Page 65 of #Moonstruck

I climbed into my bunk to google how to remove permanent marker from skin. The consensus seemed to be rubbing alcohol. I rummaged through my medical bag, but my bottle was missing. I knew I’d packed it. Bringing along first-aid supplies always fell to me since my brothers couldn’t take their health seriously. I could have broken bones jutting through my skin, and they’d still be like, “You’re fine. We don’t need to go to the hospital.” Sometimes I worried that I was the only thing keeping them all from dying due to botulism or a staph infection.

I heard the moment Ryan woke up and the yelling and laughter that ensued. It even sounded like some wrestling occurred.

Cole ran through the bunk alley, yelling, “It’ll come off! It’ll come off!”

A thudding sound let me know Ryan had tackled him.

I got out of my bunk, and they stopped fighting. Ryan immediately stood up, while Cole lay laughing on the ground. Cole had drawn cat whiskers, a cat nose, and surprised eyebrows on Ryan’s face. “Do you see what your brother did?”

He didn’t wait for my answer but went into the bathroom. He grabbed a bottle of water and poured it over a washcloth. He then put some soap on it and started scrubbing.

“That won’t work. You need rubbing alcohol.” I was torn. I wanted to go in and help him, but he’d made it obvious he didn’t want anything to do with me.

“There is no alcohol of any kind on this bus,” Cole called out from the floor. “Anton drank all of it.”

I wondered if that was what happened to my rubbing alcohol. “I can grab some when we get to the hotel.” There had to be a lobby with a gift shop.

“I can wash my own face.” Ryan let out a growl of frustration since his method wasn’t working. He went to his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Part of me wanted to let him figure it out on his own. The other part of me felt responsible because someone with my DNA had done that to him.

We arrived at the hotel, which ended up being a collection of adorable log cabins with a barn, open grazing fields, and a whole swath of forest.

Which, of course, immediately made me think of the last time I’d been in a forest with Ryan, and my blood pressure spiked in response.

“This resort is a working cattle ranch,” Piper told us as she passed out the room assignments. “It’s one of the few places that could fit a group our size near the arena. You are welcome to participate in any of the activities during your free time.”

I was told I’d be in a two-bedroom cabin with my brothers. I watched as Ryan slunk off, a hoodie pulled up over his face to prevent anyone from seeing what Cole had done. I asked Fitz to take my luggage with him to the cabin and found the main lodge. They did have a small store, and I located rubbing alcohol and cotton balls.

After I paid for them, I tucked them into my carry-on and went over to the cabin I’d seen Ryan enter. He answered the door after I knocked three times in a row.

“Let me help,” I said when he answered. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds and then moved aside.

He appeared to have a cabin to himself, and the inside was nothing like the outside. I had expected moose heads, old quilts, and musty corners. Instead, the kitchen was the nicest I’d ever seen. Wooden beams held up a high vaulted ceiling, and the furniture, while comfortable and cozy-looking, was obviously expensive.

Ryan sat down at the small table in the kitchen. I took out the supplies I’d bought.

It was then it occurred to me that in order to clean his face, I was going to have to touch him.

I swallowed hard, dousing a ball in alcohol. He was just like any other guy. This was not a big deal. I could clean him up without freaking out. Then I started scrubbing his forehead, concentrating on my actions and not on how his warm, smooth skin felt beneath my fingertips. As the internet promised, the permanent marker began to lift off. “It’s working,” I told him.

I tried to keep my breathing even as I rubbed the cotton against the bridge of his nose and across his sculpted cheeks. He really was beautiful.

He carefully watched me the entire time.Just get the marker off and go,I told myself.

Finally, it was all gone. “Okay.” My voice sounded strained and breathy. “Go and rinse your face with warm water and soap, and you should be good.”

“Thank you.” He acted like it pained him to say it. The chair scraped across the tile floor as Ryan stood. I gathered up the cotton balls and found a trash can under the sink in his kitchen. I screwed the lid on the rubbing alcohol and put it in my bag.

We both finished at the same time. Ryan came out of his bathroom drying his face off. Part of his hair was wet. He pushed his hair back, away from his forehead. “I need a haircut,” he said as if he knew exactly what I was thinking and what I’d been looking at.

I do not know what possessed me to say, “I can cut it for you.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Cutting his hair would be dangerous. Very dangerous. Standing so close, touching him. While my brain malfunctioned over the possibility, my mouth short-circuited and started blathering off nonsense. “It’s what I do. Cut hair. Or I did. As my job. Before I came on tour with you and started playing music. My mom insisted we all have fallback jobs, and I didn’t want to go to college, and beauty school sounded like the easiest thing. Although I’m sure you don’t want me to do it. I’m not all that great, and you probably have someone you pay a thousand dollars an hour to cut it—”

“Sure.” Ryan cut off my rambling.

---