Owen pouts in mock sadness. “Aww.”

  “My school was so small and there were maybe two other queer guys, and they dated each other. But I had friends. Gobs and gobs of them. All the lesbians loved me.”

  Owen cracks up. “Did they now?”

  “Yes, true story. I mean, half my school experimented, it seemed. But that’s what being young is for, I guess. We were all coming out then. It was like a big Pride fiesta,” I say.

  “It’s funny because I hardly remember a time before I was out, know what I mean?” Owen says. “But that’s what happens when you come out at fourteen.”

  I laugh, ruffle his damp hair. “Same. We are such birds of a feather, aren’t we?”

  As the bubbles churn, he hums thoughtfully. “We are, River. I definitely think we are.”

  The last sentence comes out a little vulnerable and a lot sexy.

  I want to curl up in it, and with him.

  I’m not sure what’s happening to me, or to us tonight.

  But it feels like someone’s cast a spell, and I’m terrified to break it, because this night, every minute, every hour, gets better.

  So much better it borders on perfect.

  I thought I knew Owen so well already. And I suppose I did. Eight years of friendship will do that to you. But even talking about high school tonight feels like we’re mining new territory. Like we’re climbing to another level.

  Owen reaches for me, slides one arm behind my back, then grabs hold of my hips with both hands, scoots me over his legs and has me sit between them.

  “Oh hello, hello. Let’s snuggle in a hot tub,” I say as I heat up more. Pretty sure it’s not only from the temperature of the water.

  “Yes. Let’s.”

  His hands coast up my back, gliding over my wet skin as he covers my shoulders with his palms. Owen dusts a tender kiss to my neck, and I shudder.

  “Your lips,” I murmur as he sweeps another kiss onto my shoulder. “You.”

  Then yet one more, and I can feel his smile against my skin. “This is what I wanted to do to you in the car, River, when you were all tense and wound up,” he says softly. He rubs his thumbs along my neck, massaging me, like he’s wiping away the last remnants of tension.

  But they were long gone hours ago. Everything faded away when we talked it out. All the tension from the car ride dissipated as we cleared the air.

  I feel zero tension between us.

  Only this newfound closeness.

  This nascent intimacy that feels more than physical, that seems to skate into the emotional terrain.

  Where we do things like this. Quietly touch. Softly kiss. Share our stories. And find something in each other that wasn’t there before.

  Owen’s strong hands work my muscles as his lips drift over the back of my head. He brushes kisses into my hair, proving that right now he’s everything he said he’d be.

  Good to someone.

  That someone is me.

  And in this cocoon of Mother Nature’s making, a kismet of snow and circumstance, I don’t want to bring any more tension between us.

  Maybe tonight isn’t the time for discussions, for what this is, for who we could be to each other. Tomorrow I will find the words to tell him how he’s making me feel. That I don’t want him on that app. That maybe, just maybe, I want to discover if I was wrong about Harry and Rod. If we can prove the opposite together.

  For now, I’m choosing to bask in the quiet of a cold November night under the stars, a blanket of snow covering the ground, the constellations winking above us as my best friend’s hands graze along my shoulders and my neck. It just feels so good to be touched by him.

  I let out a contented sigh and I rest my back against his chest, my head against his shoulder. Soon, he stops rubbing and slides his hands down my arms, clasps his fingers through mine, and then wraps both our arms around my stomach.

  I’m pretty sure this is the most romantic way any man has ever held me.

  Or ever will.

  And maybe this is why I have to try. To see if we can have this when we’re not lost in the snow.

  16

  Owen

  Clearly there is an agenda for tonight.

  Tonight is going to be the ultimate snowed-in fantasy.

  TJ would love this. I should tell him what we’ve been up to. Maybe it’ll be fodder for one of his books.

  But I dismiss that notion as quickly as it lands in my head. His novels end one way only.

  I can’t get caught up in how River and I might play out like a fantasy when I’m still trying to figure out what River wants in reality.

