I despised the smell of coffee. He’d drunk coffee around the clock, and every time he’d deigned to grace us with his presence, the coffeepot would be on day and night.
“Hey, Maze? Have you seen this?” There was a weird tone in Fitz’s voice.
“Seen what?” Knowing him, it was probably some clip of a bunch of guys burping and farting that he thought was hilarious. I put my ear closer to the guitar string as I slightly turned one of the top tuning pegs, finally satisfied with the sound.
“This.” He shoved his phone in front of my face. It was the YouTube video of me singing “One More Night.” He asked, “Did you know about this?”
That was a stupid question. “Yeah, I know about the video. I’m the one who filmed myself singing it.”
“I’m not talking about the video.” He scrolled down slightly, and the first thing I saw was the number of views.
Just a little over one million. “A million views?” I gasped, grabbing at his phone, wondering if I was hallucinating.
“Really? A million views?” Parker asked, coming to peer at the phone over my shoulder. “How much money is that?”
“I can’t math that high right now!” My brain was too excited to figure it out. It was probably only a few thousand dollars, but it was more than we’d ever earned from an upload before.
“That’s why Mom wanted you to go to college. So you could math,” Fitz teased me, apparently enjoying my mental freak-out.
“You mean like you did?” I quickly retorted. “Before you dropped out your junior year to pursue your lifelong dream of paying back student loans?”
“How did we get so many views?” Cole asked, coming over to stand next to Parker.
“Keep scrolling down,” Fitz instructed.
The very first comment I saw was from Ryan De Luna, and he’d posted it twenty-four hours ago.
CHAPTER FIVE
So many thoughts happened all at once that it was hard to keep track. Beautiful? Who was beautiful? Me? The song? Did he recognize me from his concert? If so, was he being sarcastic? Or did he really like my cover of his greatest hit? If he liked it, was Ryan the one who actually commented on it? If not him, it had to be somebody who worked for him, as the post was from the official Ryan De Luna channel on YouTube. Had Diego shown it to him? Would the views keep going up?
What was happening?
There were more than a thousand replies to Ryan’s comment. I didn’t bother looking at them because I already knew what they would say. They’d be either some variation of how much that fan LLLOOOVVVEEEDDD Ryan or offering up creative new ways to get rid of me since I’d somehow managed to nab his attention.
“He’s also got this video on the landing page of his website,” Fitz added. “Didn’t you see this guy the other night? What exactly did you do?”
Now all my brothers had their arms folded and were glaring at me. “Oh please, like I’d hook up with this commercialized hack for some views. Give me a little credit. The only thing I did the other night was insult him. Repeatedly. To his face.”
None of them looked like they believed me.
“Come on, our fan is here,” Cole said. “We should get started.”
We often joked about our fan (singular). His name was Joe, and although my brothers had initially suspected him of harboring a crush on me, he just seemed to really like our music and showed up every week to hear us play. Because the rest of this crowd were people who just happened to stop in and get a drink, and girls who lusted after the male contingency of our band. Last and definitely least, you had the guys smart enough to have figured out that hot chicks showed up to hear Yesterday play, and they came to hit on the women.
So yeah, we didn’t make much money from playing music. If any of us had been able to quit doing it, we would have. But the love of music, of performing—it’s like an infection that seeps deep into your soul, becoming a part of you. Even if I decided to walk away—no more band, no more uploads, no more performances—I would still play. Still write. It couldn’t be stopped; it was too much a part of me. Same for my brothers.
I slung my guitar strap over my left shoulder, standing in front of the microphone. When we’d started out, I’d suffered from crippling stage fright. The kind that had me puking for about ten minutes straight, right before the show. But we’d been at it for so long that now being onstage felt normal. I belonged here, performing. Sometimes I had to force myself to concentrate on what I was singing because I’d done the same songs so many times that my mind could drift. I would think about what I wanted to eat when the show was over. But that could ruin the performance, so I tried to stay focused.
Which was harder than usual, considering the YouTube views and the fact that Diego had promised to come tonight.
We ran through our set. Cole played keyboards, Fitz was on bass guitar, and Parker played drums, while I was on lead guitar. We took turns singing our songs, but I did most of the singing. That was because Fitz had talked to somebody in the industry ages ago who’d told him that girl-fronted bands tended to make more money. I don’t know if that was an actual fact, but my brothers treated it like gospel truth even though they all sang just as well as I did.
I couldn’t see very far past the first row of tables because of the stage lights, but I had hoped Diego would sit right in front. I wondered if he’d made it.
We finished our final song of the night, “Yesterday” by the Beatles. It was our signature song, and at each show we performed it differently. Sometimes we stayed true to the original. Other times we did a fast-paced rock version, a ska-sounding or punk-inspired one, a cappella—whatever we were in the mood for. Tonight we kept it old-school.
Fitz thanked “everyone” for coming out, and we started breaking down our equipment to haul it back to the van. No roadies for unknown bands.
I hummed to myself as I packed up. I never felt more alive than I did after a performance. My skin hummed; my heart pounded like a snare drum in my chest. There was something about getting up onstage and singing your heart out that gave you this absolute rush of adrenaline. It made you totally wired, and it took a while to come down from that high.
