picking up a Lulu’s chocolate bar, and waving it seductively in front of my face, like he’s trying to hypnotize me.

It’s kind of working.

“Are you trying to tempt me?”

Oh hello, double meaning. Nice to see you again.

A spark in his blue eyes is the answer. “Maybe I am. I’ll get both,” he says, tin and bar in hand, then rounds the corner into the next aisle. I follow, walking behind him, my eyes traveling down his frame, cataloguing the shape of his strong back. Mmm, I do love a good back on a man. Love the divots and muscles, broad shoulders and tight waist. Love the feel of sliding my palm along smooth skin, right into thick hair.

His thick hair.

And tugging the strands.

Pulling.

Holding him in place under me.

I stifle a groan as I slip dangerously deeper into temptation.

I could shake off this lust, but it feels too good. So instead my eyes travel a little lower, lingering on the curve of his ass. Has Owen always had a bubble butt, or have I just started noticing it? My hands itch to touch him. To explore his arms, his abs, his legs.

My throat goes dry as I stare shamelessly at Owen’s firm, muscled body.

But when he spins around, I drag a hand through my hair, snap up my gaze, and do my best impression of I’m absolutely, thoroughly interested in the garbanzo beans in front of me on the shelf .

I grab the can, study the label like it’s fascinating.

“Chickpeas, River? Are you buying chickpeas for Friendsgiving? Like as a hostess gift for Nisha? Here are your chickpeas, hun! I mean, you and Nisha and Hailey did get along well at the party.”

Friends. Gifts. Thank you. Yes!

I snap my fingers, hoping it jolts me from this bout of wicked lust. “Idea! Why don’t we buy a few things for Declan’s mom’s cabin? Like a gift for her? Since the guys are covering for me at the bar, and that’s huge,” I say, then stop to laugh. “Wait. That’s not fair. I’ll buy them. I didn’t mean we . They’re doing me a favor. I’ll take care of all of it.”

“I can help,” Owen says, almost as if he’s confused by why I’d suggest otherwise. My friend sets a hand on my arm, like he needs to reassure me. Trouble is his touch sends a flare of heat across my body. It reassures me of only one thing—the temptation to touch Owen back is growing stronger by the second. “I mean, they’re helping both of us, right?”

Words.

Thoughts.

Answers.

C’mon, brain. Come up with them. “They are?”

“Yeah. Duh. You’re coming with me.”

“But I invited myself,” I say, feeling a little more flustered than usual. Holy shit. I did invite myself. Did Owen want me to come along?

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he says, answering instantly, easing my nerves, before he adds, “Trust me on that.”

“Okay. Thanks. But still, I want to do this. To get some fun little things for Declan’s mom. It’ll be sweet.”

Owen nods, letting go of me to adjust his glasses. “Yeah, it is sweet. We’ll both do it. It’ll be from both of us.”

That feels entirely too couple-y for words, so I say nothing. Just nod, unsure what to make of this him-and-me pair-up.

But maybe it’s just the road trip.

Yeah, that’s it.

Driving with someone for four hours can make you feel like you’re a thing.

When you’re not.

We cruise through the gourmet shop, picking up snacks for the drive, as well as little items here and there for the cabin, including another tin of cocoa for Declan’s mom. At the counter, the cashier rings us up, then I slide my card out of my wallet, eager to pay.

“I mean it. I’ve got it,” I say firmly.

“Let’s split it. You already paid for gas,” Owen says, taking out his wallet, but I shake my head, curl a hand over his to stop him.

Oh!

That’s quite nice... more than nice. I don’t want to stop. I want to run my thumb across his knuckles, touch him slow and sensual, learn how he reacts to my hands on his body.

Great. Fucking great.

I’m getting turned on yet again in the gourmet convenient store on the side of the California road as I imagine seducing my best friend.

“Why don’t you pay for the snacks on the drive back?” I suggest, grasping for logic as I let go of his hand.

“Fine,” he says, tucking his credit card away, then grumbling, “You’re so bossy.”

The clerk packs the items, then flashes a grin. “Drive safely, now,” she says.

“I will,” I reply, as I grab one bag and Owen snags the other. When I push on the door to leave, a blast of cold air lashes me. “Brrr. It’s Antarctica.”

Owen gestures to the car, several feet away. “Want me to run over there first and get your jacket for you? Would that help?”

“Mock me with your Canadian blood, why don’t you?”

“Well, do you, River?”

Shivering, I growl. “I’ll survive the ten feet.”

“Look at you. Braving the elements. It’s amazing and, honestly, a little inspiring,” he says, faux choking up.

“I’m endlessly inspiring. I’m also freezing,” I say, as we quickly set the bags on the back seat, then hop in. I turn the car on, then arch a brow. “Want to go wild?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Maybe it is.”

“I’ll bite. What are we doing that’s wild?”

“Butt warmers,” I say salaciously, then hit the button on the console to turn up the heat on the seats.

“Bring it on,” Owen says, and tosses me a sly grin. “Nothing I like better than a hot ass.”

I fan my hand in front of my face, reverting to flirting once more. “And now I need to cool off.”

“Cooling off is overrated,” Owen says, as I pull out of the lot, and back onto the highway.

Maybe I don’t entirely want to cool off either.

Once we hit the stretch of concrete ribbon, my thoughts return to Owen’s comment at the register. To my own wayward mind. And sometimes, wayward minds win. “By the way, you’re right.”

“About what?”

I shoot him a sly smile. “I am definitely bossy.”

My remark takes a few seconds to land, but when it does, I catch a glimpse of his lips curving into a sexy little grin. The tip of his tongue flicks across the corner of his mouth, then he turns to face me. “Is that so?”

“Yes. It is.”

Owen leans his head back against the headrest, grinning. “Have to say, I’m not at all surprised to learn that.” Then he adds, his voice dropping lower, hitting a smoky tone, “Also, bossy can be good.”

I should pump the brakes.

Truly, I should.

But the more miles I put between San Francisco and us, the harder that gets.