  If he wants the same things I do. If he’ll take the same risks.

  Best to play it safe for a little longer, conduct some more recon before I launch my big you’re the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person on my mind before I fall asleep confessional.

  Once we step out of the hot tub, I put my glasses back on. I wrap a towel around my waist, grab his, then wink at him and hoof it to the door.

  River stares sharp knives at me. “You wouldn’t,” he hisses.

  “Looks like I just did,” I say, with an easy shrug, waggling the towel, taunting him.

  “You’re the worst. You’re so mean,” he says, stepping out of the hot tub in his full naked glory.

  “Don’t mind me. I’m just ogling you,” I tell him, twirling my finger in his direction.

  The freedom to stare at him feels so good.

  Admitting this attraction is a terrible relief. It’s like an illness had been brewing inside me, until there was no more room for it. It was a fever I needed to burn off.

  “Come and get it,” I tease.

  “Oh, I’m coming. And you will be too when I’m through with you tonight, hottie,” he says with a growl.

  I wiggle my brow. “I’ll hold you to that,” I say as I savor the view of him striding naked across the deck toward me. His toned body glistens with drops of water in the moonlight. When River reaches me, I lift the towel over my head. “You’re not that much taller, cutie,” he says, and then grabs the towel and wraps it around his waist.

  “Maybe I just wanted to stare at you,” I say, then I open the door and we head back inside.

  River parks a hand on my shoulder, spins me around. His eyes are blazing. “Owen,” he begins, his voice husky, but stretched with nerves too.

  Not now. Don’t break my heart now.

  “Yeah?”

  “This,” he says, gesturing from him to me. “This is what I meant earlier when I said things started to change.”

  My heart thunders. So he can feel it too.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself, Owen. Test the waters slowly. Take the temperature. “What changed?”

  “In the car,” River says. “I felt all . . . hot and bothered by you.”

  I try to rein in a grin, but it’s futile. “You did?”

  “In the store too. I was checking you out as you were walking around.”

  I burn up, a rocket blasting through the atmosphere. “You were?”

  “That’s why I freaked out over staying here alone with you. All I could think was we were going to combust,” he says, his voice shaky.

  My heart squeezes, like it’s giving itself a warm hug. “And we did.”

  “We sure did,” he says, then drags a hand down my chest, making me shiver. “And I want to again.” River licks his lips, takes a breath, then locks eyes with me. “But I’m also terrified of losing you.”

  There it is. The risk. The biggest risk of all.

  I swallow roughly. “I’m scared of the same thing,” I say, and that feels like an even bigger admission than the one I shared before I kissed him.

  The years.

  “And I don’t know what to do about it, Owen.”

  I breathe out hard, stripping my emotions bare when I answer, “I don’t either.”

  River nods a few times, like he’s absorbing this then maybe resetting himself. “Maybe we should talk about it tomorrow.”

  Yes. Tomorrow.

  We’ll figure it all out tomorrow. Like I tell my players, it’s best to sleep on big decisions. See how you feel in the bright light of day. Morning has a way of making sense of everything—big talks, big moments. This is one of them, and tomorrow we’ll find the right time.

  A huge sigh of relief falls from my chest. As much as I want an answer with a big fucking bow on it, I’m positive it’s not coming right now. “Let’s make the best of tonight,” I say.

  Since I don’t entirely know what he’s most afraid of.

  Losing me if we fuck. Losing me if we fall in love. Or losing me if we fall out of love.

  And honestly, right this second, I don’t want to know.

  A few minutes later, we’re dried off and standing in the kitchen where I’m making hot cocoa on the stove. I’m dressed in a pair of dark gray gym shorts and no shirt as I stir the milk and cocoa in a pot on a medium flame. River’s in blue flannel pajama pants, hanging low on his hips, giving me a fantastic view of his chest and arms as he dips his hand into the popcorn bag, picking up where we left off during the game.

  Snacking and talking.

