Page 19 of Falling for your Fake Boyfriend

I dug in my pocket and came up with two quarters. “Why was that your emergency quarter?”

Isla smiled shyly. “Nonna always made each of us carry an emergency quarter in our pockets in case we needed to make a phone call. She thought there were still phone booths all over. Anyway, I guess it just became a habit, and I can tell you it’s come in handy a few times. Like today, with Boris and—did the guy ever say his name?”

I picked up the beer mug. “I think he kept his identity secret, so it would be harder to identify him to police.”

Isla laughed as she tossed the two coins around in her palm. “I’m going to go glance at the song selection.”

The bartender brought over a sizzling pile of nachos and two plates. I drank a few gulps of beer and turned back toward the jukebox. Stupidly, I’d forgotten about the four jerks sitting at the bar. They hadn’t forgotten about the petite blonde. They’d all spun sideways on their barstools, and they were watching her over the rims of their pints. Isla was focused on the song titles. I, on the other hand, was working on tamping down the adrenaline as I watched them grin and ogle the woman at the jukebox.

Isla pushed some buttons and then spun back around, her amazing smile lighting up the otherwise dingy barroom. She headed back toward the table. Before I could loosen my jaw, one of the men reached out and took hold of her arm. She gasped and tried to pull away from him.

The chair shot back as I flew across the gritty floor to the four grinning fools at the bar. “Let her go,” I said before I reached them. The guy ignored my command. I was outnumbered, but that didn’t matter. His fingers wrapped tighter and Isla winced. That was all I needed to see.

My fist slammed into the man’s face. I felt his nose soften beneath my knuckles. He released Isla, and his hand flew to his face. Blood began to drip between his fingers.

I could hear the bartender meekly saying he didn’t want any trouble as the guy’s three friends dropped down from the stools, landing solidly on their shiny cowboy boots.

I grabbed Isla by the hand. “Nachos are overrated, anyhow,” I said as I tossed some money on the table and pulled her toward the exit. My sister would never forgive me for ruining her wedding photos with a black eye or busted nose. Isla squealed with a sound that was half laughter, half scream as we pushed out the door and into the parking lot.

“Come back here!” one of them yelled as we got in the car.

The car's tires chirped as I hit the bump at the end of the gravel driveway. I turned onto the road and drove off. It took a few seconds to absorb what’d happened. “What a road trip. I don’t know if we’re Bonnie and Clyde or Tom and Jerry,” I said.

Isla laughed, but it was still edged with fear.

“Are you all right?” I glanced down and saw the red handprint fading from her skin. My jaw clenched again as I thought about that jerk wrapping his big fat fingers around her arm.

“I’m fine. A little stunned. I’ve never had anyone grab me like that. Thank you,” she said, then gasped. “Your knuckles.”

I lifted my hand off the wheel. My knuckles were starting to swell. “I guess I hit the guy hard.”

“I think you broke his nose. So, well done, you. And I think since Bonnie and Clyde were ruthless killers, we should stick with Tom and Jerry. Obviously, I’m Tom.”

“Oh, really, and why is that?” I was glad to see the tension and fear leaving her face. I never expected our nacho pitstop to end so wildly.

“Well, many years ago, for one whole week, my name was Tom. Actually, more accurately, it was Tommy.”

“This sounds like a story I’m going to need to hear. It’ll take our minds off the last few minutes.”

Her blue eyes had a soft sparkle as she looked at me. “I don’t want to forget it. The horrid men and their showy boots, yes, but I’ve never had someone, particularly someone like you, come to my rescue like that, and while I’d like to avoid ever being accosted like that again, I will always remember you throwing your fist into that man’s face and erasing his smarmy smirk.”

I looked over at her. She looked small in the passenger seat, slim and petite with that incredible flaxen hair, but she had such a huge personality that she filled the entire car. Something told me it wouldn’t be easy for her to just fade away in the wedding chaos. She exuded too much energy. “I’d do it again. I’d come to your rescue every time, Isla.”

There was that amazing blush again. She coyly tucked her hair behind her ear. “Well, my foray into Tommy-hood all started with a strange dream. Nonna told me it was the pepperoni pizza, chocolate cake and ice cream I’d eaten at my friend Ashley’s twelfth birthday party. She was probably right. Nonna always seemed to be right. Anyhow, in the dream, I was stuck in this weird castle where almost all the walls were mirrors. I was there with, of all people, the school librarian, Miss Crumfeld. I don’t know why she was there, but earlier that week, I’d suffered one of her embarrassing and tedious lectures after I’d folded the corner of a book page to keep my place. The two of us, Miss Crumfeld and me, were trying to escape something, not even sure what, but the whole time we raced around the mirrored castle, she kept calling me Tommy. No idea why. I stupidly told my sister, Aria, about the dream, and she told the others. All my sisters called me Tommy for a week. The joke was on Aria because I kind of liked it. It’s fun to pretend you’re someone else once in a while. For that week, I was Tommy, the girl from the mirrored castle. Nonna finally put an end to it. She told us she had a hard enough time calling us by the right name—” Isla nodded. “It was true. Normally she went through all five of our names before she got to the one she intended. But that was my week of being Tommy, and so it follows that I would be Tom. Wait—is Tom the cat or the mouse?”

“Good question. I think he’s the cat.”

She sat back with a satisfied wriggle. “That works.” She sat forward suddenly. “Pull off for that gas station. We need some ice for your hand.”

I lifted my fingers. They felt stiff and were starting to throb. “It’s fine.”

She looked over at me. “Really, and how will you explain those gargantuan-sized knuckles to Margaret?”

“Hadn’t thought of that. There’s a charging station off this ramp, too. The car needs a zap.”

We pulled off the highway, and while Isla went inside the mini-market to get some ice, I hooked the car up for a charge. She came out ten minutes later with a bag of ice, two cold sodas and two giant pretzels. “I figured since we left the plate of nachos behind, and since that was mostly my fault?—”

“How was that your fault? All you did was pick some songs on a jukebox, Isla. None of it was your fault.”

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