Page 50 of #Moonstruck

“Right. I forgot because of how you look at each other and how your voice sounds when you talk about him.” She paused. “How many times have you guys kissed already?”

“None.” Ha!

“How many times have you almost kissed?”

Uh. Well, that one was a bit trickier.

“I knew it! You love Ryan, and you’re completely moonstruck, and you’re going to have little moon babies.”

“What’s a moon baby?”

“I don’t know, but you’re going to have one! I’m going to be best friends with the wife of the world’s biggest pop star.”

“Or you’re going to be best friends with the lead singer of the world’s coolest band.”

“Shh,” she told me. “I’m picturing your wedding. I’ve caught the bouquet made out of sheets of music.”

“Which means you’ll get married next. Speaking of ... have you talked to Fox lately?”

“Fox?” She sounded completely confused. Maybe I had misread that situation. “Why would I talk to him?”

“That night at the concert, I thought I saw something between the two of you.”

Now there was silence from Angie’s end. I hadn’t imagined it!

“You can marry Fox and become his vixen and have little fox babies. Which are called kits.” I had totally looked it up.

“That’s not his real name. It was one he got at boot camp because he was wily and devious. His real name is Eugene.”

Fox was definitely better. “I love that you know that about him.”

“This conversation has taken a turn for the weird. I’ll talk to you later.”

I got her to stay on for a few more minutes as I asked her about my mom. But my mother was the same. No changes, and she had been calm and contented.

She hadn’t missed me at all.

I promised to keep in touch, glad I had at least planted the seed in Angie’s mind about Fox.

Keeping in contact became difficult because we were so busy. We did several more performances in parts of the country I’d never seen before. Each time we did a show, it felt just like the first time. I hoped that would stay true. That it would never become old and boring, and I’d be just as excited someday at my last show as I was now.

Our bus was a complete and total bro-zone. Every other occupant of the bus changed wherever, and they were often in various states of undress. Which was fine; I was used to it.

Except for Ryan.

That never failed to make my pulse race and my breathing become shorter and faster.

Which I think he knew.

Like the night I came into the lounge and found him playing video games. He kind of sucked. I said as much.

“See that leaderboard?” He brought up the screen. “Number one, thank you very much.”

Then he rested his hand on his bare stomach, and it took all of my willpower not to do the same.

Sarcasm was my only defense. “Against twelve-year-old kids. I’m super impressed.”

“You can do better?”

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