Page 42 of #Moonstruck

“When a musician goes broke, it destroys people’s perceptions. Think about a musician who lost all of his or her money—that’s all you remember about them. Not how many hits they had or how much you liked their music, just that they went bankrupt. It would ruin my endorsement deals. Who would buy clothes from my fashion line or pick up my perfume if I can’t even hold on to my millions of dollars? No one would ever take me seriously again. Perception is everything in entertainment, unfortunately. It’s also why I had to sign a new three-album deal with my label. I needed the money. Now I’m stuck making the music they want me to make. Although I guess I can’t really complain.”

“Have you tried?” I asked. “It’s literally like the easiest thing in the world to do.” That got me a small smile, but I could tell how upset the whole thing made him. I hoped he’d told his dad to get lost. “Does your dad still handle your finances?”

“No.” He let out a short, sardonic burst of laughter. “I hired a business manager, but my dad doesn’t know about it. His job is pretty much title only these days. Not that he cares. As long as he can convince barely legal girls to go home with him to the house I paid for, that’s all he cares about. That and his hair plugs.”

The bitterness was evident in his voice, and I couldn’t blame him.

Not able to help myself, I reached out, laid my hand on top of his, and squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to have a crappy, selfish father.”

Then I did something that surprised both of us. I leaned over and kissed his cheek, letting my lips linger longer than what was probably normal. I heard his breath catch when I did it, felt his jaw tighten.

When I started to pull away, he reached out and grabbed my face to hold me in place. “Maisy.” He said my name like a plea. As if he was asking permission. The air thickened around us, making my limbs feel heavy, my vision hazy.

He was going to kiss me.

I couldn’t let that happen.

“Ryan, wait.”

He went still. Waited.

I tried to ignore the lava that bubbled in my stomach, the chills that ran up my spine to my neck and spread out from there.

“I’m not ... I’m not ready for you to kiss me.”

“Why?” The word was strangled, as if it took every bit of restraint he possessed to hold back. He rubbed his thumb against my lower lip like it was some kind of substitute for what he really wanted. The feeling of that slightly calloused skin leaving puddles of fire on my mouth was almost my undoing.

“Because ...” What could I say that wouldn’t make me look like a total fool? That I was afraid of the fact that I was starting to have feelings of the not-hatred variety for him? That I knew the more physical we became, the faster I would fall? That this was supposed to be fake? Pretend. Not actual life. It was a business transaction. That I didn’t want to see the look of pity on his face when he realized it had become real for me? Because I knew, deep in my gut, that if we kissed it would be totally real for me.

I didn’t want to be the girl who was, as he’d said earlier, convenient. Sure, he thought I was pretty and wanted to kiss me, but that didn’t mean I should let him. I had to protect myself. Because the more time I spent with him, the more I got to know him, the more I suspected that if we kissed, I would do nothing but spend all my time thinking about him and wanting to be with him. I would stop caring about everything else that mattered to me in this world—my mom, my brothers, my music. I knew Ryan De Luna would be all I would see. Already, I could barely resist his charm and magnetic pull.

If he kissed me? I’d lose myself completely.

Much as my brothers wanted the job, the only one who could protect my heart was me.

“Because I can’t. Not yet.”

He swallowed. Hard. “Okay. You tell me when you’re ready.” He pressed his forehead to mine like he couldn’t bear to let me go. That sweet gesture made my heart thump even faster.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

No matter how many times I reminded myself, it didn’t seem to sink in.

When we did pull apart, it was slow and gradual.

And totally awkward. “I thought after-parties usually included, you know, an actual party. With other people.”

Yep, that didn’t make things worse.

Sigh.

“I thought it would appear more meaningful that I wanted to be alone with you.”

Because it was me, I had to make it about a thousand times more stupid. “In that case, I’m surprised you didn’t bring me into your bedroom.”

I could feel the blush start in the general area of my chest, claw its way up my neck, and then settle onto my cheeks, hotter than any California wildfire.

Please don’t let him notice.

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