I nod as well as I lean back a little, lifting the pillow from my lap and hugging it to my chest. My heart rate returns to normal as the thermostat kicks the air to an even stronger level. The steady, cold breeze cools my flushed skin.

“I’m sorry I screamed at you,” I say after a while. “Why do all our conversations turn dark and emotional whenever we drink together?”

“It’s all the history, I guess. I kind of like it, though. Oddly enough.”

I let out a grim chuckle as Ryan studies me from across the room.

“Were you mad that I ruined your date tonight?” he asks.

“Not really.” I push my pillow back onto the cushions beside me, tucking it underneath my arm.

“Adam seemed like an okay guy.”

“He was, but he’s not what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?”

It takes me a few seconds to come up with a response. “I wish I had the answer for that.”

“Someone like the guys in your novels?”

“Yeah, someone like that,” I say with a wistful smile. “A dramatic whirlwind romance that takes the world and turns it upside down.”

Ryan isn’t smiling. He watches me for a good long while, silent and still. “I don’t think I believe that. Even if you could experience what you write about, you would be way too uptight to do that kind of stuff, let alone enjoy it.”

I take in his accusation and once again sit up straight. “That’s not true. What happens in my books just doesn’t happen in real life. If I could experience something like that, I wouldn’t be too uptight to enjoy it.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay. Prove it.”

I think back on Ryan’s words. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean let’s choose a book and we’ll see if you can read it and act out what the characters are doing without you being too afraid to stop.”

“You want me to read what’s in a romance novel and then act it out?”

“Yes.”

“And who am I supposed to act it out with?”

“Me, of course.”

Ryan’s proposition crashes over me like a cold, unexpected wave. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m entirely serious. This way, we can see who’s right about your novels once and for all, or you can just admit that you would never really do any of the things you write about.”

I continue to stare at him in total silence.

“I knew it,” he says a few moments later.

And then my stubborn nature, strengthened by the alcohol, takes the wheel. “Fine,” I say defiantly.

“Fine?” he asks. “Are you sure?”

I get up from the couch without hesitating. “Pick a book.”