Page 40 of The Romance Game

“What was the part about diving, the shallowest humbling and?—?”

“Obviously, I’m the shallowest.” Before she argues, I say, “Think about it: The youngest would sooner dive than the shallowest go deep. But neither will find what they seek without the strongest softening and the cleverest humbling. CJ is the youngest, Magnus is the strongest, and Royal is dang clever. That leaves me. The shallowest.”

I can’t deny that it stings my grandfather thought so little of me. As if reading my mind, Harley rubs a soothing circle on my back with the flat of her palm.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“If I told you that you’re a terrible football player, what would you do?”

I balk. “I’d say you don’t know anything about the sport. Check the scoreboard. Look at the stats.”

“And if I told you that you’re shallow, what would you do?” Harley asks, not backing down.

I see her point. “I’d prove you and him wrong.”

She nods slowly and our gazes hover together in question.

“By going deep, do you think he means I should dig for treasure?”

“I’m not sure it’s a literal instruction. But I remember that time you and CJ came into the Plundering Pelican, insisting some of the lost Trabuco gold was in the treasure chest where we kept the menus.”

I chuckle. “Wow. Totally forgot about that.”

“You were hunting for treasure.”

“Do you think it could be buried here?”

“At Driftwood Beach?”

Harley nudges my foot with her foot. It’s strangely intimate. Her toenails are painted pink. The tomboy I knew didn’t smell like pink bubblegum or have pink toenails. And I certainly didn’t feel this way when I was around her.

When I get three in a row on our sandy tic-tac-toe board, I say, “You know what the X’s and O’s also stand for, right?”

“Symbols for the offense and defense on a football play?”

“Kisses and hugs.”

Harley must sense me looking at her, gauging her reaction because she peers at me through her long lashes, her gaze sweeping mine.

My pulse kicks.

She bites her lip.

We both lean in slightly.

My thoughts turn fuzzy except for one.

Her lips. Mine.

“Kisses win over hugs.” My voice is scratchy.

“You got three in a row, Hot Shot,” she whispers.

I cup Harley’s jaw. Her skin is buttery soft.

We sink closer together, and I breathe in her pink bubblegum scent.

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