Page 36 of On the Beat

I take the gel from her, my fingers brushing hers, and say, “How bad is my sunburn?”

She eyes me, her gaze skimming over me from the crown of my head, over my torso, and stopping around my navel. “Well, it’s mostly on your nose and the tops of your shoulders.”

I uncap the bottle, starting to rub it on my face, wincing slightly as my fingers graze the raw skin. When I move onto my shoulders, though, Isla stops me.

“You missed a spot.” She reaches up on her toes, her thumb skimming over my cheek, smoothing the gel next to my ear. “There you go.”

Trying to maintain my composure, I fail miserably as I give a too-sharp inhale. “Stop being so nice to me. It’s weird.”

“I think the appropriate response to that isthank you, Mr. Krabs.”

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to help me with the rest of my sunburn, but now I think I’ll just fire you, SpongeBob.”

Isla cocks her head to one side like I’m a science experiment she’s trying to dissect. “I’m awfully relieved to hear that, you lobster.”

I stretch my arms above my head, wincing at how the material of my tank top chafes against the sunburn. “And that coming from the arsonist?”

“I may be an arsonist, but it’s better than being the one who gets burned,” she says, eyeing my reddened skin, but somehow, I don’t think she’s talking about sunburns anymore.

“Amen to that.” My eyes meet hers for a moment before she turns away, her gaze skittering toward the bottle of aloe vera.

“Do you want me to help you?”

I want you to tell me the truth.

I want you to tell me why you came to El Nido.

I want to know what you’re running from, because I get the feeling you’re escaping something, too.

“Sure,” I say at last. “You can help me.”

She picks up the bottle from where I’ve set it on the dresser and makes her way toward me like I’m a predatory animal ready to strike. I sit on the edge of the bed, and Isla stands with her legs on either side of mine.

The cool gel glides over my left shoulder and I have to fight the urge to let out a sound embarrassingly close to a whimper at the frisson of pain that stabs through me.

Isla lifts her head, her face narrowed into one of extreme concentration. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I lie through gritted teeth as she repeats the motion on the other side.

Her hair spills over one shoulder, brushing against my face. “Too bad.”

“I see why you didn’t go into medicine. Your bedside manner is atrocious.”

“At least I knowsomethingabout medicine, which is more than you can say. Were you going to stay out there until you got skin cancer?”

“Since when do you care? You just said youwantedto hurt me.”

“Yes, I wanted you to get hurt out of your own ignorance,” she snaps.

Stepping closer to me and picking up the tube of gel, her foot lands directly on top of the cap, and she nearly slips. I grab her by the hips instinctively to steady her, and her hands land on my shoulders with a yelp as she regains her balance, nearly sprawling onto my lap.

Her shirt rides up, and my fingers land on her soft, bare skin. I suck in a sharp breath as her ponytail brushes my cheek, tickling my nose.

The door flies open.

“What are you doing?” Eddie, hands on his hips, surveys the two of us like he’s engrossed in the latest Marvel movie.

“What areyoudoing here?” I release Isla. Well, more like she jumps off of me as if I’m a radioactive spider and she doesn’t want to be the next Peter Parker.

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