Page 45 of On the Beat

Then again, I’m more than used to seeing those looks of disapproval. When I met Skye’s parents–what feels like a lifetime ago–the one time that they deigned to come to UCLA, they were less than impressed with me. Maybe because they’re Hollywood royalty and I was a small-town boy from Kentucky, then, but–

“You felt sorry for me?” Isla repeats. “I’m not a street urchin–”

I laugh. “As opposed to a sea urchin?”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I didn’t need your charity.”

“No, but you needed my goodwill and for me to go along with your fake dating scheme to annoy your parents. Which is my greatest talent, right after music. So don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”

Why did I add that last part?

Now I’m thinking about Isla literally being in my hands. Which is a thought that must be induced by the fake-boyfriend scenario and the fact that I already grabbed her hand once when she announced the fake boyfriend thing to her parents.

“So, if I ranked your talents, it would be number one, music; number two, aggravating people?” she says, with this sickly-sweet tone that makes me want to kiss–

Whoa.

I definitely did not think that I wanted tokissIsla Romero to shut her up. Mostly because I’d be annoyed as hell if someone did that to me. Maybe not that annoyed if Isla did that to me, but–nope. Still annoyed.

“Yes, aren’t you annoyed already?” I say. “Clearly, my talents are working.”

“I don’t think annoying people is a talent. It’s more like a bad habit, or a sickness.” Her eyes light up when she spots something across the street. “If you really want to annoy my parents…”

“What?” I follow her gaze across the road. “You want me to show up with their only–”

“Oldest daughter,” she corrects.

“With their oldest daughter, on a motorcycle?” An array of motorcycles are available for rent across the street. I thought we were going to walk to the restaurant, but I don’t mind taking a bike, either.

“Everyone rides motorcycles here. I even used to sneak out to ride Paulo’s bike when we visited the Philippines.”

“So, it wouldn’t annoy your parents?”

“Oh, no, they’re surgeons. It would definitely annoy them if we showed up on a death trap. So, am I going to be in good hands with you?” We cross the street as the light changes, swallowed up in a cascade of other pedestrians.

I grab her hand to keep from losing her in the crush of other people. “What do you mean?”

“I meant on the motorcycle.” She shoots me a look like she knows my mind is in the gutter. Or at the very least, in the sewage drain. “Wait, have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?”

“Yes,” I say, possibly with more force than necessary. “I used to sneak out on my brother’s motorcycle, too.”

“Did he ever catch you?” she asks as we walk up to the lot and browse through the array, seeing mostly Yamahas.

“Yeah. Once.” That was right after he gave me his BB gun. “What about your brother?”

“He told our parents and they forbade me from ever doing it again,” she says with a dramatic sigh. “Ooh, what about this one?”

I look at the bike: candy-apple red. Sleek. “Sure. Let’s get this one.”

The colour reminds me of what Isla wore when we sang a duet together, not that I’ll bring it up.

After a few minutes, we hop on and are speeding towards the restaurant. “You know, most girls are scared of motorcycles.”

“You just insulted most girls,” she says, locking her arms more tightly around me as I maneuver between two cars. “Or maybe it’s your terrible driving that they’re scared of?”

“If that’s how you feel, why not get off before you die at the tender age of twenty-six?”

“I have plans to not live past twenty-nine,” she jokes. “And,youmight not live past twenty-nine after this dinner with my parents,honey.”

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