Page 67 of #Moonstruck

“I’m messing with you,” he said. “Your eyes are your best feature. Not only because they’re beautiful, but also because before I met you I didn’t know how much eyes could convey. How I’ve never felt more like my real self than when you look at me.”

I was so glad I was standing behind him and he couldn’t see me, because I had not prepared snark for that statement. “Trying to write a lyric?” was all I came up with. I cut his hair quickly, faster than I’d ever cut hair before. I needed to be finished and leave.

“Trying to tell the truth.”

We were silent as I focused on his hair. I grabbed the clippers and finished the bottom half. I was satisfied with how it turned out, but I kept turning his words over in my head. Why was he suddenly being nice again? Flirty?

Saying things I shouldn’t want him to say?

“All done.” I began to pack up my stuff, wanting to get clear of his cabin before I did something stupid. Much as I did two seconds later when I asked, “Why would you say something like that to me? You’ve spent the last few days doing nothing but avoiding me. People are noticing.” I noticed. All the time. And it was making me miserable.

He turned around in the chair so he could look at me. “I feel terrible about everything that’s happened. Not only at the concert with the eggs and your guitar but also what my fans are saying online. I knew some people would be upset. I didn’t think they’d all go crazy. The label’s happy, though. No such thing as bad publicity for them.”

“There’s something you’re not saying.” I could hear it in his voice. He was holding back.

He gulped, looking deeply uncomfortable. “I said something to you that I shouldn’t have.”

Ryan had been a total gentleman with me. What could he possibly be talking about? “When?”

“In the car. After the doctor visit.”

“When I was passed out? The last thing I remember was walking through the medical center.”

A dozen different emotions crossed his face. “You don’t remember what I said?”

“What did you say?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The thundering in my chest made me think it did matter.

A lot.

“I miss you.” I blurted out the words, surprising myself. I didn’t know where that confession came from, only that it was the truth. “I miss my friend.” At some point Ryan had become my friend. My very hot, very sexy friend, but still my friend. I missed spending time with him. Laughing with him. Playing music with him.

At that, he stood and pulled the towel away from his neck. He walked over to where I waited next to the kitchen table. “Maisy, what do you think is going on here?”

“A haircut?” I asked, every nerve ending tingling in response to being close to him again.

“I mean between us. What do you think is going on between us?”

I was confused. “You hired me to be your fake girlfriend.”

“And the fact that we’re attracted to each other means what?” His voice was deep, gruff.

Molten heat filled my veins, making it hard to think. “I’m not ... you’re not ...” But I couldn’t deny what he’d said. I was ridiculously attracted to him. As he was to me. I realized he wouldn’t have said “we” if he didn’t feel what I felt.

But he was still Ryan De Luna. Still a musician. Still had the ability to shatter my heart. He’d stopped speaking to me for a few days, and I’d totally fallen apart. What would I do if I fell in love with him and he betrayed me? Or walked away?

I wouldn’t recover.

“It’s just a side effect. From pretending to be in love for the video. I mean, we are in close proximity all the time. Some of your fans think I’m stalking you.” My attempted explanation, my stab at saying something lighthearted, fell flat.

“I’m also in close proximity to Piper all the time, but I don’t think about her the things I think about you.” His fingers went around my waist and pulled me against him, the contact explosive. My breath caught as delicious heat consumed me, the flames licking and biting as they traveled across my skin. I closed my eyes for a second, unable to sort out so much sensory stimuli all at once. My limbs felt drugged, too heavy to move or use.

When I opened my eyes, he stared down at me with his fiery gaze, and my knees threatened to give way again. “I know what I want. But I don’t want to pressure you or influence you. Think about what you want. About what this means. When you figure it out, come and find me.” He said it with so much confidence. He was so sure. As if he knew something I didn’t and was waiting for me to catch up.

Then he released me, walked over to his front door, and held it open. His touch had apparently disconnected my legs, and it took a few moments for my brain to regain possession. When I could move again, I grabbed my bag.

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