Which meant that after a show, we basically kept vampire hours.
After we’d loaded everything, we went back inside. Rodrigo always fed us the most amazing quesadillas as part of our payment. I looked everywhere for Diego, but I didn’t see him. It bothered me. I was the kind of person who kept my word. I found it annoying when others didn’t.
“Did you see the redhead at the bar?” Cole asked, holding his hands out in front of his chest. “With the big . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked at me.
“I’m not a child. I know how that sentence ends.”
“The redhead with the big brains was what I was trying to say.”
I couldn’t hold in my derisive snort. “Yeah. I’m sure you could see her brains all the way over here.”
“Where? I love big-brained girls,” Parker said, his head swiveling back and forth as we sat down at an empty table.
“She must have gone to the bathroom or something,” Cole responded.
Seriously . . . men! That woman could have all the personality of a wooden plank and my brothers would still want her. Which I knew because of all the planks of wood they’d previously dated.
“There she is. Dibs!” Cole called out, giving the redhead a wink.
“You can’t call dibs!” Parker protested, elbowing Cole in the ribs.
I tried to help them out. “Just so you know, women really dig it when you reduce them to objects you can call dibs on.” They ignored me.
“You know the band pecking order. Men with picks and sticks get first shot. Which means Cole’s out of luck,” Parker informed us. Both of my brothers stood up and tried to look like they weren’t running toward the bar, but they were jostling and attempting to trip each other on the way. I hoped the redhead liked her men with a side of immaturity.
Fitz stayed put at the table, drummi
ng his fingers against the top. Heather, the waitress who usually worked nights at Rodrigo’s, brought a tray of quesadillas and set them down in front of us, along with four sodas. I thanked her, and she said to let her know if we needed anything else.
“You’re not going to throw your hat in the ring?” I asked Fitz after I’d polished off my first quesadilla. Not only did performing make you energized, but it also made you ravenous.
“Not tonight.” His ex-girlfriend had done something to Fitz that made it so he couldn’t let go of her and couldn’t move on. I didn’t get it, but to be fair, I didn’t ask. I’d found that guys didn’t much care to talk about stuff like that.
But I should probably try. “Did something happen with Miranda?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Women should come with instruction manuals.”
“Why? That would be totally pointless. I’ve lived with three men my entire life, and I’ve never once seen you guys read instructions.”
That at least made him smile, which made me feel better. He polished off his entire Dr Pepper in one gulp and then asked, “Weren’t you supposed to meet a guy here tonight?”
“Looks like he didn’t show.” It was probably for the best. But why keep in contact with me, promise to come, and then just blow me off? It was really rude.
“Don’t forget we have to vet him before you go out on an official date.”
It would probably be bad if I threw my half-empty mug at Fitz. “No, you don’t. I’m an adult who can make her own choices.” I grabbed his empty glass and my mug. “I’ll get us refills.” And would refrain from spitting in his drink, which I thought was very big of me.
I made sure to go to the opposite side of the bar from where my brothers were attempting to lure the big-brained redhead with their smooth-talking game. Or shiny objects. Whatever worked.
Rodrigo stood a couple of feet away, talking to a guy in a hat seated on a bar stool. I walked toward them and waited for a break in the conversation. I’d never seen Rodrigo look so serious before. Usually he joked around with my brothers and teased me.
When they finished, I called out, “Hey, Rodrigo, another Dr Pepper and root beer, please?” I passed the empty glasses to him and noticed what looked like a Korean newspaper folded in half on top of the bar.
“Sure thing, Maisy.”
“Thank you!”
The man with the hat spoke. “So you are capable of being nice.”
That voice. It seemed familiar. I noted his glasses and ball cap, and then he turned.
Ryan De Luna.
“What . . . who . . . what?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out my phone, then slid it along the bar. “As promised, your phone.”
I just blinked at him, then at my phone, then at him again. “Did Diego send you?”
Ryan frowned. “What does Diego have to do with this?”
A rushing sound filled my ears as I realized what had happened. “Wait. You’re the one who’s been texting and emailing me the whole time?”
“Yes.”
“I—I thought you were Diego.”
Some movement and female voices murmuring behind me drew Ryan’s attention. “Could we move this someplace else? I’m parked out back.” He grabbed the Korean newspaper, threw a hundred-dollar bill on the bar, and without even looking to see whether I followed, he left.
Part of me wanted to let him walk out of my life and pretend none of this had happened, but the rest of me demanded answers.
When I went behind the club, Ryan stood next to a silver Prius. He opened the passenger door for me, and I got in without saying a word. He made his way to the other side and sat next to me, causing the temperature to rise about ten thousand degrees. He took off the glasses and hat and threw them in the back seat.
I felt kind of rebellious doing this. On the list of Things Maisy Should Never Do, sitting in a parked car with a boy was pretty high up there. If my brothers saw us, they might possibly pull Ryan through the windshield.
“Why did you think I was Diego?” he asked. Ugh. Even his profile was handsome. I forced myself to look straight ahead so he couldn’t confuse me with his good looks.
