33. Indiana Jones of Dating

Hollis

Last night, I offered her sex.

But I need to make it crystal clear that I meant it, too, when I said I'd help her in all the ways, including the boyfriend way. Just like I looked up sex toys yesterday, this morning I researched "things a good boyfriend does."

I take my responsibilities very seriously. That's why I don't want to assume she'll want to hang out this evening. When I reach her tent, I ask, "Want to know what we found under the bed this morning that we can do tonight?"

"Was it a piggy bank? A creepy doll? A rope?"

"You want to play with creepy dolls, Briar?"

"So that's the one you think I want to play with?" Her smile is teasing.

"I was trying to be a gentleman," I say.

"Stop."

"Stop being a gentleman?"

Her eyes twinkle with mischief. She is feisty and flirty this afternoon, and I am here for it. "Yes. Just stop."

"Noted. You prefer ungentlemanly," I say.

I expect her to toss out a rapid-fire reply, but she seems to give my comment some real thought instead, her forehead crinkling. "Actually, I don't know. But I'm curious if I do."

I tug at the neckline of my T-shirt. "And I suddenly wish I had the afternoon off to help you figure that out."

As the sun peeks out from behind a cloud, she lifts a hand over her eyes, shielding them as she holds my gaze. "Me too," she says, her voice stripped bare.

There's a pause as the air crackles between us, a heated charge. "You're tempting," I say in a low whisper.

"So are you," she says, then leans a little closer and adds, "And your friend is too."

It's like she's testing how those words sound on her lips. Like she's figuring out what she wants. The thing is, I'm figuring her out too. I'm putting together the puzzle of Briar.

"Have you always been a hard worker?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"I think you work hard, you play by the rules, you try to do the right thing, you're tough, and you're strong." I hold up a finger, giving that last one a little more thought. "No, you're badass. Like your fitness brand."

"That's probably all true. But what are you getting at?" She doesn't ask defensively—more like she's truly intrigued.

I'm working through that right now, and I'm almost there. "You're all about doing things yourself. Taking everything on—your business, your life, your dog, your family…" I glance around, checking to make sure the festivalgoers aren't eavesdropping. "And your own pleasure."

She seems to turn that over in her head, then nods. "That's probably true."

"But I bet you'd really like it if you don't have to think at all. If you didn't have to worry. If you didn't have to work for it. Maybe you mentioned the ropes for a reason." So you can surrender.

Vulnerability flashes in her irises. "I'm trying to figure that out too—the reason."

"Do you want us to help you? Rhys and me?"

"Well, if you really found rope, you two could…tie me up with it tonight."

The images flip through my mind like a movie reel. Her, naked, bound to the bed. I finally manage to form a semi-coherent thought and get it past my lips. "We're going to Home Depot, stat, to get ropes."

She nibbles on the corner of her lips, then offers a hopeful, "Unless it was neckties you found under the bed?"

Well, that's clear. But before I can run off like the sex superhero I am to track down a fancy men's shop, she asks me again, "But what did you really find under the bed?"

Right. The reason I'm here. I shake off the lust and bondage. "A treasure trove. You could just call me the Indiana Jones of how to be a great boyfriend since I unearthed some vintage board games this morning with Rhys. Chutes and Ladders. Candy Land. That sort of thing. I wanted to ask if you had plans for tonight?"

Her smile is pure joy. It's so fucking adorable I want to kiss it off. Right here, right now. I have to remind myself we're just friends. Friends with a one-week lesson plan. At the end of this, we'll return to playing pool rather than playing boyfriend games.

"I believe I'm free," she says.

"Excellent." But then I hold up a stop-sign hand. It's not enough to make plans. "My bad. I didn't ask if there's something you'd rather do. Would you rather watch a movie? Play cards? Hang out in the hot tub? I want to make sure I'm planning something you actually like."

She's quiet for a beat, then she says softly, "Did you and Gavin talk about this?"

Why would she think that? Now I'm thrown off, and I don't like being unprepared. "What do you mean?"

"Gavin and I talked this morning, and he made a comment about how there are guys who think they're good boyfriends, but then they make plans a woman doesn't actually want. Sort of like what you just said."

That's very specific. But Gavin and I didn't talk in detail about Briar's boyfriend project. "He's a team player," I say, hedging my answer. My mind whirs with questions about Gavin even though I keep my focus on her. "Does that work for you? Vintage games?"

"Yes, but what can I do? Do you want snacks? I can pick some up," she offers.

I tsk her. "I want you not to work for it. Let me take care of tonight. Okay?"

She pauses, like letting go is hard for her, then sighs in faux resignation. "Bossy."

"And you like it."

She gives a playful bob of her shoulder. "I do."

"Now, tell me. What do you like in the snacks department? Chocolate? Ice cream? Candy?"

She winces like she has a terrible confession to make. "More like pretzels, popcorn, and chips."

"We've got board games, neckties, and savory snacks on the agenda tonight."

She pauses, as if she's weighing the next thing, then asks hopefully, "So is this a date with my three pretend boyfriends?"

