Page 255 of The Romance Adventure

“I used to do that to annoy you.”

“Does that mean you trusted my driving abilities?”

“More like I wanted to get under your skin.”

“And there I thought you liked to live on the edge. I was worried about your safety.”

“It worked.” She winks.

We’re both quiet for a beat because that wink does something strange to my pulse that has nothing to do with the revving engine.

I clear the cobwebs from my throat and say, “About that thing with the fans back there. Can we call a truce?”

“Why would we need to do that?”

“It’s not good to hold grudges. It’s better to forgive. Hanging onto things can give you hemorrhoids.”

“Pull over,” Harley demands.

“Why? Are you sick?”

“I never want to hear you use that word again. Ew. Yuck. No.”

I chuckle and remain on the road. I say, “What about through sickness and health?”

“We’re not married, Ryan.”

“What about the Romance Game?”

“Through sickness and health are nowhere in the rulebook.”

“Fine. But an official truce. No more teasing. Tell me how you feel. Let’s be honest with each other.”

She sighs as if not yet willing to give in.

So, I do. I give in to more of the truth.

“After I asked you out at Quiet Cannon Beach, and you rejected me, Brando got word that I was interested in you. He wasn’t pleased.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“More or less. I didn’t want to mess with our friendship. I told myself I had to treat you like a bro. One of the guys. Not a total babe. Which was hard. You were a cheerleader. Took over as kicker for John Wallis when he injured his ankle junior year.”

“That was pretty epic.”

“It was so hot.”

“I know. Talk about a long summer,” she says, dismissing my comment.

“No, you were hot. But I had to think about you as one of the boys. Unless we were kissing and when you were jumping around in your cheerleading costume.”

“I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not, Ryan.”

“I blame Brando. He declared you off-limits. I had feelings for you. Dumb, immature ones. And now... Now you think I’m messing with you.” I all but pound my fist on the steering wheel.

Harley twists in the seat to face me, “Ryan, my cousin isn’t in charge of my love life. For the record, I’m not off limits.”

My pulse kicks as we pull into a parking spot at the doughnut shop.