Page 262 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

My throat goes dry as I stare shamelessly at Owen’s firm, muscled body.

But when he spins around, I drag a hand through my hair, snap up my gaze, and do my best impression ofI’mabsolutely, thoroughly interested in the garbanzo beans in front of me on the shelf.

I grab the can, study the label like it’s fascinating.

“Chickpeas, River? Are you buying chickpeas for Friendsgiving? Like as a hostess gift for Nisha?Here are your chickpeas, hun!I mean, you and Nisha and Hailey did get along well at the party.”

Friends. Gifts. Thank you. Yes!

I snap my fingers, hoping it jolts me from this bout of wicked lust. “Idea! Why don’t we buy a few things for Declan’s mom’s cabin? Like a gift for her? Since the guys are covering for me at the bar, and that’s huge,” I say, then stop to laugh. “Wait. That’s not fair. I’ll buy them. I didn’t meanwe. They’re doingmea favor. I’ll take care of all of it.”

“I can help,” Owen says, almost as if he’s confused by why I’d suggest otherwise. My friend sets a hand on my arm, like he needs to reassure me. Trouble is his touch sends a flare of heat across my body. It reassures me of only one thing—the temptation to touch Owen back is growing stronger by the second. “I mean, they’re helping both of us, right?”

Words.

Thoughts.

Answers.

C’mon, brain. Come up with them.“They are?”

“Yeah. Duh. You’re coming with me.”

“But I invited myself,” I say, feeling a little more flustered than usual. Holy shit. Ididinvite myself. Did Owen want me to come along?

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he says, answering instantly, easing my nerves, before he adds, “Trust me on that.”

“Okay. Thanks. But still, I want to do this. To get some fun little things for Declan’s mom. It’ll be sweet.”

Owen nods, letting go of me to adjust his glasses. “Yeah, it is sweet. We’ll both do it. It’ll be from both of us.”

That feels entirely too couple-y for words, so I say nothing. Just nod, unsure what to make of this him-and-me pair-up.

But maybe it’s just the road trip.

Yeah, that’s it.

Driving with someone for four hours can make you feel like you’re a thing.

When you’re not.

We cruise through the gourmet shop, picking up snacks for the drive, as well as little items here and there for the cabin, including another tin of cocoa for Declan’s mom. At the counter, the cashier rings us up, then I slide my card out of my wallet, eager to pay.

“I mean it. I’ve got it,” I say firmly.

“Let’s split it. You already paid for gas,” Owen says, taking out his wallet, but I shake my head, curl a hand over his to stop him.

Oh!

That’s quite nice... more than nice. I don’t want to stop. I want to run my thumb across his knuckles, touch him slow and sensual, learn how he reacts to my hands on his body.

Great. Fucking great.

I’m getting turned on yet again in the gourmet convenient store on the side of the California road as I imagine seducing my best friend.

“Why don’t you pay for the snacks on the drive back?” I suggest, grasping for logic as I let go of his hand.

“Fine,” he says, tucking his credit card away, then grumbling, “You’re so bossy.”