Page 62 of #Moonstruck

My face still hurt a little, but I felt back to normal.

Ryan, on the other hand, was anything but. When I found him in the lounge later and thanked him, he grunted out a response, never taking his eyes off the TV screen. It was not how he normally acted with me, and I wasn’t sure what to do.

I called Angie to get her advice and was again met with squeals. “I saw the pictures! I need more information! Why did you star in Ryan’s new music video?”

“Pictures?” I put her on speakerphone and then used the web browser.

If we hadn’t been front-page news before, we were now. Literally the entire world knew.

There was article after article about how Ryan and I were dating.

It was the photo attached to those stories that made me feel like I’d just been sucker punched. Somebody had captured the moment of Ryan showing me the deer. I watched the animals with total delight.

But Ryan didn’t face the deer. He faced me. And he looked at me like ... I had captivated him. Like he wanted me. Like I was the only thing that mattered to him in the whole world.

Or maybe I was projecting, because he certainly wasn’t acting like he wanted me now.

I didn’t even ask Angie for her advice. I found out how my mom was doing (same) and said I’d call her later.

Was this why Ryan was acting weird? The photos? Wasn’t that what he wanted to have happen?

Over the next few days, as we traveled through Idaho and Utah, Ryan stayed away from me. Which wasn’t easy to do on a bus that size, but he somehow managed it. His discomfort with me made me completely uncomfortable. Made me not quite myself. For example, on the stage in Salt Lake City, I said, “Hello, Seattle!”

I discovered fans don’t like it very much when you call out the wrong name of the city you’re in.

During Ryan’s show, I stayed in the wings, wondering if he would want me to come onstage again to sing “One More Night.”

He didn’t.

Thanks to the photo and rampant rumors, I had to stay off social media. Because when Ryan had initially asked me to be his pretend girlfriend, it had seemed like no big deal. I’d thought, what could possibly go wrong?

I quickly found out what could go wrong. The hatred of a million Luna-tics, for one. They attacked me online—all our videos had thousands of hateful comments. Apparently, it was all Parker could do to keep up with the vicious things put on our Facebook band page. He finally had to turn the comments off.

Was that why Ryan had grown distant? Things hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped? Did he blame me for the negative online reaction?

Some other part of me worried that I’d done or said something after I took the prescription at the medical center. Something totally humiliating that he didn’t know how to get past. I would have blamed it on the medication, but that wouldn’t have been why I did something stupid. My inhibitions had been lowered, and who knows? Maybe I’d tried to kiss him, which he didn’t want.

I’d built up whatever things I’d felt at the music video into something they weren’t.

I was way too embarrassed to ask.

It didn’t help that I kept finding new and terrible ways of adding to that embarrassment. Like after the Salt Lake City show, all the guys went out, even Vince and Anton. I stayed behind, excited to have the bus to myself for the first time ever. I cranked up some loud tunes and danced around the lounge in a T-shirt and shorts.

In the middle of executing a spin, I turned to see Ryan standing near the driver’s seat, watching me. I immediately blushed at being caught. I couldn’t read his expression. My heart raced, pounding hard against my chest. I took a step toward him, and he left. Just walked down the stairs and out into the night.

Something had definitely changed between us. Ryan wouldn’t talk to me. We were never alone. There were no more offers for fake dates or to spend time together.

Fitz even asked me if we were having problems, and he knew we weren’t really dating.

Things were so bad that when the bus stopped the next day to refuel at a truck stop, I approached Diego.

Since I’d joined the tour, Diego had kept his distance. I sometimes caught him watching me with a wary expression, like he didn’t trust me. Or just didn’t like me.

He was smoking a cigarette, and I smiled, trying not to let the smell bother me or make me think about my father. “Hey.”

“Maisy.” His expression was so cold. His body language screamed that he wanted to be left alone. He held his cigarette out toward me. “You want one?”

Gross. “No, thank you.”

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