He lowers his head to mine and his hold on me tightens. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better.”

“Ryan, no. I would have died if it wasn’t for you.”

“It’s over now,” he whispers against my

mouth.

I expectantly part my lips for his kiss. “It is.”

“Mr. Stone. Ms. Risk,” calls the assistant principal. “A little more space between you and a lot more paying attention. It’s time for you to get onto the field.”

I deflate and wrap my hand on Ryan’s bent arm so he can escort me out underneath the glaring lights. I wanted Ryan to kiss me. I needed him to kiss me.

Over the PA system, our names are

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coming from the section where we left

Lacy, Chris, and Logan.

“When you win,” says Ryan, “don’t forget

you said you’d keep that tiara on your pretty little head all night.”

My eyes widen as I realize how I can get

exactly what I want. We stop in the middle of the field and I turn to him. “Kiss me. Not just a peck. The real deal.”

Ryan glances around at the bleachers full of hundreds of people. “Excuse me?”

“I, Beth Risk, do double dog dare you to kiss me in front of all these people.”

Ryan’s eyes brighten and the arrogant smile that makes my heart trip over itself spreads across his face. “Are you forgetting dare etiquette? You have to dare before you can double dog dare.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. I dare you to kiss me.”

“And if I do?”

“If I win homecoming, which I won’t, I’ll wear that damn tiara for a week straight.”

He cradles my face with both his hands. His lips whisper against mine and I ache for him to kiss me. My mind whines that he won’t do it, but then he nibbles on my lower lip. His mouth HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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parts and the two of us move our lips

hungrily in time with one another.

In between gasps of air our names are called as the winners. I feel Ryan’s lips tug into a smile before he says one word: “Can.”

* * * * *

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Acknowledgments

To God—Isaiah 61:1

For Dave—Because I still own the first

baseball cap I ever saw you in.

Thank you to…

Kevan Lyon—everybody should have

someone like you in their corner. Your advice and guidance have been extremely valuable to me. Thank you. I will never forget that this all began with you.

Margo Lipschultz—Thank you for caring as

much about my characters as I do. You are absolutely brilliant and I’m a better writer because of you.

Everyone who has touched my books at

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Harlequin Teen, especially Natashya

Wilson. You guys have made this experience fantastically memorable!

Matt Baldwin and Mike Baldwin with

Future Pro: Thank you for welcoming me into your indoor training facility and for taking the time to answer my questions on baseball.

Angela Annalaro-Murphy—Thank you for

loving Beth first. It was your faith and

friendship that kept me writing.

Shannon Michael—How many times did I

end up on your back porch with my head in my hands wondering if I was headed in the right direction with the story? Thanks for the laughs and friendship.

Kristen Simmons—I couldn’t have done this without you. It’s amazing when I think of the laughter and tears we’ve shared since we met.

This book is for you.

Colette Ballard, Kelly Creagh, Bethany

Griffin, Kurt Hampe, and Bill Wolfe—you

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guys are more than a critique group. You’ve become family. Kelly and Bethany, thank you for holding my hand through my debut year.

Kurt and Bill, thank you for pointing out when

“a guy wouldn’t do that.” Colette, thank you for the endless hours of laughter, support, and extra reads.

Louisville Romance Writers: It was you

guys who first put me on the path toward

publication. Thank you for continuing to light the way.

Again, to my parents, my sister, my Mt.

Washington family, and my in-laws…I love

you.

My biggest thank-you is to the fantastic

authors I’ve met, the booksellers, the

librarians, the teachers, the book bloggers, and my readers. Thank you for taking the time to spread the word and for the messages, tweets, and emails you’ve sent to me. You remind me why I write.

To A, N, and P. You know who you are and

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you know that I love you more than my

own life.

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Don’t miss Isaiah’s story,

CRASH INTO YOU,

coming soon

from Katie McGarry

and Harlequin TEEN!

Turn the page

for an exclusive two-chapter sneak

preview….

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Rachel

THE DRIVER’S SEAT of my Mustang is one of the few places where I find peace. I guess I could go on some tangent about how my older brothers influenced my love of cars, but I won’t, because it’s not true.

I get cars. I like the feel of them. The sound of them. My mind clears when I’m behind the wheel, and there’s something about the sound of an engine dropping into gear as I press on the gas that makes me feel…powerful.

No fear. No nausea. No brothers to boss me around. No parents to impress. Just me, the gas pedal, and the open road. And a big, fat, fluffy dress that reminds me of a flower. Shifting in this getup was a nightmare.

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station bathroom. I wind through the aisles and out the automatic doors into the cold winter night. My parents would kill me if they knew I was in the south side of town, but this isn’t my destination. Just a pit stop. The county south of here contains backcountry roads that are flat for several miles. Perfect for maxing out the speedometer.

Two college-age guys in jeans and nice

winter coats chat as one pumps gas into a 2011

Corvette Coupe. She’s impressive. Four

hundred and thirty horses are compacted into that precious V-8 engine, but she’s not as pretty as the older models. Most cars aren’t.

On the opposite side of the pump, I insert my credit card and unscrew the gas cap. My baby only receives the best gas. It may be more expensive, but it treats her engine right.

I suck in a breath, and the cold air feels good in my lungs. My stomach had settled when I left the country club and the nausea rolled away when I turned over the engine. I’d made it through the speech with shaking hands and a trembling voice. When it was over, my mother cried and my father hugged me. That alone was worth the trips into the bathroom beforehand.

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The guys stop talking and I glance over

to see them staring at my baby. “I like your Vet,” I say and decide to test them. “V-8?” Of course it has a V-8, but some guys have no idea what sweet cargo they own under the hood.

The owner nods. “3LT. Got her last week.

Nice Mustang. Is it your boyfriend’s?”

Loaded question. “She’s mine.”