36. River

A few weeks later

I would never fault my friend for his good fortune.

Still.

What kind of justice is there in the world of hot men, hookups, and relationships?

With an exaggerated sigh, I shake my head as I straighten up The Lazy Hammock bar while Declan and Grant bestow smooches, endless freaking smooches, all over each other. Owen is next to them, kicking back with a scotch, laughing at their romantic shenanigans.

Because . . . what else can you do?

"Please, please, please tell me, oh sexy god of love and gorgeous, captivating men," I plead. "Of all the hotties in San Francisco, why is it fair for Grant Blackwood"—I gesture dramatically to my business partner—"to land a hot baseball player on literally his first time at the plate?"

They crack up like only the most adorable, disgustingly in love couples can, with hands and arms all wrapped around each other.

"I have good taste," Grant says with a cocky shrug.

Declan lifts his iced tea. "I'll drink to that. And I'll drink to the god of whoever made the Cougars pick you in the baseball draft way back when, so you'd wind up on my team," he says to his fiancé.

Owen arches a brow and points to Grant, then Declan. "Wait. You two were involved when you were on the same side?"

Grant brings his finger to his lips. "Shhh."

"Your secret is safe with me," Owen says, then shoots me a demanding stare. "But, River, why didn't you tell me that?"

I roll my eyes. "Because you didn't need to know."

"But I definitely would have wanted to know," he says.

I pour Grant a Diet Coke, then continue on my rant. "As I was saying, you two found each other, and meanwhile, I meet, like, literally all the out, queer men in San Francisco and I am still single," I say, staring at them like my romantic diet is all their fault.

Well, it feels like someone's fault.

Hell, I'd like to find out who's responsible for the drought in my love life.

I hand Grant the soda. He clears his throat and tilts his head toward Owen. "Hello! He's out and cute."

"I'm more than cute," Owen says, squaring his shoulders. "Matt Bomer, eat your heart out."

Owen's not wrong. But... that's beside the point. "Please. Owen and I are friends," I tell Grant.

Owen lifts his drink. "Friends don't bang friends," he seconds.

"Exactly."

"Well, since you're ‘friends,'" Grant adds, sketching air quotes, the devil that he is, "maybe you should do that Friendsgiving thing that Owen was just talking about."

My brow knits. "What?"

Owen gives me an exasperated look. "I mentioned it before you went off about Grant's luck at the man buffet."

"Right, I heard you. My what was more like Grant, why are you suggesting we go to Owen's Friendsgiving together?"

Declan's eyes sparkle as he answers. "Because you're friends. Isn't that what Friendsgiving is for?"

I turn my gaze to Owen, challenging him. "Well, you haven't invited me."

Owen laughs, then leans closer on the bar. "I guess we'll see if I do."

My longtime friend lifts his scotch, knocks some back, and sets down the glass.

I spend the rest of the evening, wondering whether he'll invite me. If he does, I'm pretty sure I'll say yes.