Page 8 of Overtime Goal
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The clock read7:32 as I ran through the house. Leave it to Riley to show up early. I had nothing on except a towel, but fuck it, he’d seen me wearing less. When I opened the door, I said, “You’re early.”
He widened his eyes. “Being early’s a virtue. I can wait out here until eight if you want me to.”
I sighed, unable to hide a smile as I let him in. Once the door closed, we moved in for our usual hug, but Riley paused and held out a fist.
“Really? A fist bump?”
“It’s either this or an awkward handshake. I don’t hug wet dogs.”
As we laughed and tapped fists, water was dripping all over the floor. “I need to get dressed, so make yourself at home.”
“Thanks. You want snacks?”
“Go for it.” I headed to my room. It was good to see him, and I was sorry I’d been so hesitant. We’d been friends too long for things to be so weird.
I tugged on jeans and a sweater, made a halfhearted attempt at taming my hair, and gave up. Walking back to the TV room, I burst out laughing. Riley was already curled into what hadbasically become his side of the sectional, surrounded by what looked like half the food in the house. His lips were already stained neon orange from cheese puffs, and for an instant, I had the crazy idea he’d gone a round with a paintball gun.
“Didn’t you eat dinner?” I asked.
“You know how I feel about snack foods.”
I dropped onto my usual side of the sectional and stared at the buffet he’d put together. “That’s enough to feed the whole team.”
“What can I say?” He gave me a crooked grin. “I panic-grabbed. It’s a thing.”
I sighed, biting back another laugh. “Give me those chips.”
He handed me the Doritos and picked up the remote. “TV?”
“Sure.” This was our usual routine, so no problems so far. While he scrolled through options before landing on a sci-fi movie he’d been talking about, I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. His brown hair had flopped over his eyes, and my chest warmed as I studied his face. It was heart-shaped with high cheekbones, full lips, and bright green eyes that gave away more than he probably wanted. Sometimes, when he turned them on me, it was like stepping into the sun on a chilly day.
When my thoughts turned to his body, I started a book about a spy who, by page three, had gone from predator to prey. Trying to read was no use, though, thanks to Riley’s regular interruptions.
“Do you know who Jeremy Keever is?”
“Nope.” I looked up from page six. “Should I?”
He pointed at the TV. “Check him out, the chrononaut. I googled him, and this is his first movie. Doesn’t he look exactly like Brody must have at fifteen?”
“That guy’s not fifteen.”
“Wikipedia says he’s twenty-three, but I’m calling bullshit. He looks like a middle school kid with a gym membership.”
“He looks twenty-three,” I said. “And sexy as hell.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Riley shot me a look and went quiet. I made it to page eight before the questions started again, and this time, he kept them coming.
“How much do you know about time travel?” he asked.
I snorted. “Not much, considering it doesn’t exist.”
He rolled his eyes. “I mean in science fiction.”
“Still not much. Not my genre.”
