Page 275 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

But the cabin is too dangerous. I don’t trust myself. “Yes, Iseeit’s snowing, and I alsoseeyou’re acting like a dick,” I say.

He scoffs. “I’m a dick? Fuck you. It’s snowing like crazy,” he says, his voice rising, flinging his hand at the door. “We’re not going anywhere. You hate driving in this shit and the roads are dangerous, and you’re clinging to this false idea that we’re going to Nisha’s and having wine and charcuterie. Sorry. Hate to break it to you. You’re stuck here with me, and you’re acting like it’s a death sentence. And now, I definitely have a headache, so I’m going to lie the fuck down.”

My best friend, the man I have developed a wild crush of inconvenient feelings for, makes his way to the couch, takes off his glasses, and flops on the cushions.

Because . . .I’ma dick.

For being so pushy about hitting the road.

For acting like I can’t handle being here with him.

And, mostly, for making him feel like shit.

As he closes his eyes and turns the other way, I do the same. Walk away from him.

Then, I turn on the heat. Hit the switch for the fireplace. And I head outside to unload the car.

We’re not going anywhere, and that’s scaring the hell out of me.

10

OWEN

That settles that. Being alone with me is worse than spinning out on a snowy road. Message received. Loud and clear. So loud, in fact, my head is throbbing. Stretching my arm up, I reach for the throw blanket on the back of the couch, pull it down, and turn the other way.

A rush of warmth fills the room.

Yup, we’re stuck here, and I’m so damn glad I never said a word to River about how I feel.

I rustle, flipping around in my bed. Blinking, I try to orient myself. Is it Monday? Am I late for work?

Shit, I need to get up now.

My eyes fly open.

Wait.

This isn’t my bed.

This isn’t my home.

Ohhhh.

Right.

My shoulders sag, and my chest squeezes with a pang of heartache.

I breathe out hard, scoot up on the couch, sitting now. How long did I sleep? Grabbing my phone from my front pocket, I rub my eyes, peering at the time.

It’s seven.

A text from TJ flashes on the screen.

TJ:You guys coming tonight still? Nisha was asking about you. She’s seriously worried. And she really wants you here.

I tap out a reply.

Owen:Shit. Sorry. Tell her I didn’t mean to freak her out. But we’re stuck here in Markleeville, waiting out the snow. Tell her we’ll try to be there first thing tomorrow, and I have some awesome farm veggies she’ll dig.