Page 7 of #Moonstruck

“It’s not a ‘girl’ group, it’s a band.” I hated when guys said stuff like that. As if a woman being in a band automatically turned it into something else besides just a band. And hadn’t I just said my brothers started it? Listening obviously wasn’t one of his social skills.

In the middle of my indignation, I realized I had totally forgotten about Angie and why we were here. I jumped to my feet, miscalculating Ryan’s proximity. We lined up perfectly, nearly touching, and my pulse throbbed so hard and fast that I worried somebody would be carting my never-fainted-before self off to the ambulances.

“Have you met Angie Villanueva?” I asked, my throat dry and my voice scratchy. “She’s a widow. Her husband died last year in combat. And she’s also a big fan.”

He heard my unspoken implication. “And you’re not?”

Like that wasn’t allowed or something. I so wanted to say, “No, your music blows,” but I would be good for Angie’s sake.

When I didn’t respond, Ryan shot me a perplexed look and turned away, stepping back so I could finally breathe again. I sucked air into my lungs, trying to calm down. Ryan shook Angie’s hand and thanked her for her husband’s service and her sacrifice. I could tell from the twist of her mouth that she didn’t like that I’d played the widow card, but it had been worth it since Ryan was being an absolute angel to her, despite being a despicable devil with me.

A red-hot, breath-stealing, fiery, despicable devil.

“Would you like to get a picture with me?” I heard him ask after they’d made some small talk that consisted mostly of Angie telling him how much she loved his so-called music.

“I would love that.” She beamed at him and pulled out her cell phone. “Oh no. I filmed the concert, and my phone died. Can we use yours, Maisy?”

“Yep.” My hands shook as I slid my phone out of my back pocket. Ryan put his arm around Angie’s shoulder, and they both faced me, smiling. I willed myself to relax or else the picture would be blurry and then Angie would kill me, and I totally wouldn’t blame her.

“Say ‘cheesy music,’” I instructed.

They both ignored me and just said “cheese.” I snapped about ten shots of them. There would have to be some out of that bunch that would work. “All done.”

Ryan didn’t move. “Do you want to join us? How about a group shot?”

Something about his tone and word choice bugged me. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Diego can take the picture.” Ryan kept talking like I hadn’t said anything. I glanced at his cousin and saw a mutinous expression on Diego’s face that quickly dissolved. This was one of the reasons why my Rule #1 existed. Sensitiveartistetypes were seriously moody. Like they had unending PMS.

“Come on, Maisy, I want to memorialize this night!” Angie waved me to her. I could say no to Ryan De Luna all night. Angie? Not so much.

As if everyone knew I would cave, Diego came over and grabbed my phone.

“This one’s going on the website. Ryan’s number-one fan,” Diego murmured teasingly, and I shot him a dirty look.

I lined up next to Angie, but she wasn’t having it. “No, on the other side of Ryan.”

Why did it matter? I sighed softly but moved over to Ryan’s left side and stood as far away from him as I could.

“Scoot in, Maisy.” Diego made a motion to punctuate his request. “Closer. Closer. A little bit closer. I promise Ryan’s had all his shots.”

Now it was Ryan’s turn to sigh. He put his arm around my waist, pulling me to his side. The entire right half of my body went up in flames, my skin igniting like a million Roman candles all exploding at once.

“Say ‘cheese’!” Diego directed. “Stay there. Let me make sure the lighting is good on this one. We can’t have a bad picture of Ryan floating around out there.”

Now he was just torturing me. He probably thought it was because I didn’t like Ryan. I was sure Diego had no idea how my entire being feverishly reacted to touching his cousin.

Then Ryan made it a million times worse. He turned his head toward me, his breath hot against my earlobe, and I almost collapsed.

Until I heard what he was saying.

“Flirting with and using my cousin is not the way to get my attention. I don’t appreciate your antics.”

I pulled back to look him in the eye. I had really tried. Well, I had sort of tried. But Ryan De Luna had just reached the end of my very short tolerance rope, and I was done. “You are seriously the most arrogant, self-centered, douche-iest jackhole I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. And I live in Los Angeles and work in the music industry, so that’s saying a lot.”

I jerked away, freeing myself from his grip. “Just so you know, I’m not even a little bit interested in you. Like, at all. I was just hanging out with Diego while Angie got her chance to meet you. I know you’re a celebrity, and you haven’t been friends with reality in years, so here’s your long-overdue check—I’d much rather date Diego than you. And I don’t date musicians!”

Then Ryan did the most shocking thing yet.

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