Page 6 of #Moonstruck

I was about to tell him when I caught Angie’s panicked expression. I couldn’t get Fox in trouble for doing this. Especially not if I planned on informing Angie that she should love him and get married and make more adorable babies. But Ryan’s mesmerizing nearness was messing with my head in a totally bad way, and I had no lies to offer.

Diego rescued me. “I put them on the list. Maisy here and ...”

“Angie,” I added.

“Right, Angie. You know how bad I am with names.”

So there.

I expected him to leave, but Ryan stayed put, staring at both of us as if he didn’t like what he saw. And every moment that passed made me more and more uncomfortable. Like he could see into my black, orphaned soul or something.

That and the physical awareness of him made me feel panicky. As did how good he smelled. He hadn’t showered yet, and I should have been turned off by that. I learned once in a biology class that when women are ovulating, they are more attracted to sweaty men. Like their ovaries have magnificent-male-specimen radar.

I had to be ovulating because I kind of wanted to do nothing else but smell him for the rest of my life.

It freaked me out. “Why are you just standing there? Do you want me to thank you for the partial deafness? Which is kind of a big deal considering I need my hearing for my job. Consider yourself thanked.”

“They’re called earplugs,” he retorted. “You should look into them.”

Okay, this celebri-douche was working my last nerve. I gestured to the Martin guitar in his right hand. “So do you actually play that thing, or is it like everything else in your life, just for show?” Because of my brothers, I’d learned quickly that the key to dealing with cocky men was to strike hard if you didn’t strike first. (Other things I had learned included eating fast at meals if you wanted to have seconds and, in the middle of the night, always checking the position of the toilet seat so you don’t fall in.)

“I play. Do you?”

I couldn’t back down from the challenge in his voice. “Of course I play.”

He raised one eyebrow as if he didn’t believe me. “Are you any good?”

Was I any good? Seriously? “Better than you.”

“That’s a pretty low bar,” Diego added in a joking tone, sending up a chorus of oohs from the other band members.

I had felt good about my attack strategy right up to the moment where I saw the fleeting pain in the internationally famous bajillionaire pop star’s eyes. Then it disappeared. “So play something,” Ryan instructed, handing me the precious, snowflake-sparkly unicorn guitar that I wanted to grab and run away with.

I let my fingers drift along the grain of the smooth wood and tested a few chords. It was surprisingly in tune already. I considered being a brat and spending an inordinate amount of time adjusting it to my exact specifications but gave that up when I saw Angie’s face. I had promised her I would be on my best behavior, and here I was provoking Ryan instead.

I played the first verse and chorus of my band’s most popular (187 downloads to date!) song, “Lost.” I hummed along, caught up in the melody, not able to help myself. My sort of twin brother, Cole, and I had written it on a night where we were both really missing our mom. Thinking of her made my throat feel hot. I had to stop playing before I started bawling.

Letting my fingers go still, I realized the room had fallen silent and I had played with my eyes closed.

When I opened them, they instinctively sought out Ryan.

And he looked at me like ... I couldn’t have explained it. There was this connection there, this invisible string stretching taut between us that made my breath catch.

His anger had faded. Music had soothed the savage pop star.

Ryan’s expression shifted, and he looked confused. Like I was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

“I think the lady wins. Definitely better than you,” Diego said. Reluctantly, I handed the guitar back to Ryan.

And still we just stared at each other. I think Diego asked me if I’d written it, and I might have said yes, possibly adding that I was part of a band my brothers had started five years ago, but every cell in my body was focused on the man standing in front of me.

I didn’t understand why.

“Usually when girls play, it’s some indie-folk thing.” Diego nudged me. Like he was trying to get me to stop looking at Ryan.

It didn’t work. “I like rock. I was raised well.”

“What about Angie?” Diego asked, nodding his chin in her direction. “Is she part of your superhot all-girl group?”

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