Thirst trap, p.5
Thirst Trap, page 5
“Just last week,” River says, his tone pleased. “I heard about it in The New York Times recommendations. See? My news consumption pays off for you.”
“I love Discovery Prism. It’s one of my favorite shows on Webflix.”
“I know,” he says, smiling big too.
“I had no idea it had a podcast.”
He squeezes my shoulder, sending a zip of pleasure down my left arm before he lets go. “That’s what I’m here for. To find things to make your life fabulous,” he says, then makes a rolling gesture with his hand. “Want to pick an episode? There are only seven, since it just launched, but we can get started.”
I hunt through the list, reading the titles. Discovery Prism highlights quirky, weird, and just plain unusual spots all around the globe—a burning hole in the earth in Turkmenistan, a museum in Poland that’s home to centuries-old timepieces, an underwater sculpture park in Indonesia. I pick that one to start, settling in as the host takes us on a tour of a man-made coral park.
When we’re done, River takes a deep breath, then asks, “Did you like it?”
“I did. Very much so,” I say.
“Want another?” he asks, sounding hopeful.
“Sure.”
He hits play on another ten-minute episode, interrupting to weigh in, “I want to go to the burning hole in Turkmenistan.” Then adding, “Please say we can go next year, please, please, please.”
When it ends, I shoot him an incredulous look. “You’d really want to go to Turkmenistan to check out a burning hole?”
“Yes. Definitely. Sign me up. I want to see the underwater sculpture park too. And anything and everything,” he says, words piling up, his energy skyrocketing. It’s infectious, the way he latches onto ideas, how he digs into them, rolls around in them. His curiosity is one of the many things I find wildly attractive about him.
We slide into a discussion on off-the-beaten-path trips we’d want to take around the globe—I’d love to see the street art in Santa Fe, Maritime lore in Nova Scotia, and River wants to experience wilderness immersion in Maine.
As we pull off the highway in Petaluma, I grab my phone and click on my text app.
“I’ll let Nisha know we’re about four hours away now. She’s like a mom sometimes. She likes updates.”
“Perfect. And tell her I’ve become addicted to her company’s body wash and shampoo.”
I scoff. “How about you tell her that in person?”
“Excellent point,” he says.
After a few turns, we wind down the road to his sister’s home.
When we pull into the driveway, the door swings open and Echo steps onto the porch.
River cuts the engine, and the three of us get out of the car, Delilah bounding to the porch to bestow kisses on River’s sister.
“Awww, are you ready to be spoiled, girly girl?” Echo asks, hugging the dog, her purple hair spilling in waves down her shoulders.
“Hate to break it to you but River already spoils her,” I say.
“I do not. I instill appropriate boundaries,” River says, then bends to give the dog a kiss on her furry face. She licks his cheek in response, whimpering a goodbye to her person.
“And he gives her gourmet treats from the organic dog food bakery,” I add.
Echo shrugs happily. “Where else would you buy treats for a dog? Anyway, be on your way, guys,” she says, shooing us back out, then wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s cold. I need to get inside, crank some heat, blast some Beyoncé, and love on my dog niece for the next forty-eight hours while we watch chick flicks.”
“You two better have the best time. But it sounds like you will.” River hauls his sister in for an embrace. “Love you buckets.”
“Love you too,” she replies, then hugs me too. “And you, Owen. Obviously.”
“Same, same,” I say, relaxing briefly, but only briefly, into the hug, then adjusting my glasses when we separate.
I don’t come from a family of huggers, like River does. His mom, dad, and sister are all uber-affectionate, hippie, happy, lovey people. My parents? Not so much. They’re both remarried, and have been since I was in high school. But they remarried people who are just like their first spouses. Mom married a guy who’s distant and works too much. Dad married a woman who’s unhappy with him.
History repeats itself in my family, but at least Grace is happy enough with her husband and their kid.
As for me, I want more. I want the real deal. I’d like to find a guy who looks at me the way Delilah looks at River.
When we’re back in the car, my friend wiggles his brow. “Just you and me now, cutie,” he says, a little rumble in his voice.
That rumble fries my brain.
Does he know how much he flirts with me? Does he mean it?
“Yes, just you and me and ten thousand other people driving to Tahoe on a Friday afternoon in mid-November,” I say, deflecting, since that’s been my MO whenever we’ve veered into dangerous territory—the too flirty kind.
I’ve avoided it since I don’t want to get hurt.
I don’t want my hopes crushed.
I know how that feels, thanks to Ezra, thanks to others. Everything went south at the end with Ezra, but for a while there, we had a good thing going.
A real thing.
An intense and passionate artist, Ezra went from zero to sixty with me in a few days, and I liked that. Suddenly, without warning, we were spending nights and mornings together, going to concerts, and grabbing breakfast. I was caught up. There’s something about waking up with the same person every day that fills you head to toe in endorphins.
He was a whirlwind of need, and that was its own kind of magic. The kind that made me believe in possibilities.
Just like I’d hoped to have with the guy before him, the venture capitalist I dated a few years ago. Todd was fun, loved to try the spiciest food, go to racetracks, and bet big in poker games.
His relentless energy and daring attitude were a huge turn-on.
Trouble was, he was only out at work. He turned out to be closeted to his family.
He didn’t invite me to join him for Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. When he finally asked me to a Fourth of July event, he said I could come but I’d need to be just a friend. So I said, how about you become just an ex?
The zinger alone was nearly worth the heartbreak, but I had liked him.
Legit liked him.
I was falling in love with him, so it hurt like hell to walk away.
Even when guys turn out to be wrong for you, the ending still stings.
But so can a bad relationship. I saw that in my parents, in the way they snipped and sniped at each other at the dinner table, and in the way their petty arguments spilled over into family time. Pass the salt was code for I’m still pissed at you. Like, they couldn’t have waited till Grace and I were at school to poke at each other’s sore spots. They had to do it in front of us, with underhanded jabs they thought we wouldn’t notice. There’s a time and place for hard conversations, and that time is in private.
Not in front of your kids.
I don’t want that kind of relationship.
I want something real.
Something that could last.
Something meaningful.
I haven’t dated anyone since Ezra. Maybe I’ve been hoping for the right moment with River.
Maybe I shouldn’t deflect anymore.
After eight years, and plenty of other boyfriends that didn’t pan out, perhaps I need to start leaning into his flirting more. Even if it is terrifying.
As we pull away from Petaluma and onto the highway again, I vow to hunt for the right moment to let my best friend know how I feel. But I add another vow. A brand-new one—one designed to protect me. If I tell him and it doesn’t work out, I’ll move on. Right away. I’ll get back on the apps before Christmas.
I’ll start dating again.
It’s time.
“Yes, it’s just you and me,” I say, my voice strong, masking the nerves underneath.
“Just the way I like it,” River says, then he taps the dash. “Your turn. You play some music. I want to be wowed by the deejay in the passenger seat.”
I want to wow him.
Because this chemistry isn’t only terrifying.
It’s thrilling.
Find out what happens next in the The Bromance Zone!
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Lauren Blakely, Thirst Trap
