Page 74 of Sounds Like Love

He stopped. Glanced over. “Slower, then?”

I hesitated. “Don’t you think?”

He thought about it, scratching his chin. He had a five-o’clock shadow, which surprised me because he rarely went anywhere without a clean shave. I sort of liked the scruff, with his hair half-pulled-up into a bun. It made him look … real. He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Maybe it’d be better slower,” he relented. “Like a ballad?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“And these lyrics—chorus or verse?” He tapped the phrase I’d written down, about getting it right.“Getting what right?”

“I … don’t know,” I repeated, searching the keys in front of me; eighty-eight of them, and not a single one called. It was like the thread I had caught yesterday on the beach had snapped, and I was left holding the frayed end.

Sebastian studied me for a quiet moment. Then he closed the notebook, pen inside, and put it on top of the piano as he stood. “Okay, let’s go do something.”

I looked appalled. “But we just started!”

“Sure, but you don’t get inspired here.”

I felt scandalized and affronted all at once. “OfcourseI do. This is the Rev! One of the most inspiring places—”

He gave me a dry look.

My shoulders sagged a little. “Then … where do you want to go?”

At that, he crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the piano. He must have gone shopping yesterday, because he was in a new and somehow more garish Hawaiian shirt.It was teal and orange with little flamingos and flowers all over it. He inclined his head. “Surprise me, bird.”

There were so many places I loved—the boardwalk, Cool Beans, the balcony of the Revelry … but one place in particular came to mind. I hesitated, because the responsible thing to do would be to stay and work. Force ourselves to get this song done. But …

I asked, “Have you ever had a piniwi margarita on a barge held together by duct tape and prayers?”

A grin curled across his lips, as if he was hoping I’d suggest that. “Can’t say I have.”

Chapter26(When It’s Not Always Raining, There’ll Be) Days Like This

UNCLE RICK’S MARGEbobbed along the surf beside the pier, blasting the Drifters’ “I’ve Got Sand in My Shoes” as it crested each wave.

The moment Sasha saw it, a jolt of joy ricocheted from his head to mine. It wasn’t even a thought. It was just sudden, pure, dizzying joy. He gave a laugh, already sliding out of his shoes as he headed toward the water. I told him that if we signaled to Uncle Rick, he could come to the shore and pick us up, but Sasha didn’t even bother.

“I won’t melt,” he teased, grabbing my hand excitedly as he pulled me into the waves.

The Marge had a few other patrons when we swam out to it, so Uncle Rick didn’t notice me until Sasha asked what the specialty margarita was today, and if he could get it nonalcoholic. Then Uncle Rick turned to him accusingly and went, “You want toShirley Templemy margs?”

Sasha put a heavy hand on his heart. “It’s a sin and I admit it.”

Uncle Rick narrowed his eyes. Then gave a single nod. “I respect the hell outta that. Nini, this the new friend you were telling me about?”

I laughed, flustered. “Um—actually, yeah. This is Sasha.”

He nodded, giving Sasha one more look down—

I froze.

When had I started referring to him as Sasha again? I couldn’t really remember, though if he’d already noticed, he hadn’t said anything.

He slid a sly look to me.“So you’ve been talking about me?”

I stared up at the margarita menu, trying to summon nonchalance.A little.

His mouth curled into a smirk.

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