Page 86 of #Moonstruck

Jordan interrupted us by bringing out a big bag, and we thanked him. Ryan’s driver waited out front, and a single paparazzo stood on the sidewalk, taking pictures of us. I wondered how he knew where we were. Who would have called him? The hostess?

I didn’t have long to think about it before we were in the car and on our way. Ryan told the driver after he dropped us off he should grab one of the bodyguards and go back to give Fox keys to a car to use to drive Angie home.

Sometimes the logistics of his life were a little exhausting.

Ryan tugged me over and wrapped me in his arms. I settled my head against his shoulder and sighed when I felt him drop a kiss on the top of my head. “It seemed like something was bothering you earlier, but we spent the ride over talking about my dad. Did something happen?”

My experience growing up with men had taught me they were generally oblivious. I liked that Ryan recognized when I wasn’t quite acting like myself. I told him about Elaine and the recipe.

“That’s good. Now you have the recipe you’ve spent so much time searching for.”

He was missing the point. “But it’s not what I thought it would be.”

“It doesn’t matter what you thought it would be. You have it, and you can make your mom’s brownies for the rest of your life. That’s what matters.”

“I actually bought the mix and frosting at the store today. I was thinking about making them when we get ho—when we get back to your house.”

If he noticed my slip, he didn’t comment on it.

Embarrassed, I rambled, “The whole thing made me sad, and then I did something I probably shouldn’t have. I went online and looked at comments on YouTube. They were not nice. At all. Your fans do not think we should be together, and it made me feel, I don’t know, insecure. They don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

He reached over and lifted my chin so I could look at him. “Remember earlier when I told you the only person whose opinion matters to me is yours? When it comes to us, the only voices you should be listening to are yours and mine. It doesn’t matter what a million teen girls think of our relationship. It matters only what we think. I love you. I also like that you think of my place as home.”

So much for him not noticing.

Then he kissed me, softly, briefly, lovingly.

Being with Ryan made me feel better. Being held by him, loved by him, made all those other awful words, insults, and doubts slip away.

“So, Mr.De Luna, what exactly are your plans when you get me home?”

“I can’t say. I’ve been told it’s not polite to kiss and tell.” His fingers ran across my collarbone, up my neck, and over my jaw. I couldn’t help but shudder.

“Then maybe we could do some kissing and not telling.”

He grinned. “Okay, you talked me into it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The next day, both of us still aglow from our yummy make-out session the night before, Ryan and I picked up Angie on our way to the theater. He told me that, as promised, he had a bunch of designs and pictures of dresses for me to look at. I wanted to get Angie’s opinion, too, since she always dressed so cute.

We huddled together, scrolling through the photos. So many of the dresses were short, black, and covered in metal studs. Probably to appeal more to my rocker vibe. But I didn’t want to show up to the awards show looking like I’d just escaped from a biker gang.

“I like this one” was something Ryan said repeatedly. Like the one that had a neckline down to the navel (navelline?). Or the one with the leg slit that went up to the same spot. Or the multiple dresses sporting see-through bodices. Now he was saying it about a strapless pink minidress that looked like it belonged at a prom on a much shorter girl.

“I’m not wearing something strapless. I’m not dealing with tugging that thing up all night or trying to sit in something that short.”

“I don’t see the problem. I think it would be flattering. I’m thinking only of you.”

Yes, I was sure he was thinking only of me. I rolled my eyes. “Flattering? Yeah. Okay. Thinking only of me? By the way, you’re not as slick as you think you are.”

“I am the very definition of slick,” Ryan said, his eyes twinkling. “Subtle. Totally mysterious.”

“You are unmysterious. Obvious.”

He wouldn’t give in. “I am an enigma.”

“Not even a little.” He was such a guy.

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