Page 232 of The Romance Adventure

Harley stares at her hands as if hurt all over again.

I swallow. “Ask your cousin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Regret snowballs toward me. “He found out you were my date. He didn’t approve.”

“As if Brando had a say.”

“He made it very clear he did.”

“And you listened to him?”

“He’s my best friend.”

“So, you chose between him and me?”

Sucking in my cheek, I say, “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“Me neither.”

We’re quiet for a moment.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” I say.

Harley nods. “Apology accepted.”

Relief sweeps through me.

Then she continues, “But if that’s the case, in what world do you think he’ll be okay with the Romance Game?”

“He’ll understand that you’re helping me out and because it’s fake, pretend—right?—he won’t be afraid that I’ll hurt you.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says, but the force of nature that usually drives Harley’s voice, her every action, isn’t there.

“So, were you likening our something-ship to a show with seasons?” I ask.

“Our something-ship?” she echoes.

“Were we ever together? There were the kisses at Hidden Hammock Beach—” I get a waft of her pink bubblegum scent.

“And on the peninsula.”

“And behind the bleachers,” I add.

“But it was confusing.”

“Muddled.”

“Romantic-plicated.”

“Like complicated?” I ask.

Wearing a faint smile, she nods.

I don’t think we’re on the path to simplifying the matter, either.

“Thanks for helping me with this PR patch-up,” I say.