Page 21 of #Moonstruck

“Don’t call me that. I don’t know what I want. But what if I say no, I don’t want to tour with Ryan De Luna?” I couldn’t imagine months of my brothers jumping to idiotic conclusions where he and I were concerned.

“We need the money.” Parker looked at me in the rearview mirror.

I let out a big sigh. My siblings loved deciding things for me, which I hated, but this was one situation even I knew I couldn’t refuse.

Cole seemed to sense my acceptance. He patted me on the knee. “You can say no if you want, but then we’d always think less of you.”

We pulled up in front of the diner. I felt both relief and a bit of panic when I saw that Ryan’s car was there. As we climbed out of the van, I was hit with the smell of pumpkin pie, my absolute favorite. It had been so long since we’d stopped by this diner that I’d forgotten they served it year-round. I worried a bit about how the introductions would go but stopped with my hand on the front door when I realized my brothers had stayed on the sidewalk, near the van. “What are you doing?”

“Go on ahead of us. We’re going to have a discussion on how to handle your new boyfriend,” Cole said.

If I kept rolling my eyes this hard, I was going to permanently detach them from my eye sockets. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not even boyfriend-adjacent. We’re not going to date, and the quicker you Neanderthals get that through your furrowed foreheads, the easier your lives will be. Now I’m going in not because you told me to but because I really want pie.”

Holding up my head, I marched inside. Just as I remembered it. Black-and-white-checkered floor, a long Formica counter running the length of the restaurant, and booths with black vinyl seats. There weren’t many people in the diner, and Ryan sat all the way in the back, near the bathroom. He had his hat and glasses on. “Hey,” I said, sliding into the booth.

He sported that bone-melting smile again. “I didn’t know if you’d come.”

“Here I am.” Yeah, this wasn’t at all awkward. How was it possible for one person to be this good-looking? He sat there looking like a half-Latino Clark Kent. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was so handsome he could have been a movie star, he had this ... power. This draw that made it so you didn’t want to look away from him. Like he was the sun and you were the planet formerly known as Pluto, desperately wishing you weren’t so far apart but knowing he would burn and consume you with just one touch if you altered your orbit to get closer.

He was so gorgeous he made you think inappropriate things.

Not that it had ever happened to me.

“What about the rest of the band?”

“Outside, acting like morons.” I pointed at them as a waitress approached. I asked for the pumpkin pie and told her to bring some for Ryan as well. He started to protest, but I insisted she bring it.

“I don’t really eat processed sugar,” Ryan said. “I’m into the whole clean-living thing.”

“Me, too. Although sometimes my clean living includes eating a pound of fudge at midnight.”

He nodded seriously. “Sometimes you just have to eat a pound of fudge at midnight.”

“You say that like you’ve done it.”

“Oh no, I don’t have food issues.”

Without thinking, I leaned over and smacked him on his manly forearm. “I don’t have food issues!”

He laughed. “The pounds of fudge consumed at midnight would suggest otherwise.” Which made me laugh, too.

The waitress returned with our slices of pie, topped off with Cool Whip, and we both thanked her. I immediately dug in and couldn’t help but let out a little moan when the combination of pumpkin, ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg hit my tongue. “This is seriously the best thing that has ever happened to my mouth.”

“That’s sad.”

He was such a flirt. And I had the racing heart rate to prove it.

“It’s not sad. It’s amazing. Try it.”

Ryan took one tiny bite, just enough to taste it. “It is good. But I can say with all confidence that it’s not the best thing that’s ever happened to my mouth.” The fiery intensity of his stare was enough to make my Cool Whip melt.

I swallowed hard. He was making this difficult. I was going to go on tour with him unless my idiot brothers were outside coming up with a way to ruin that, and I didn’t know how I would be able to handle a sweet, nice, flirtatious Ryan De Luna.

Maybe it was just a waiting game. If I gave him enough time, he’d go back to accusing me of using his cousin to make him jealous. Or bragging about how great he was or how women worshipped him. Something.

Then I could get over this teeny physical crush I had on him.

Okay, this King Kong–size physical crush I had on him.

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