Page 50 of On the Beat

ThatRyder Black is kissing me.

And I think I like it.

He smells like saltwater, tastes like something wild and free and impossibly powerful. My hand splays across the small of his back as I hear the faint thud of his sneaker-clad foot against the floor, making room for me to be drawn even closer toward him. His fingers carding through my hair, his other hand tugs my body against his with a firm grip on my waist until there’s nothing between us.

My tank top rides up, and his touch on that exposed sliver of skin sends a shiver down my spine despite the warmth of the room. I am acutely aware of everything and nothing; of the tiniest wobble of the bench as we move, the thud of his heartbeat when I rest my hand on his chest, the ragged inhale he sucks in when he pulls away.

“Ratethat,” he says. His blue eyes are wide, the pupils dark, swallowing his irises whole. They swallowmewhole. “Out of five.”

I catch my breath, my next words belying the smile on my face. “Three and a half stars. You need more practice.”

“Are you volunteering to help?” he asks, and there seems to be more sincerity in the question than I would have expected. A faint blush paints his cheeks, and he glances down at the callouses on his fingers, the marks from playing guitar. I remember how those fingers felt against my skin. It was seconds ago. It was lifetimes.

“Wait a second, you’re acting really… shy.” This isn’t exactly rock star behaviour, but maybe… there really is another side to him. Or maybe he’s not a person with sides at all–but a whole, integrated from all the bits and pieces that he gives to everyone he interacts with. “Have you done this before?”

Of course, he has Isla. He dated Skye Holland and probably a lot of other girls before you.

“I’ve kissed a girl before,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Just… not a lot of them.”

“Don’t you have a dozen groupies throwing themselves at you every time you leave the house?”

“I also have bodyguards,” Ryder says slowly, “and if I’m being honest, music is my biggest love.”

“Of course.”

What did he tell me about true love? That it was nearly impossible to find? Maybe it’s not that he isn’t looking, but that he already found it. Not in a person. But in music.

“Isla.” Ryder’s voice knocks me out of my thoughts, and I look up from my chipped, teal-painted nails. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I didn’t ask you to love me,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “I mean… I know what you meant.”

I nod, as if to cement this fact in both our minds. It was just a kiss. Not a promise, not a declaration, not even an admission of any feelings.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He turns back to the piano.

Of course, he does.

Like he said, music is his biggest love.

Maybe hisonlylove.

Chapter 24: Ryder Black

I’m glad we’re on the same page.

Are we? Have we ever been?

“Then, I’m glad that you’re not in love or anything. That would be crazy.” Isla shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. “The last time a guy told me anything remotely close toI love you, he broke up with me two weeks later.”

Genuinely curious in a sick, morbid sort of way, the way people are curious about ghosts or car crashes, I ask, “Who was he?”

“My first boyfriend, Rodrigo.” She rests her elbow on the piano keys with a discordant clunk. “He’s… well, among other things, why I left New York.”

The New York accent her brothers have doesn’t cling to her lips though. I’ve worked hard to erase any traces of my hometown—I didn’t want to be pigeonholed as a country singer—and I can tell she has, too. “Why else did you go?”

“I wanted to become a journalist. When I told my boyfriend I’d dropped out of my nursing degree, he dumped me. He was going to be an engineer, and he was the son of a family friend. We were supposed to have the perfect life together… but I guess I never wanted perfection.” She stares down at the keys. “A few days before I flew out here to visit family, I was on a blind date with a doctor.”

I try to crack a smile. I know all too well how your perfect life can veer into disaster. “How’d that go?”

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