“He had my phone.”
“You mean after you insulted me and stormed off?” He actually sounded amused. Had it been such a novel experience for him that he didn’t know he was supposed to be offended? Because I happened to be excellent at offending people.
I couldn’t help it. I had to look at him, if only for the chance to try and figure him out. He flashed me the biggest, most sincere, blinding smile. I wanted to melt.
“Diego threw your phone on the couch. I’ve had it ever since.”
The question explosions returned. Why did Diego toss my phone? He knew it belonged to me. It kind of seemed like he was hitting on me. Why would he throw it away like it didn’t matter? Not even try to get it back to me? And what had possessed Ryan to pick it up, especially given how I had talked to him? Had I really been chatting with him this whole time? This guy I was relating to, starting to like from our texts and emails . . . was Ryan De Luna?
Angie’s head was going to pop like an overinflated balloon when I told her.
“Have dinner with me.”
It took me a second to make sense of his sentence. Was he . . . asking me out on a date? “What?”
“Have dinner with me,” he repeated, slower this time.
“No, I heard you. I just couldn’t believe you were serious. Because I’m not even a little bit interested in signing up for the Ryan De Luna Conquest and Bedpost Notch Tour.”
He smiled again, and there was so much charisma behind it I felt dazed. “This isn’t about notches. I’m currently notchless at the moment.”
“Ha. I don’t follow you or read tabloids, and even I know that’s not true.”
“I can tell you only the actual truth. What you choose to believe is up to you. And I wasn’t asking for a date. I have something else in mind.”
Then he put his arm around the back of my seat, and I was slammed with a cacophony of sensations—my heart raced, I couldn’t breathe, my neck flushed, my skin prickled. I knew what he had in mind, and despite my body’s reaction, I wasn’t interested.
“Um, thanks for returning my phone. I should probably get back.” Before my overprotective idiot siblings organized a mob and/or I did something I’d completely regret.
“Wait. I have a proposition for you.”
My stomach lurched and twisted. My brothers had warned me not to get into a situation like this! If Ryan’s proposition included any of my body parts that were currently covered by clothing, I’d tell my brothers’ mob where to find him. “Proposition?” I hated how my voice squeaked at the end.
“I need an opening act for the rest of my tour.”
Why was this both a relief and a disappointment?
“You have an opening act.” I distinctly remembered them. A group called For by Four, which I told Angie was either a spelling mistake or grammatically incorrect. They were a bunch of girls from a reality talent show that had been put together as a group and had a couple of Top 100 hits. They had lip-synched their entire set list.
Now Ryan looked uncomfortable. “There was . . . a misunderstanding.”
“What kind of misunderstanding?”
“The kind where Leilani told the world we were in a relationship even though we’d barely even spoken.”
I had a vague recollection of Angie saying something about them dating. “You can’t really blame people for believing her. You do, um, date a lot.”
“I thought you didn’t follow me and didn’t read tabloids,” he teased, his eyes laughing, which caused a yanking sensation just below my stomach.
“That’s how bad it is. Even I know you’re a manwhore.”
“I’ve had maybe one serious relationship in my life that ended when I found out she was selling private pictures and texts to the highest bidder. Anything else is either publicity or lies. It’s not easy to find s
omeone you can trust. Most women don’t want me. They want Ryan De Luna.”
He led a charmed life. He didn’t need my pity. I didn’t want to feel bad for him, even though when his voice cracked a little, I considered hugging him. “If nothing happened between you two, then why would it matter if Leilani said it did?”
“Because when I confronted her about it, she offered to, you know, notch me to make things better. And didn’t want to take no for an answer.”
It took me a second to realize what he meant. “I’m not a spinster schoolmarm. You can use the actual word.”
“Not according to Rodrigo.”
Rodrigo? “How do you know Rodrigo?” I felt like my whole world was spinning crazily out of control, and nothing made sense anymore.
“He used to be a studio guitarist. He went on my mom’s last tour. When you told me this was where you played, I got in touch with him and asked about you and Yesterday. He said you were a really good girl and that I should be a gentleman.”
Next time I saw Rodrigo, I was going to punch him for not telling me he used to play and then let him know I was full up on older brothers and not holding auditions for a new one.
“That doesn’t explain why, out of all the bands in the world, you would choose us to open for you.”
Ryan sighed, drumming his thumb against the steering wheel. “There’s a few reasons. The first is that you and your guys are good. Really good. You’re actual musicians who play actual music. I want to move in a new direction with my sound. I want it to be more like what you’re doing. And Rodrigo told me I’d be a complete idiot if I didn’t have you opening for me. I kind of owe him.” He let out a little laugh. “There’re some other reasons, but I don’t know you well enough yet to tell you.”
He was serious. I thought it had been some kind of move or ploy. That maybe he never had a woman not show interest in him so he was going to extraordinary lengths to move me into Luna-chick territory.
He wasn’t done. “There’re about thirty stops left on the tour. You’d earn $15,000 per show, plus whatever merch you sell.”
#Moonstruck_A #Lovestruck Novel Page 5