Page 44 of #Moonstruck

“Has it been only two minutes? It feels like a lifetime. Are you sure I can’t kiss you?”

I was sure, right? There was a good reason for it. At least, I thought there’d been some reasons why we shouldn’t do that. I just couldn’t remember them. When he looked at me like that, with hazel fire burning in his eyes, I couldn’t remember my own name. I was pretty sure I had one of those.

What I did know was that I couldn’t stay. I needed some distance from him, and that, hopefully, would give me some perspective. “I should probably go.”

“Okay.”

My feet weren’t cooperating, and neither was Ryan. He stood there, immobilizing me with his hotness.

“So, uh, thanks again. Especially for earlier with the shoulder. And for, you know, letting me cry all over it.”

“My shoulders are available anytime you want. I’ve got two of them.”

He sure did. Two amazingly broad, well-sculpted shoulders.

That were totally distracting me.

“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, probably.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I moved across the room and felt his gaze on me with every step. Like he was touching me even though he was twelve feet away.

As I walked down the hallway, I had a serious conversation with myself. Rule #1—never date a musician. That hadn’t changed. I wouldn’t actually date Ryan. I could pretend to, for the sake of his career and my mother, but I wouldn’t let it be more than that. Nothing deep or real. Just a light, mutually beneficial friendship.

I had to stay strong. Remember my rules. Not fall in love.

And never, no matter what I wanted, let him kiss me.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I tossed and turned most of the night trying to figure out what I could do to improve my impossible Ryan situation. I just had to be an adult. Be in control of my behavior. Not turn into a puddle of goo every time I got within a six-foot radius of him. I needed to steer clear of him and remember that there were so many red flags warning me not to date Ryan that he was basically Communist China.

I hoped maybe I could sublimate some of my want for him by doing physical exercise. Like running.

I’d taken up running after my mother’s diagnosis. Mostly because it helped me cope with the situation but also because if things like Alzheimer’s ran in my family, exercise and eating well were some of the best ways to stave it off. (Even if I didn’t quite have the eating-well part down yet.)

At about five thirty in the morning, I headed over to the private gym reserved for the crew. It was empty except for the electronic dance music playing loudly over the speakers. I hated EDM. It sounded like a computer having an epileptic fit. Fortunately, I’d brought my MP3 player, and I turned on some running music and stuck my earbuds in. I got on the treadmill and plotted a course of intermittent running with varying inclines. I really wanted to push myself today.

I got into the groove, rocking along to some of my favorite eighties songs and pouring all my excess energy and worry into the run. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of my feet hitting the machine.

I was so caught up in this little world I’d created that when somebody tapped me on the shoulder, I lost my footing, and like something out of a YouTube video, I fell forward and smacked into the control panel and then onto the running belt. I felt my face make contact with it before I was thrown backward. I landed on my stomach, the wind totally knocked out of me.

Stunned, I rolled over on the floor and tugged my earbuds out, breathing hard.

Ryan hovered above me. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

I blinked a few times, wondering if my imagination had conjured him up. “I don’t think anything’s broken. I’m fine. But everything hurts.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” That’s when I knew it was actually him. My imagination Ryan would have offered me chocolate and sung me a song.

“I think I’m okay. But maybe I’ll just lie here for a little while.”

At that, his teasing expression faded. “Are you sure? Are you not telling me how bad things really are? I can take you to the hospital.”

“I’m fine,” I told him. “I’m not downplaying anything. Go work out.”

He hesitated, like he didn’t want to leave me. I waved him off, again telling him I was mostly okay.

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