Page 53 of On the Beat

But, I’m not sure Paulo would have cared to teach me how to swim. I’m not sure he’d ever look at me like this, like there’s something about me that he’s never seen before, something he is terrified of losing. Or maybe I’m reading something on Ryder’s face that doesn’t exist.

“I care, because I saw Eddie lose his mom, and I don’t want–” he grimaces. “I don’t want to lose anyone else. Not just because of me. If you were gone, it would hurt Paulo, and your parents, and your brothers…”

He’s bringing up familial ties. Maybe I was right. Maybe this is nothing but a weird platonic relationship that we have, the sibling kind where you bicker and hate each other and would die for each other in a heartbeat. Minus the kissing.

He says, finally, softly, “I care, because you’re… you’reyou, Isla.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I say, my hands dropping to my sides. I’ll let myself be open to this, even if all he will give me is answers that disappoint, harsh truths that slap me across the cheek.

“Isla, you’re the girl who writes music reviews that tell the truth, not just what people want to hear. You’re the girl who challenges me and who got onstage and sang beautifully even though you were scared. You’re the girl I thought I couldn’t trust, but you’re more loyal, more loving, and more generous than anyone I know. You’re…”

Ryder looks at me like words aren’t enough. And he must be reading my mind, because the next thing I know, I’m wrapping an arm around his neck, tugging him toward me, and pressing my lips to his.

He’s kissing me.

Ryder Black is kissing me, again.

The arrogant pop star who hates my guts.

The man who treats an orphaned boy like his younger brother.

The celebrity holding on to a petty feud with Naoya Sugawa.

The guy who gave up his privacy to help the country that isn’t even his home.

His fingers card through my wet hair, his other hand tugging my body against his with a firm grip on my waist until only our secrets lie between us.

I feel the tiniest ripple of the water as we move, the thud of his heartbeat when I rest my hand on his chest, the faint sigh he gives as his hand skims my nape.

Then, I hear it.

Theclickof a camera shutter.

The familiar excited tone of a paparazzo or fan or even a stalker, saying something I don’t understand or can’t comprehend, my mind fogged up as surely as the windows would be if we were in a car.

“Crap.”

I think we just got caught.

Chapter 26: Ryder Black

Kissing Isla Romero is like a dream.

Everything that comes after is a nightmare.

A paparazzo’s voice yells, “Ryder! Ryder, look over here!”

I don’t look. Instead, I tug Isla toward me, her shell-shocked face pale beneath her golden tan and smattering of freckles and hide her face in my chest.

“I don’t need to be protected,” she says, half-muffled against me.

“Do youwantto be famous?”

“You know, I didn’t think you were going to be so protective over me. It’s not a big deal.”

I don’t have time to decipher her words as I hear a familiar voice yell out her name.

“Isla, why are you in the pool? We all know you hate the water.”

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