Page 44 of On the Beat

“He was a doctor who proposed after an hour of knowing me. And before you start with me going back into nursing… I’d be terrible at it.” I don’t faint at the sight of blood or anything, but the idea of having someone’s life in my hands is not appealing.

“I just don’t understand what’s there for you in Los Angeles. Your whole family is in the Philippines and in New York. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” my father says. Wrinkles carve deep grooves into the corners of his mouth, years of stress aging him.

“I’m not going back to New York.”

“Why not?” Francisco says.

“Because I’m dating Ryder Black, and you can all go to—”

“Isla?” Ryder’s voice reaches my ears. I realize in silent horror that he’s re-emerged from the kitchen, and likely heard everything. “What did you just say?”

Well, there goes the ‘I’m not obsessed with you’ act.

Now, I have two options.

Pretend that I’m dating Ryder Black and somehow convince him to go along with it.

Or apologize and own up to my lie.

The former is both a terrible idea andexactlywhat I do.

The door eases open behind me and Ryder Black is standing there, like the answer to my desperate hopes and most aggravating desires.

“Ryder,” I say slowly, hoping the expression on my face combinesthis is urgentwithplease play along. “I know you didn’t want to tell anyone that we’re dating, but I just couldn’t keep this secret from my parents. You’ll forgive me, right,sweetie?”

He takes one look at me, then darts his gaze toward my family. “Of course,babe.”

Standing across the room, he leans against the doorjamb and winks at me.

I canhearmy brothers’ angry glares without turning around.

It’s at that exact moment, of course, that Paulo walks into the living room with a tray of snacks that clatters to the floor, and Eddie skids to a stop on the hardwood floor, looking at Ryder accusingly. “You said she wasn’t your girlfriend!”

Ryder gives me a smouldering look perfected for the pages of magazine covers and music video shoots. Yet somehow, though it’s been polished and crafted, it looks far more personal than it has the right to, sending a shudder down my spine. “I lied.”

Chapter 22: Ryder Black

“Did you seriously write me a card that says,thanks for agreeing to fake date me?” I hold out the light blue envelope written in navy ink.

“I thought you would like it. It seemed like the fake girlfriend-y thing to do.” Isla continues drinking her coffee, not looking at me. “I even wrote it in your favourite colour: blue.”

I scowl.“Blue isn’t my favourite colour.”

“You mean,Tiger Beatwas wrong? One of the most austere journalistic publications in our country?” She plants a hand over her mouth. “Say it isn’t so. What’s your real favourite, then?”

“It changes day to day.” Today, it’s the exact shade of golden brown that the sunlight casts on Isla’s hair–I mean, whatever it is, it’s notblue.

“So blue is yourfakefavourite colour,” she says, making a big show of jotting it down in her notebook. At least, I assume that’s what she’s writing down. “Got it.”

“And I’m your fake boyfriend,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them. Why did I remind both of us of that?

“Why did you agree to that, again?” she asks, tilting her head to one side. She looks like an inquisitive puppy. However, since she’s a journalist, she’s probably more of a raging bloodhound who won’t stop until she gets a full scoop.

“I felt sorry for you.” It’s the honest, unvarnished truth. I felt sympathy for her. Not the kind you feel for a puppy lost on the side of the road, but… like I knew her. Something about her, at least. When I saw her with her parents, I could have replayed that scene a dozen times in my head because I’d relived it withmyparents at least a thousand times. All the times that they asked me to get arealjob, or the time after I was signed to my record label when I had to have dinner with my family and Skye, while my dad asked Skye if she thought I had a shot of making it in Hollywood. That cut far too deep, and the pain of it echoes now in Isla’s interaction with her parents. Still, I avoid her gaze as we walk along the crowded street, heading in the direction that Paulo indicated to us, toward the restaurant where we’re going to be having dinner.

The restaurant where I’ll meet–well, officially meet–Isla’s parents. And her brothers. As her fake boyfriend.

Judging by their disapproving frowns, I doubt it will go well.

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