Page 248 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
Knew it was too good to be true.
“That’s one of the biggest weekends here at The Lazy Hammock,” I say, dejected.
“We could man the bar for you,” Grant offers, gesturing to his fiancé and himself. “You could even bill it that way. A night with two of the city’s pro baseball players doing the serving.”
Owens eyes light up. “As the PR guy for the Dragons, I have to say that idea is the best. I swear I can see the hashtags now and the retweets.”
“You do love your social media, Owen,” I say.
Owen rests his chin on the end of the pool stick. “Like I love pecan pie,” he says, then tilts his head, his expression serious, maybe even a touch nervous. “So, what do you think, River?”
That it sounds like an entirely fun way to spend a weekend.
Bonus that it comes with zero risk of pact-breaking temptation since we’ll be in a house full of friends and food and games.
“Yes, let’s do it.”
It’ll be like every other time we hang out.
When we don’t kiss, touch, or anything else. And I’m fine with that. Because why wouldn’t I be?
2
RIVER
“Who’s a good girl?”
Delilah wags her tail, thumping it against the hard-packed earth, the Golden Gate Bridge a majestic arch behind her.
“That’s right. You’re the best girl in the world,” I tell the planet’s greatest dog as we finish a hike in Muir Woods on a chilly Friday morning, with the spectacular vista of the Pacific Ocean as our backdrop. “You deserve a special dog biscuit when we get home. What’s that, you said?” I wait for her answer, then respond. “Of course I got you one from the gourmet, organic dog bakery. As if I’d shop for you anyplace else.”
Bending down, I pat the front of my fleece jacket. My black and white Border Collie mix jumps up and paws me and licks my face, making me laugh. Then, we cover the last hundred yards to my car, where I grab a collapsible dog bowl, pour her some water from a bottle, and let her indulge.
I snap a slow-mo shot of her drinking water, since dog tongue is funny, and send it to Owen.
River:Hate to break it to you but Delilah already claimed shotgun for the trip.
Three bubbles dance on the screen forever as I pick up the bowl, dump the rest of the water on the ground, then open the back door for my girl. Once inside, I buckle her into her doggy harness.
“Seriously, you should model this. You need to be a spokeswoman for dog seat belts,” I tell Delilah.
My pooch tilts her head to the side, then wags her tongue, which meansYes, I know, I’m a brilliant, well-trained, and eminently beautiful beast, but I won’t let it go to my head.
I hop into the front seat, when Owen’s reply appears at last.
In the form of a picture of his orange cat.
Walking away.
Tail in the air.
Like only a cat can do.
River:Goldilocks issuch a cat.Anyway, Delilah is feeling generous so she’ll let you sit in the front seat once we drop her off at my sister’s.
Owen:How magnanimous of your dog to give me the front seat when she’s NOT USING IT.
River:She can be generous now and then. All right, I need to shower. Pick you up in an hour.