That is a very good question, and one I don't have the answer to. I glance around, making sure the coast is still clear. It's just us here at her tent, and it's time to be as direct as we were with the ties. "Do you want Gavin there?"

"For the board games?" Her tone doesn't give anything away. She just sounds excited to hang out. "Definitely. It'll be fun."

That's a start. But only a start. Stripping all the flirtation out of my voice, I press on and ask, "And what about in the bedroom?"

Her blue eyes widen, but before she can give me an answer, a curly-haired redhead in tie-dye yoga pants breezes past me and walks straight up to Briar. "Hi," she says, a little nervous, like she's meeting a star.

"Hey there. How are you?" Briar says, shifting into outgoing teacher mode.

"I love your videos," the woman says, and damn, that's cute to see someone fangirling over Briar.

"I'm so glad to hear that," Briar says warmly.

"But I can't for the life of me figure out how to do those flows from downward dog to plank and then back, and it feels like I'm doing the tango with two left feet."

"It can seem daunting at first. But I've got you. Let's do it together."

That's my cue to go. I give a subtle wave then take off, not knowing if it's a yes or a no to Gavin joining us later.

But I know this—I started this whole thing with Briar. Her happiness feels like my responsibility. I weave through the festival grounds with one goal in mind—to track down Gavin. Trouble is when I find my teammate near a booth peddling handmade kites, Gavin's not alone. He's shaking his head adamantly at Wesley, who plays for the rival hockey team.

The Sea Dog digs his heels into whatever the argument is, declaring, "No, it was the episode where he drove the car into the lake. One hundred percent."

Gavin scoffs at the dark-haired dude with inked arms, saying, "It was the one where he drove it to the edge of the cliff?—"

I don't have time for this debate. "It was a forest. They left the car at the edge of the forest when the nightwalkers arrived. Which was a dumbass move if you ask me. I saw that episode of Twisted Nights the other week," I say, ready to move this convo from bingeable TV thrillers on Webflix to another kind of twisted night.

Wesley's eyes register shock, then resignation as he looks my way. "Ah, shit. You're right, Bouchard."

Gavin gives me an approving nod. "From art history to pop culture. What would we do without you?"

Wesley arches a brow my way. "Art history?"

I'm not in the mood for this again. "I took the class in college. I don't know why this is such a thing."

"You just don't look like the class type," Wesley says with an easy shrug, like that explains that.

"I went to class. All of them," I say, because I wanted to make my mom proud and I fucking did—scored mostly A's. But that is not for them to know. I turn to Gavin, since we need to get down to business. "When you're done debating TV plotlines and whether you're tall enough to ride any of these rides, we need to get back to the obstacle course demo."

Gavin fist-bumps Wesley. "Catch you later."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Wesley says to Gavin, returning the knock.

"That doesn't leave much," Gavin retorts.

"Don't I know it," Wesley says with his usual bravado, then takes off.

With the Sea Dog gone, Gavin swings his gaze my way, a crease in his brow. "What's that all about? You really coming to collect me for the course?"

I'm not surprised he saw through that but I don't have the time to mince words. I pull him behind the kite-making tent. "We need to talk about Briar."

His face turns stony. "We talked about her this morning."

I roll my eyes. "You said jack shit. You were like yeah, I'm gonna help where I can with her column, now let's go. That was it."

"Yes, because that is it," he says.

I might not be able to read his expression, but his tone is not merely emphatic. It's too emphatic.

"You're not just helping her out from time to time. The nuances of how to make plans with a girl you like is very, very specific. So…?" I hold out my arms in question. Can I make this any clearer?

Gavin stares at me blankly. "So what?"

He's going to make me spell it out. Fine. "Are you into her too?"

Gavin's not a defenseman for nothing. He doesn't give. Doesn't bend. "Why are you asking?"

"Why are you not answering?"

His shoulders tense. His eyes are hard. But his jaw ticks as he fires back, "Why do you need to know?"

"I'm asking you a simple question," I say, standing my ground. I'm strung tight, but it's not with jealousy. This gnawing in my chest is something different. It's a need that has surprised me. An insistent need to give Briar everything she wants.

She entrusted me with her bedroom secrets. She made herself vulnerable. If she's wanting more than Rhys and me, I've got to make sure Gavin is going to treat her right. In and out of bed.

He crosses his arms, then sighs heavily. "Why do you want to know?"

"We're having a game night tonight. We're all playing vintage games. She wants you there, man," I say, putting those cards on the table. I might not know all Briar's answers, but I know that one. She wants him to hang with us, and I'd like to make that happen for her.

His stone facade cracks the slightest bit as his lips twitch in a smile. But he erases it in a second. "She…does?"

He says it like that's all he wants in the world—to be asked by her.

Good. That's a start.

But Gavin needs to know that I'll protect her. If he hurts her, he'll have to answer to me. "She just got out of a bad relationship. She's a friend. I don't want you messing with her head or her heart. Is that clear?"

"One hundred percent. And you don't have to worry about that. Just because I'm into her doesn't mean I'm going to let anything happen between us."

The thing is, I don't believe him.