The Fast Lane: A totally hilarious friends-to-lovers, brother’s best friend romantic comedy (Two Har

Chapter 1

Note to self:

When padlocking yourself to a tree, make sure you have the key.

“I want her arrested.” Peter Stone glowered down at me where I sat propped against the best tree in the entire world, a heavy silver chain wrapped around both of us several times. While this may have been a spur-of-the-moment decision, I liked to be prepared for any situation.

One should always have heavy chain laying around for such things. It also works well for chaining one’s neighbor’s lawnmower parts to various immovable objects after one has disassembled said lawnmower because the neighbor wouldn’t stop using it at six in the morning when one’s sick grandmother was trying to sleep.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

I narrowed my eyes and jutted my chin in the air. My father called me Ali the Mule when I wore this expression because it meant I planned to dig my feet in. He was not wrong.

Peter, the mayor of Two Harts, and all-around jackass, brought this side out in me and I’d made it my life’s mission to annoy the crap out of him whenever the chance arose.

“I’d rather not arrest her,” said the man next to Peter. Mario Alvarez was the county sheriff; he was also my dad’s best friend and my brother’s boss.

“I’m doing nothing wrong. It is my constitutional right to peacefully protest.”

The chains rattled as I tucked a piece of flyaway hair behind my ear. I hadn’t exactly had time to dress for the occasion. Whatever I was supposed to wear to a protest, it probably wasn’t green basketball shorts I’d stolen from my brother Frankie a million years ago, hot-pink running shoes, and an oversized Spock for President t-shirt. My hair was still in the exact same state as when I lifted it off the pillow this morning. It was possible I’d slept in these clothes.

Peter yanked a hand through his floppy, dark-blond hair. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” I blinked at him in what I hoped signaled innocence.

I was totally not innocent. His assistant was Maria Connell, my cousin Patrick’s ex-wife, and although she hated Patrick with the passion of a thousand fiery lakes, she still liked me. Probably because I made sure to keep her well-stocked with homemade baked goods. In return, she made sure to feed me bits of information now and then. Like Peter’s 11a.m. meeting with land developers to discuss selling this park to fund the stupid expensive high school stadium he was obsessed with.

With a growl, Peter glanced at his phone. His face turned a satisfying shade of greenish-white. “They’ll be here in ten minutes. What the hell am I going to do?” He stabbed a finger in Mario’s face. “Get her out of here now.”

Mario hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and tracked Peter with narrowed eyes as he stomped toward the parking lot and disappeared. Then with a sigh that could be heard in the next county, he crouched beside me. “Alicia.”

“Mario,” I replied with all the sunshine and rainbows I could put into one word. Stay positive. Talk fast. Mostly tell the truth. Words to live by.

“You need to get out of here.”

“Absolutely. There’s just a tiny, itty-bitty little problem.”

With a slow shake of his head, Mario’s eyes slid shut. I knew that look, of course. This was not the first time Peter Stone had demanded Mario arrest me. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time this month.

I spoke before he could. “Problem’s not the right word. Just a little…issue.”

“With what?”

“It seems the key may have not made it here with me.” I could already picture it sitting on the kitchen counter where I set it while loading my backpack with three bottles of water, which I’d already chugged, and it wasn’t even midday yet.

Note to self: Next time I chained myself to a tree in protest, consider how in the world I was gonna be able to pee.

Truly, I was usually more prepared than this, but Maria had texted me just before nine this morning with the details of the meeting, and I hadn’t had time to plan properly. To be fair, it was also the first time I’d ever chained myself to a tree. A few hiccups were to be expected.

“Well, get yourself unchained. I do not want to call your mother,” Mario said, a distinct note of pleading in his voice. “Please don’t make me.”

My mother, Stephanie Ramos, did not have a chill bone in her body. A true smother of the highest order. Nothing got her more worked up than when anyone messed with her sweet angel—her youngest and only daughter—me.

I really, really didn’t want her help.

I use the word “help” loosely. Mom’s special brand involved racing to my side, uncontrollable tears, strong words for whomever dared threaten her child, more tears, taking down badge numbers and making it clear she’d be calling to talk to someone’s boss. That was all before she’d insist on taking me back to her house and suffocating me for the rest of the day.

Nope. Not calling Mom.

“No, no. Let’s not do that. I’ll find someone to quick bring me the key.” I tapped a finger on my lips.

Ellie would be busy with the lunch rush. Frankie worked nights and was likely dead asleep. Not that he was a great option since he wouldn’t be able to resist ratting me out; Mom would know eleven seconds after I hung up.

I peered at Mario, who peered back with a dark raised eyebrow. “Any time now, Alicia.”

