Page 326 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
Makes me wish mine hadn’t cratered so spectacularly.
But as I knock back the rest of my drink, listening to Owen and River catch up with Grant and Declan, I reason maybe it’s safer this way, on this side of heartbreak. Just getting to be the guy who’s happy for his friends.
That’s what I tell Owen when I leave the bar that night, pulling him in for a hug. “So happy for you, O,” I say.
“Thanks. You gave me the kick in the pants to make it happen.”
“Nah. You didn’t need me.” I rap my knuckles against his sternum. “You found that kick in the pants right there, my friend.”
I say goodbye, then I leave, heading out into the San Francisco night.
Alone.
Maybe someday I’ll be ready again.
Maybe someday soon.
EPILOGUE
Owen
The next year is everything.
We live it up, River and Owen style. We go to his parents’ house for Thanksgiving, like we planned, and it’s freeing to walk in there holding hands. His parents are ecstatic, draping us in hugs.
Turns out I don’t mind hugs so much when it’s about this—him and me.
As the year rolls on, we go to coffee shops and argue about whether London Fog lattes are better than Earl Grey teas. Spoiler alert: we don’t agree.
We wander around The Mission, checking out new bakeries and ordering cakes.
“Mostly, I just like to watch you moan around the dessert as you eat it,” River tells me one day as I take a bite of a coconut cake that’s particularly decadent.
“Because it makes you think about the way I moan when my lips wrap around your cock,” I tell him.
River leans forward across the table. “Exactly.”
I join him on a hike, and I love it more than I expect. The company has something to do with it. So I go with him a few times a month, and his dog starts to fall in love with me too.
We take trips, making our own bucket list of our favoriteDiscovery Prismplaces, checking out street art in Santa Fe, and maritime lore in Nova Scotia, and the best of underground Los Angeles.
River is a great traveling companion because he’s curious by nature. I’m a good one for him, because I’m game for anything.
And we make the most of our weekends in San Francisco, something that becomes even easier when I move in with him.
Goldilocks isn’t happy about having two new roommates, but she is a cat, so that’s to be expected. River charms her, though, discovering the key to Goldilocks has been petting her chin ever so lightly, and that makes her purr like a locomotive.
“Huh. She never really was into petting with me.”
“Lean into her name. She likes things to be just so,” he says.
“You’re a cat charmer,” I say, but that’s not entirely surprising.
River just has that way about him.
He knows how to make any mammal feel good.
River makes me feel incredible nearly every night. Sometimes we’re our own brand of kinky, using handcuffs and ties. Sometimes we’re rough, grabbing, kneading, spanking. Sometimes, we just take it slow and sensual, and it feels like the world disappears when our bodies tangle together.