“Tell that to the judge,” I say, plopping down in a chair.
“We just don’t always see eye-to-eye,” Owen adds, gesturing from River to himself.
“Gee, that sounds like the recipe for a snarky rom-com,” River teases.
“And that sounds like something I’d like to watch. But anyway”—Owen turns to me—“what do you need? What can I get you? I’d offer up a voodoo doll of a certain reporter, but I think the best revenge is to live well, so I say put him out of your mind.”
I heave a sigh, wishing I’d had a chance to talk to Declan this morning, especially given the barrage of media mentions. But he’d already left for his shoot, and now he’s out of pocket all day. “I’m just gonna grab an iced coffee,” I say, pushing back in my chair. “And I agree—let’s forget the weasel face. Put him behind us.”
“Excellent plan. And I’ll get your iced coffee. I insist,” Owen offers and heads to the counter when I say thanks.
“I want someone to do my bidding like that,” River says with a pout. “If only I were an important, multimillion-dollar athlete dating a hottie in Owen’s ball club. Clearly, I missed an opportunity.”
“It’s never too late to change careers. Do you have any athletic talents to work with?”
River strokes his bearded chin, considering. “I’m very, very good on my knees. Does that count?” he asks, all doe-eyed and innocent.
Laughing, I toss a glance at the counter. “When you say things like that, do you really expect me to believe you’re not flirting with Owen?”
“I said that to you. Not him.”
“But it was kind of about Owen,” I point out.
“Nah. That was just about . . . well, about me.” He taps his chest. “Me and my prowess.”
“I bet Owen would like to know more about your prowess. Since he’s flirty AF with you too.”
River knits his brow. “What?”
“You don’t see it? The way you two zing each other?”
“Do I zing Owen? Because that sounds steamy. Is that a new BJ technique?” River sweeps his arm out wide, adopting a megaphone voice. “Learn the zing technique and you’ll wow your partner with your tongue.”
Shoes click on the floor.
“The zing technique? Tell me more.” Owen sinks into a chair, flutters his lashes, and waits like a cat playing with its kill.
“Want me to leave? Give you two some privacy?” I offer, even though I’m going nowhere. Watching these two is better than watching James Bond.
Owen slides the iced coffee to me. “Don’t leave, Grant. We must learn about this zing technique from River.”
I shake my head. “We? I don’t think so. I’m already an all-star in the BJ department. There’s nothing wrong with my technique for giving head.” I furrow my brow. “Although, on second thought, there’s always room to learn, and it’s good to keep things fresh. Tell me more.”
“Then we should invent the zing technique, market it, and make a mint,” River says airily, recovering from his caught-in-the-headlights moment.
“Yes, let’s do that,” Owen seconds.
I shake my head, amused. “Like I said, you two flirt so much I want to say here’s a condom, get a room.”
“We’ve always been like this,” Owen says, offhand.
“This flirty?” I ask.
River jumps in. “Friendly! We’re friendly. Hello?” River motions from Owen to him and back. “Remember? Owen and I have a friends-only pact.”
“And I am not a pact breaker,” Owen puts in seriously.
I spread my arms out wide. “Then it’s solved. You two will never zing each other. Meanwhile I’m going to invent this new blow job technique and drive my man crazy with it.” I sip my iced coffee as I picture zinging Declan when he returns home later this week, and before long, I can hardly remember Troy Whatshis name.
River, Owen, and I head together to the nearby Alliance, where the three of us tuck into comfy couches and join a group of teens in an epic trivia battle. My crew is victorious, and I smack palms with Jason, a quarterback at a local high school.
“We rock,” he declares. This kid has become worlds more outgoing and confident since he got involved with the organization only a few weeks ago.
“It’s hard to beat such talent,” I gloat.
As we clean up, Jason clears his throat. “Do you have a minute to talk?” he asks quietly. He has the all-American athlete vibe of a young Zac Efron but with a hefty serving of vulnerability.
“Absolutely. As long as you need,” I tell him. We leave the games room and head to a quiet hallway, and I’m delighted he’s turning to me for help or advice. This is why I love to volunteer here. I remember well being his age—those complicated days of figuring out who I was. If I can be a willing ear to a fifteen-, sixteen-, seventeen-year-old, then I’m serving a meaningful purpose.