legs stretched out, bare feet resting on the coffee table. She sat cross-legged next to him, balancing computer and plate. Just another fake couple enjoying a fake Friday night in.
She scrolled through the yoga studio’s Facebook page stats. Engagement and followers were up. Tonight, Wander was hosting a flow class with a live DJ followed by a walk to an organic wine bar and tarot readings.
In the Thorn family, her mother and sister were the stars, and Riley was the assistant sitting at home on a Friday night.
She sighed.
“What’s that for?” Nick asked.
“If we were really dating, what do you think we’d be doing right now?” she asked.
His wolfish expression and the butter-melting, heavy-lidded gaze that traveled over her body said it all.
“Besides that. The sun isn’t even down on a Friday, and I’m in for the night. My sister has a live DJ and strobe lights, and I’m on my couch scheduling posts on her social media.”
“You know, we have a few hours to kill before everyone settles down,” he mused.
“And how do you propose to kill time?” she asked.
He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth.
“Besides sex,” she interrupted.
“Besides sex? Huh. That’ll take a little more time, but I can come up with some options.”
“Options that don’t cost anything, seeing as how my shoestring budget is double-knotted?”
He winked. “Honey, some of the best fun is free.”
“Stop talking about sex.”
He laughed and patted her thigh. “I’m not. Well, not just sex. Come on. Grab a pair of shoes and your keys.”
“Where are we going?”
“To find some Friday night fun.”
They snuck down the back staircase to the parking lot. Nick opened the driver’s side door and climbed up to release the soft top. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“It’s illegal to have the top up on a night like this,” he insisted.
She’d had the top down once, and, after eating half of her own hair and getting caught in a rainstorm, she’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
But heading south on Front Street with the warm air whipping through her ponytail and a grinning Nick behind the wheel, she wondered how many other kinds of fun she’d decided weren’t worth the effort. The sun was dipping low, turning sky and river orange and gold as he took the Market Street Bridge.
Riley was pleasantly surprised when he exited onto City Island, a low swath of land that squatted in the middle of the river, separating the East and West Shores. It was home to, among other things, the Harrisburg Senators baseball stadium, a red and white riverboat, and a crapload of parking for people who worked downtown.
It was a nice spot. Except for the flooding and the mayfly hatches.
“Maybe he’s taking you fishing? I like this guy.”
Shut it, Uncle Jimmy.
“No baseball game tonight,” she observed as he pulled into an empty space in the parking lot.
“Nope.” He flashed her a grin. “Let’s go.”
They got out of the Jeep, and Nick took her hand to lead her up the concrete steps. To the right was the pedestrian bridge that connected the island with the city. On the left was a carriage house for the Harrisburg Police Department’s horses.
Nick pulled her down the asphalt path in front of the stables.
“Where are we going?” she asked. Everything worth seeing on the island was north, not west.
“Let me be spontaneous and romantic here, okay?” he complained.
“I think you’re taking this fake relationship a little too seriously.” She thought about the sex scene that had played out in her head. Maybe he wasn’t the only one.
The western span of the Walnut Street Bridge rose before them. It had once spanned the entire river, but a flood in 1996 famously took out its center sections. The skeletal remains on both shores were all that was left behind.
“We’re not supposed to be here.”
“Live a little, Thorn,” he teased, pulling her around the barrels and No Trespassing signs that were clearly intended to dissuade foot traffic.
She stepped carefully onto the metal grating, peering at the water below.
“Perfect timing,” Nick said, squeezing her hand. She looked up.
“Oh, wow.” The fat globe of the setting sun was just beginning to kiss the tree line on the West Shore.
“Not bad, Santiago,” she said, as orange and pink blazed like fire in the sky, flickering on the surface of the river.
Music and laughter floated to them from the restaurant carved into the opposite shore.
He stood behind her, hands resting on the metal rail in front of her, boxing her in but not quite