Page 271 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

Or that he wants me to.

We made the pact for a reason.

At the time, it was because the end of Ansel hurt too much. I didn’t want to risk that pain again.

But over the years, Owen and I became closer and the pact became a symbol to me. It’s a declaration of who we are to each other.

Important.

Necessary.

Steady.

Plenty of men, straight or queer, sleep with friends, and do just fine. More power to them. But that’s not me. I’m not ajust sexguy. Pretty sure Owen isn’t either.

Now, our deal is a statement of how precarious happiness is, how easily life as we know it can capsize when a relationship or even a fling becomes too heavy for it to hold.

Hell, the man just talked me through the last few miles of rough driving like an air-traffic controller chatting with a tired pilot, guiding him home to a safe landing.

But a cabin in the snow isn’t a safe landing.

This is not a parallel-universe cabin.

It’s not a sex cabin.

It exists in the all-too-real world. I want to leave the cabin with our friendship intact.

And this cabin is... aholy fuckcabin.

“Wow,” I say turning onto the road where a two-story wooden home with a peaked roof looms boldly at the end of the street.

Owen stretches out his left arm, pointing like the cabin is the Emerald City. “Calling that a cabin is like calling a lion a pussycat.”

My eyes drink in the majesty. “More like a chalet. I was stupidly picturing a little rustic thing in the woods. I should have checked out Redfin,” I say, as I pull onto a gravel driveway, stopping at the top.

If we get snowed into the driveway, it’ll be harder to leave.

And we must leave.

But first . . .

I cut the engine, relief flowing through me as the car quiets. “Ugh,” I say, slumping over the steering wheel. Then I lift my face. My pulse skitters, then starts to settle. I peer at Owen, a crush of gratitude hitting me again. “You told me aboutthe ducks and parallel parking to distract me from the shitty conditions.”

“You were tense. I just wanted to help take your mind off things.”

“That was officially not fun. Those last twenty minutes.”

“But did it help? The ducks and pink lights?”

“Yes. You were great, and I’m so lucky,” I say, and there I go again—letting my hungry heart get away from me. This man knows me so well, and does all these little things that make a day... better.

I can’t be in this cabin with him, or I will do something I’ll regret.

Kiss him. Touch him. Taste him.

Have him.

But I can’t lose him. Owen Hayes makes my whole life better.