Page 242 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
But I suppose at the ripe young age of twenty-nine I wouldn’t mindfinallymeeting Mister Right.
I’m just a good guy ready for another good guy.
Someone fun, smart, open-minded, and loyal.
Ideally, he’d also be outdoorsy, adventuresome (yes,thatkind, but alsoallkinds), and love dogs.
That’s not too much to ask for.
I only have one deal-breaker—he can’t be a friend.
My friends mean everything to me. They’ve been by my side through the best and the worst, and I’ve been by theirs. My friends are my family, and that’s why I won’t break that commandment—no matter how great the temptation.
Temptation in the form of a long-time pal with the hot nerd glasses and full lips, the wicked sense of humor and the sarcasm for days.
But this is the Unbreakable Rule, truer even than the Big Dick Law.
Friends don’t bang friends.
I’ve stuck to this rule for eight years when it comes to my best bud from college. After this long, one road trip isn’t going to break me.
And that’s a fact.
PROLOGUE
Eight Years Ago
Owen
Sex has a way of clouding your judgement. Talking about it, thinking about it, having lots of it—sex is awesome but should come with a warning label.
Sex is hazardous to your brainand may cause stupid decisions and prolonged regret.
It was a Sunday morning and I was brimming with sex-fueled bravado built up over the past few weeks—because I was finally having it. This was college. Sex was a required class and my favorite subject.
Years of virginity will make a guy a very dedicated student, and Jack, a fellow junior, was hitting the books with me every damn night.
After a particularly late and boisterous study session in Jack’s dorm, I was the good kind of tired in the morning, but I had to study for a psych exam and needed to fuel up on caffeine in the worst way.
I knocked on my friend River’s door. “Rise and shine,” I said when he answered. “Freud waits for no one. But he will have to wait on coffee. I need a jug of it, stat.”
“A barrel for me, please,” he said, bleary-eyed as he closed the door behind him and we headed to the library to study, first ducking into a coffee shop called Old School to get our fix.
As we waited for our joe, a TV mounted on the shop’s wall played classic rom-coms. Billy Crystal had just told Meg Ryan that men and women can’t be friends because the sex part will always get in the way.
River was a fellow psych major. We could debate anything and both lived to dissect human nature. I nodded to the screen and said, “I disagree on principle. What about you?”
He wiggled a brow and collected his coffee when they called his name. “That’s not a problem for me. I have lots of female friends.”
I grabbed mine and followed him to the cream and sugar. “You know what I mean.When Harry Met Rod. When Johnson Met Peter. When Dick met Richard.”
River doctored his coffee with sugar. “When can I watch those flicks? They sound like my speed.”
“Online, anytime, for a subscription of just $11.95 a month,” I said.
He cracked up, and I grinned. I enjoyed making him laugh—a lot—but I really wanted to dive into the question of whether men and men can be friends. I wanted to swim around in those waters with River more than I’d thought I would. I swallowed some coffee, then tried again. “So, was Harry right? Does sex get in the way?”
“In my test group of one, I’d say yes,” he said as we left the shop. “Sex absolutely got in the way of friendship for Ansel and me.”