“Alright, alright,” I grumbled, and hastily scrolled through the contacts on my phone. This is why I prepared for these things in advance.

Most of the time my best friend, Mae, was my backup plan and my backup plan’s backup plan. But she was out of town visiting her fiancé’s family; a big inconvenience for me. A year ago, I would have called Cal, my oldest brother, but he’d since taken a position in Portland. I liked to make him feel guilty about it often; it was how I showed love.

This was getting kind of pathetic. My list of emergency contacts (and by emergency, I meant rescuing me from sticky situations) had dwindled steadily over the last couple of years. I’d lost them to new love, engagements, career moves, life. Meanwhile, I was chained to a tree.

If that didn’t say something about my life…

My eye snagged on a name and my heart thumped happily. But my heart had always been stupidly optimistic, a habit I’d vowed to break after my split with Alec the Awful.

I startled when Peter barked, “Why is she still here?”

“Shut up, Peter,” Mario said, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. But I knew he was staring at me just the same. “Alicia, get a move on.”

I shot him a pleasant (and totally fake) smile. “I’m on it. I’ll be out of your way before you know it.”

Quickly, I composed a text message and hit send.

I pulled my sticky t-shirt from my body and stretched my legs. Shifting my weight, I shook out my arms. I didn’t know which was worse—my urgent need to find a bathroom or the red tinge my skin was taking on by the second. At least I didn’t have Peter scowling at me. He’d stomped off ten minutes ago after he made Mario promise he’d have me “taken care of” before he came back at one.

I patted the tree. “You’re worth it.”

This tree had been the center of our town since the two Hart brothers had settled here after the Civil War. It was right in front of this tree, maybe even where I was sitting, that the oldest brother married Emily. However, if the rumors were true, the large heart with the initials in the middle was made by the younger brother for the love of his life. Who also happened to be Emily.

Love was complicated, even back then. Love was also stupid, nonsensical, illogical, and downright exhausting. Which is why I was on a Love Sabbatical.

Alec had been clear our break-up was a Me Problem and not a Him Problem. At first, I’d been angry. Now I wondered if he was right. Maybe I was the problem. The unsolvable kind. All of it had felt like my heart had been run through a meat tenderizer. I was in no mood to relive that.

After adjusting my oversized sunglasses, I leaned my head against the trunk of the tree, ignoring how pieces of my light-brown hair snagged on the bark. My eyes drifted shut, the heat of the July sun making my limbs heavy and reminding me I hadn’t slept well last night. Sleep was important; a lack of it was one of the few things I knew triggered my seizures. It had been eight months (or two years, depending on who you asked) since I’d had one and I’d like to keep it that way.

I must have dozed off because it was the grumbly voice of Mario saying, “Finally,” that woke me. I cracked open one eye behind my glasses, then the other and watched Theo Goodnight head toward me, a ring of keys dangling from his fingers and a small, quiet smile hovering around his mouth.

I braced myself for the inevitable flutter of dragon wings—butterflies were much too small and delicate to create this sensation—in my stomach like they did each time I saw Theo. It was a sickness, and one I’d had since the age of fourteen, the summer I began to see Theo as something other than my brother’s best friend.

A total cliché but I did everything in my power to get him to notice me back then, including: the two solid months I wore high heels every single day because I read men loved a woman in heels, the anonymous letters I slid into his locker and the final straw, tracking him down in his college dorm room and professing my undying love.

There was also the poetry. The kind of poetry you’d expect a lovesick teenage girl, whose working knowledge of poetry was limited to Dr. Seuss, might write.

The worst thing? A part of me would always have a crush on Theo.

Pausing at my feet, his smile grew as he took in the situation. “New hobby?”

I’d found that the easiest way to deal with Theo, to deal with anyone, was to pretend you were fine. Smile, joke around, make everyone comfortable, even if I wasn’t, especially when I wasn’t. It had become my superpower.

I shoved my sunglasses on top of my head. “Yep. City Hall’s on the calendar for next week.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Mario said from where he stood ten feet away, staring at his phone. “You get one free protest. After that, there will be consequences.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“I saw that.” Mario glared in my direction. “Get her out of here. I’m hungry and it’s meatloaf day at the café.”

“Yes, sir,” Theo said. We both watched Mario head toward the parking lot, clearly finished with me. Theo’s blue gaze slid sideways toward me, the corners of his eyes crinkling as they always did when he was amused.

I rattled the chains impatiently. “Hurry and get this off me. I have to, you know, go.”

“Go where?”

“Go. You know, go.”

