Page 18 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

“Are you just going to stand there?” she says without looking at me, and I jump, startled.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “No. I’ll do the handlebars.”

We make quick work of the handlebars and mirror, and with every passing moment, I grow more and more disconcerted. The feeling is unexpected, and I don’t like it one bit.

My biggest TV crush in high school was this woman from a denim commercial. She rode a motorcycle down this winding path in the mountains, dressed in a black leather jacket and a tight pair of jeans, her long hair blowing behind her. My mom always muttered about how she should’ve been wearing a helmet, but as a high school kid, I thought that motorcycle woman was about the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

These days I happen to agree with my mother that anyone riding through the mountains should be wearing a helmet, but I also can’t deny that that teenage version of myself is still somewhere inside me, buried very deep down but present nonetheless.

And seeing India with a motorcycle? It’s throwing me off a bit.

She’s been nothing more or less than my best friend’s sister the entire time we’ve known each other, since she was a teenager in high school. I can mentally keep her in thatbaby siblingbox, right?

Of course. She’s Cyrus’s sister,I remind myself.Hisyoungersister. When you were in college, she was sixteen.

It’s a good point. A very good point.

The only problem is…she’s not sixteen anymore.

I pat my cheeks sharply a few times, taking a deep breath of the Colorado air to clear my mind. I’m being ridiculous.

We wheel the bike down the driveway and to the street, where I’m parked. India is stronger than I expect; we lift the bike in the back of my car with a bit of maneuvering but no trouble otherwise.

“Perfect,” she says, slightly out of breath as she checks to make sure the trunk will close properly. “I think we’re good.”

“Let’s go,” I say with a nod. “We can discuss some good romance hot spots in the car.”

“You know people are going to think we’re looking for places to make out uninterrupted or something, right?” she says.

Normally I’d have a joking or flirtatious response to her words, but right now, my brain doesn’t seem to be working properly. “Of course they won’t,” I say.

“Sure they will. Look at us.” She gestures back and forth between us. Then she starts to head around the car.

I grab hold of her elbow. “Wait,” I say before I can stop myself.

She turns back to me with a little frown and a quirk of her eyebrows. “Why?” she says, nudging her arm out of my grasp.

“Because,” I say. “You said to look at us, didn’t you? I just—want to check something.”

“Um, no,” she says, and there’s that wrinkled nose again. “It was a rhetorical suggestion. Now that you said that, I want to cover up.”

“Your hair is pretty,” I admit. “And your face…” I let my gaze flit briefly over her features. Wide, expressive eyes; pert nose; near-perfect lips, I notice for the first time, probably nice to kiss?—

Whoa,I think as the realization swirls in my head.Redirect.I return my gaze to her hair and step closer, reaching my hand out. Then I freeze. “Sorry. Can I touch?”

Her brown eyes flick up to mine, clearly surprised, but then she shrugs. “Yeah, go ahead.”

I hesitate only briefly before grasping the pencil still speared through the knot on top of her head. It slides out easily when I pull, and like a waterfall, her hair cascades down her back.

Gorgeous.

I let my fingers whisper over the red and gold and light brown, finally finding a few locks that hang around her face and touching them. I nod; then I move forward and lean my head down, inhaling deeply.

She’s a good height; not that there are bad heights, really, but I could tuck her right under my chin, and she’d fit perfectly.

“Your hair is soft,” I say. “And you smell good. Like...” My brow furrows as I try to place the scent; it’s sweet, floral, maybe a little spicy too. I lean away again, looking down at her.

“My perfume,” she says faintly. “You’re beingso weirdright now.”

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