  As I whisk the milk gently, River tips his forehead to the pot. “You’re like a hot cocoa master, and I don’t normally let other people make drinks.”

  “Little-known fact. I have an official license to make hot cocoa, so I can understand why you’d hand me the keys,” I deadpan. “Also, I’ve been making it since I was five.”

  River scoots up on the counter, swings his feet as he chews on more popcorn, then asks, “Is it from all the skiing you did? And do?”

  “Hot cocoa is definitely a staple of the ski lodge. And yeah, I made it on our family ski trips.”

  He dips his hand into the bag again. “What was your most memorable trip as a kid?”

  I scrunch up my brow. “Besides skiing? Because that was kind of all we did.”

  River’s hand freezes midway to his mouth, popcorn in his fist. “What? You didn’t do family trips?”

  Gliding the whisk through the warming milk, I shake my head. “Not really, beyond Tahoe. My parents worked all the time. They were hardly around. And any time we went on a trip, Grace and I had to bring friends because our parents didn’t want to spend time with us,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “That sucks,” he says, a note of sadness in his voice. He takes another handful of popcorn.

  I shrug with a sigh. “Sure, but it is what it is.”

  “Do you wish it had been different?”

  “Maybe? But I think I turned out okay. I just don’t want that for my life,” I say, cracking open another admission about myself. Today’s the day for that it seems. Maybe this is part of the recon—laying bare what I want in front of him.

  “In what way?”

  “I don’t want to work all the time. Or be unhappy. Or have a partner who resents me or vice versa. I want to take trips, and explore the city on weekends, and do the immersive art in Santa Fe, and see the burning earth in Turkmenistan. I want to have a good time, and work hard, but play hard too. Know what I mean?”

  River’s warm eyes flicker with understanding. “I love getting away from work. When I was a kid, I craved family trips. I crossed off the days on the calendar till our summer vacations. Camping and the beach and RV trips to Yellowstone. That’s where I fell in love with hiking,” River says, a soft smile on his face, and a faraway look in his irises. The memories of those days must be playing on a reel in his head, making him happy. “I remember the first few times my dad took me for a hike in the woods, and all I could think was it felt like how an amusement park must feel to other kids. Everything about wandering around in nature was such a rush for me. A ladybug here, a tree there, a stream in the woods,” he says, and the enchantment in his voice is so infectious. He sets down the popcorn, hops off the counter. He draws a deep breath, like he’s gearing up to say something hard, or something big. “You should go hiking with me sometime.”

  I arch a brow, wildly curious what he’s getting at since hiking isn’t something we do together. “I should?”

  “Well, you never go.”

  I laugh lightly. “Because you always go with Delilah or your hiking club. It’s your thing and that’s cool,” I say, then add, “You don’t go to the gym with me.”

  “Do you want me to?”

  My brow knits in confusion. “The gym is just functional. I like working out. I like being in shape. But it’s not my passion like hiking is for you.”

  “Exactly! Hiking isn’t functional for me. It’s fun.” River squares his shoulders, then declares, “We should do it together.”

  But there’s that word again, and it bristles me.

  Fun.

  That seems to be the word of the night.

  Empirically, fun is a good word.

  A good thing.

  This is fun. We are fun.

  I’d do well to remember that.

  “Sure, River,” I say, as I turn the heat off, move the pot from the burner.

  “You don’t sound like you want to,” he says.

  You have no idea how much I want to go with you. “I do. I do want to. I just . . .”

  “Just what?” River presses, his tone pitching up, like he’s desperate.

  I should just say it. Just be honest. I won’t stand a chance if I don’t attempt some honesty about my feelings.

  Here goes nothing.

  Grabbing two mugs, I answer him. “I want to go with you. Hiking, or a concert, or coffee. Anything, really,” I say, and that feels like a big step. I’m admitting I’d date him, and that has to count for something. But I can’t shake the feeling that tonight is the wrong time. This moment is fueled by the most powerful drug known to man—lust. Anything we plan tonight feels like it could crumble in the morning. “But it just feels weird, making plans. We said a few minutes ago to talk about it tomorrow.”

