Page 41 of Animal Beats

Río leans over. “Score one for the drummer over a PR guru.”

The suave tone of his voice, combined with his utter smugness, make my head shake. “Fine. I’ll give you this one.” I hold up my index finger. “One. Don’t let it go to your head.”

He runs his hands through his blond hair, causing my fingers to tingle. Tingle? “I’ll try to keep myself in check. Or you can do it for me.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Warning bells go off. It’s best to back away from where this conversation’s heading—way too dangerous—so I cloak myself in work. “Remember, you better not cause a stir at the restaurant. No more riots.”

He traces an imaginary halo above his head. “Trouble finds me, not the other way around.”

This guy is much too endearing for his own good. Super talented. Funny.

Get a grip—he’s a trainwreck waiting to happen. An entitled one at that. I sit taller. “You’re not to encourage anyone, do you hear me. Or, better still, we could order in.”

He pulls deeper into the leather seat. “Sacrilege. No, we’ll go to the restaurant and eat cheesesteaks like proper Philadelphians.”

A new thought pops into my mind. I presume his parents’ place is out of the question, given all he’s told me. “Alright. And where do you want to stay the night? Do you have a house in town?”

“No. My house is in LA. We can get a hotel room.”

I comment, “Just like on tour.” Which serves as a good reminder—Río is the exact opposite of me. He lives in fancy hotels, while I call a one-bedroom apartment home. It means nothing to him to dole out hundreds of dollars for a dress. We’re from different solar systems. Doesn’t matter that I’m really enjoying getting to know the man beneath the drumsticks.

I pick up my cell. “I’ll get right on it.”

The fact that he doesn’t offer to make the reservations confirms his entitled status. Don’t forget this truth, Hayden.

“While you’re doing that, I’ll get us a car service. I can’t wait to show you how incredible an authentic Philly cheesesteak can be.” He rubs his hands together before picking up his own phone.

Shortly, the plane lands. We’re escorted onto the tarmac and into a waiting black SUV. After an eventful ride with more traffic than I believed possible, we pull up to a small restaurant. Given it’s only eleven in the morning, the parking lot only has a few cars.

I give him a stern glare. “Remember, don’t make a scene. You can take any photos fans request, but no more call-and-repeats.”

He salutes me. “Gotcha, Captain Babysitter.” The driver opens the door. “Follow me.”

Río slides out of the vehicle and turns, offering me his hand. I take it and am pulled onto the street. The building in front of me looks well cared for, if not a bit old. “You’re sure this place has the best cheesesteaks in the entire city?”

“Without a doubt.” He offers me his arm, but I refuse it in case a fan lurks around the corner.

His brown-eyed gaze lingers on me for a second before he shrugs and leads the way to the front door, which he opens. “May I at least hold the door for you?”

Something tugs at me. Is it the overlay of resignation in his voice? “I appreciate it.”

His grin is my reward, which I return for a moment.

Inside the restaurant, lighting is dim despite the sun outside. Booths line the room. Wood paneling is on the walls. The menu is printed above the counter, offering a variety of sides that can be added to the cheesesteak. I allow Río to order while I calculate the cost. At least this won’t put too much of a dent in my wallet.

I approach the register. “I’d like a cheesesteak with peppers, onions, mushrooms, and provolone, please. Oh, and a diet soda.” The clerk rings up our orders and looks to Río for the total.

“I’ve got it.” I pass over my credit card before the drummer can even pull his wallet out of his jeans.

Río picks up the tray and walks us over to a booth. “I didn’t mean for you to pay. I’m supposed to be showing you my hometown delicacy.”

“Which you are,” I contradict him. “Besides, it’s not much.” I can afford this luxury. No more, though.

We sit and seeing UC’s drummer here inspires me. I grab my phone and click on the camera. Certainly not as good as my actual Sony, but it’ll do in a pinch. “Smile,” I order and Río obliges. Soon, I’m taking lots of shots both with and without him. Details of the restaurant. The handwritten menu on the chalkboard. Río sitting alone, but ready to stir up trouble.

In a good way.

When did my opinion of him morph?