Page 70 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail
She nods eagerly once again. “Did you take any video footage?”
“I don’t remember,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Sorry.”
“Hmm,” she says, a displeased sound. “All right. That’s too bad. I’ll have to check the archives.”
I nod and give her a little wave as she stands up. I can’t bring myself to say anything else, even when she says bye and hurries off in the opposite direction—probably to check the archives, dang it.
There is video footage. I took it, even though I never used it. But I don’t know if it’s still here or if it got thrown out during one of the many purges Herb has likely done over the years. There’s just nospaceto keep everything every one of us has ever done; the physical archives are little more than a storage room. We don’t have a fancy internal search engine or anything, either.
I bet I could find India in those archives, though. I don’t know if she wrote anything herself while she was here, but I bet I could find her name somewhere. Should I look?
A smile curls over my lips as I imagine the look on India’s face when I tell her I looked her up in the archives. She’ll think I’m ridiculous, she’ll roll her eyes, she’ll laugh and tell me what a weirdo I am.
And I’m halfway out of my chair before realizing that she would be correct. Iama weirdo. Iambeing ridiculous. Of course I shouldn’t check. I have things to do, and there’s no point in looking anyway. What will I do if I find her? Read what she wrote? Tell her I looked her up? Why would I do that?
Why do I care?
It’s a question I ask with disconcertion, and I don’t have an answer. “Stop thinking about her,” I say to myself. “Just—stop.”
Easy. I frequently go long periods of time without thinking about my female friends.
“Easy,” I say. “Easy peasy.”
It is not easy peasy.It is not even regular peasy. It is downright impossible. As a result, I think about India more than I should for the rest of the day, even after telling myself I won’t.
I’m not dating this woman. I’m not even considering dating her. She should be crossing my mind only when there’s a specific reason. She should not float in at all hours of the day.
It’s this article we’ve been doing. I’m sure of it. She was right—I shouldn’t have dragged her along. It would mess with anyone’s mind, visiting a bunch of romantic places. And it’s been a while since my last girlfriend; that probably doesn’t help.
I nod, breathing a sigh of relief. Everything is fine.
But by the time I pull up in front of India’s house later that evening, I’m half-excited, half dreading it.
She’s awesome. Unintentionally funny. Totally cool. That’s not someone I should be spending a ton of time with—not if she’s off-limits.
I’m just going to have to try harder to keep her in the Friend Zone, where she belongs. That’s all. It shouldn’t be a problem.
The garage door grinds to life as I get out of my SUV. I’m parked on the street, so I cut through the grass and reach India just as she emerges from inside, motorcycle helmet under her arm, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun.
Does this mean…?
“Hey, Felicia,” she says. She nods over her shoulder at Betsy the Motorcycle, still stationed in the garage. “How do you feel about a change of plans?”
My eyes dart over her—the tight jeans, the loose t-shirt, the leather jacket draped over Betsy’s handlebars—and I swallow.
But I’m allowed to find my friends attractive, right? I’m sure I’ve found Poppy attractive before. Haven’t I?
“What’s the new plan?” I say, strolling past her and into the garage. “Did you take Betsy on a few test runs to see how she felt?”
“Yes,” India says, the word breathless.
“And?” I look at her, waiting for her answer—but I don’t need to hear it. Her expression tells me everything. She looks exhilarated, windswept as though she only got back from a ride a moment ago.
“And it was scary for a few seconds until Iremembered,” she says, her smile growing. “Remembered how it feels, all the things I know, the abilities I have to do this.”
Something warm rises in my chest. “In that case, are you going to take me on a romantic bike ride?”
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “You wish,” she says, and maybe I’m imagining things, but her cheeks flush faintly pink.