  River’s shoulders sag. He frowns. “You’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s all just so much . . .”

  “Fun?” I supply, kind of hating that word. I pour the cocoa into the mugs.

  “It is fun. It’s good. Fun is good. This is like a fun cabin,” he says.

  But will it be like Fight Club? What happens in the Fun Cabin stays in the Fun Cabin?

  My jaw clicks, and the barest hint of a headache takes hold in the back of my neck. Absently, I reach up and rub a hand across my nape. I look away from River, rubbing more.

  Then, a gentle hand wraps around my neck, startling me, but only for a second. Mostly, it just feels good as he massages. “Here. Let me do that for you. Felt so good when you did that for me,” he whispers, his voice sending goose bumps across my bare skin.

  My heart thunders as I close my eyes and let him massage my neck for a few seconds. His fingers drift into my hair. “I just want to go hiking with you—that’s all. I don’t want to pressure you. I think maybe I just want to know that we can still do things together,” he says, and I swear, I can hear the unspoken words.

  After we stop fucking.

  After we leave the fun cabin.

  After this night ends.

  Closing my eyes, I wince, holding in all the emotions churning inside me. “We can go then,” I whisper, giving him that much, because it’s better than nothing. I straighten my spine, shift away from him, grab the mug. “Here. Have some,” I say, then hand it to him.

  River lifts the cup and takes a drink, his eyes twinkling. “Mmm. Cocoa master indeed. You can come to The Lazy Hammock and serve this. It’d be a hit. You, the hottest guy in the bar, handing out your hot cocoa. Can you make it spiked? Wait. I can just add liquor. We’ll call it . . . Fun Cabin Hot Cocoa. That’ll be its cocktail name,” he says, then wheels around and opens cupboards, hunting for liquor, I suspect.

  “Aha!” He brandishes a bottle of tequila. “Can I add a splash?”

  “Go for it.”

  River pours a generous amount in each cup, then sets down the bottle. “Try it,” he urges.

  I pick up the cocoa, take a drink, and savor the burn. It reminds me that all good things hurt just a little. “It’s good.”

  “It’ll be our special drink,” he says.

  But will it?

  Hell if I know.

  Hell if I know what is happening.

  What the Fun Cabin means. What the hike means. What tomorrow means.

  “Sounds good.”

  I knock back more of the drink and River does the same, then he puts his mug on the counter. With determination in his gaze, he takes my mug from my hand, sets it down next to his, then cups one cheek. I tremble, and half wish my body would stop reacting to every little touch. But I mostly wish he’d just keep touching me.

  “Owen,” River says, and his tone is shockingly vulnerable.

  “Yeah?” My heart is beating too loudly, and I want that organ to shut up.

  “Asking you to go on a hike is not a bad thing,” he says.

  Sighing, I shake my head, feeling like an ass. Hating that he can see through me. Can he see other parts of me? Can he tell how much I want him in every way?

  “Right. It’s fun,” I say, light and breezy.

  But River isn’t having any of my coolness. He strokes his thumb along my jaw. “I meant what I said. You are so fucking important to me, and this thing between us . . . it’s a little overwhelming.”

  Emotions crawl up my throat, fighting to escape. “Same here,” I admit, in a bare whisper.

  We’re saying it, and not saying it at the same time.

  And that feels awful and amazing all at once.

  “And I don’t want to lose you,” he says, his voice starkly tender. Then he leans in and dusts a kiss to my cheek. “And I am stunned by what’s happening. Just utterly stunned.”

  Heat sweeps through me.

  Desire too. A sharp, pummeling wave.

  He’s giving me answer enough. He’s telling me to wait for him. He’s telling me he’s feeling so many things.

  And yet I’ve barely said a word to let him know where I’m at—that I’d wait so damn long for him. I’ve been expecting him to read between all my lines, to see inside my soul and know that I’d be his in a heartbeat.