The grin started as it always did with Theo—in his eyes first, his cheeks rising and causing his eyes to squint, and then moved to his mouth. I wouldn’t call Theo shy, but he could be quiet, thoughtful. He ruminated before he acted. The man could take weeks to make a decision, but he always made the right one. It was his strength and his weakness.

“I have to go to the little girls’ room. Please get these,” I shook the chains, “off me.”

Pressing his lips together, he ran a hand under his chin, which was covered in a light dusting of dark-blond hair—like a permanent five o’clock shadow. He’d started wearing it that way the last year or so. I liked it. A lot. “I don’t know. I had to go out of my way to rescue you today.”

I scoffed. “First, I’d like to point out you haven’t done any rescuing yet. And second, you were at the high school, watching football practice and talking to the coach.” Theo worked as a sports reporter for a big Houston newspaper. His job was to cover high school sports in the west side of the sprawling metro area. While it was technically summer, high school football camps were in full swing.

“True.”

“The high school is a five-minute walk away from here.” I flapped a hand in the general direction of the school. “And you drove.”

He tapped a finger on his mouth right next to the tiny white scar that cut into his lip. He’d gotten it when he was twelve and he and my brothers decided to learn to juggle. With glass Coke bottles. “Also, true.”

“Theodore Henry Goodnight, if you do not get me out of these chains, I will…I will…I’ll think of something.”

One dirty-blond brow arched. He tossed the keys in the air and caught them. “Threats? I don’t know if that’s the best strategy here.”

“Please?”

He tsked. “Was that really sincere?”

“Yes. The lock. Now.”

He took a couple of shuffling steps backwards. “I don’t know.”

“Theo.”

“Let me know if you come up with something better.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Get back here.” My legs began to jiggle. Things were about to get real serious. I pulled out the big guns. “I have banana bread!”

He froze. “Chocolate chip banana bread?”

“Of course, with chocolate chips. I am not a monster. Next, you’ll be asking me if it’s gluten- and dairy-free.”

He was unlocking me before I finished speaking. “You should have led with that. Let’s go.”

“Thank God some things never change.” The chains loosened around me, and I wiggled free. Theo held his hand out and I took it, ignoring how solid and strong his grip was, how his fingers were a little rough on my skin. Or how the stupid dragon wings were trying to beat my ribs into dust.

I’d become very good at ignoring such things. Years of practice.

He squeezed my hand. “What’s that mean?”

I shrugged. “You are easily swayed by baked goods.”

“I am not.” He dropped my hand and set his fist on his hip.

“Oh, yes sir, you are.”

Two little ticks appeared between his eyebrows. “Only if chocolate is involved.”

“Well, duh.” I patted him on the cheek, the scruff there cool and surprisingly soft. “I know you like the back of my hand.”

“I might have secrets.”

I huffed a laugh and stepped away. “Sure.”

Theo tilted his head, a fleeting sly glint in his eye. My stomach dipped, but by the time I blinked, the look had passed, replaced by thoughtful Theo. “You know, you might be surprised.”

“You have a packet of gum in your left pocket.”

He reached a hand into his left pocket and…pulled out a pack of gum. “How did you…?”

“Because you always have gum in your left pocket. Never your right. You had an orange for breakfast today and yesterday and the day before yesterday.” I gave his chest a poke and caught a whiff of citrus that always followed him. “Because you have one for breakfast every morning.”

“Fine. Yes.” He frowned. “But I’m not that predictable.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I’m not.”

“I’ve known you since I was six. You’re basically my brother.” I was pretty proud of myself for saying that with a straight face. Theo had never been and would never be “basically my brother.” Or I was going to hell for my very un-sisterly thoughts about him.

He scowled, and I knew what he was going to say before he even said it. I knew it because I knew everything about Theo. I knew he was exactly five feet ten and a half inches tall. I knew when he let his hair grow out, it became unruly curls. I knew he loved being outdoors and he’d rather hike than spend time in a gym. I knew he favored faded t-shirts under long-sleeve plaid shirts with snap buttons that were never snapped. I knew he loved black licorice, hated olives, and could recite the lyrics to every Rush song ever produced. I knew he could be incredibly patient, he never forgot a birthday, and he could rattle off stats for hundreds of baseball players.

With a grin, I walked backwards. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll meet you at your car.”

“Fine.” He waited until I’d flipped around and had my back to him before he said, “But, Alicia, I am?—”

“Not your brother,” I yelled. Without turning, I waved a hand in the air. “Knew you were gonna say that.”

I knew because while a lot of things had been changing the last year, I could always count on Theo to be exactly who he was—a little predictable, comfortable—and I liked that about him.

Some people had comfort food; I had a comfort person. And I’d been two-thirds in love with him for half my life.