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Would I rather run into anyone other than the guy I love to hate?
Actually, yes. I’d rather be beamed up by aliens or get chased by a pack of werewolves than physically run into my nemesis with my rental car. Thankfully, I was going under five miles an hour, but still. The celebrity football player with an ego the size of the Atlantic will never let me live down this incident.
My sisters insisted I take a long weekend and retreat to our aunt and uncle’s restaurant on what may as well be paradise island. They said I need a little R&R after the year I’ve had. They promised it would be fun. They insisted I lounge in a hammock.
They lied. They didn’t mention that Ryan McGregor would tease me all these years later. That he’d propose a fake relationship then flip that hammock over and kick sand at me when I said no. Okay, to be fair, that last part didn’t happen, but it may as well have. I know Ryan and he’d relish the opportunity then cackle like the jackal he is.
There’s just one problem and it’s a living, breathing—and irresistibly adorable, if I do say so myself—secret that he can never know. It’s the kind that’s hard to keep. But as for that R&R? More like R&D as I figure out this strange fluttering inside.
Because the treasure hunt on a moonlit night was purely platonic. Kind of. Shh. There was no kissing. Mostly.
