Page 22 of #Moonstruck

Trying to look away from him was like trying to pry two really powerful magnets apart. There was a lot of resistance. I somehow managed it, though, averting my gaze down. I saw the same paper he’d had at the bar.

“What’s with the Korean newspaper?”

“It’s a little trick I learned from a story about David Bowie. He used to walk around New York and never be approached. He said it was because he always carried a Greek newspaper. Like people would see him and think, ‘Is that David Bowie?’ and then they’d figure it couldn’t be and that he was a Greek guy who just looked like him.”

“Except for the fact that nobody reads real newspapers anymore. You’d think it would actually draw more attention to you.” I didn’t get how other people could stop staring at him. So far I hadn’t figured it out.

Ryan shrugged. “It mostly works. That, and people tend to overlook you if you’re somewhere they don’t expect you to be. Like this diner.”

Stop staring at him. You’ve seen good-looking men before. Why are you acting like this is the first time it’s ever happened?

I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.

“So, tell me the names of the other guys in your band.”

That startled me and let me know how long it had been since I’d last spoken. So long he felt like he had to keep moving the conversation forward. “Um, the tallest one is Fitz, the one in desperate need of a haircut is Parker, and the one waving his arms around is Cole.”

“Since you don’t date musicians, do you just hook up with them instead? Any history there I should know about? Touring with exes can get complicated.”

I choked on my pie and tried very hard not to gag. “Ew. Gross. Zero history. They’re my brothers. And the no-dating thing includes hooking up. I don’t, how did you put it, notch with musicians, either. That’s also a rule.”

“So, what, you notch nonmusicians?”

I could feel the flush burning its way through all my layers of skin, setting my cheeks on fire.

“No.”

His eyebrows flew up. “Seriously? You’ve never—”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but never. It’s something I plan on waiting for. Until I get married.” After watching my mother throw away her entire adult life, I had no intention of following in her footsteps. I would never give that much of myself to just some guy. Especially some musician guy. The only way I could imagine it ever happening was if I was so committed to someone, and so trusted him, that I was willing to marry him.

Marriage was something else I didn’t imagine myself doing anytime soon.

But it wasn’t really appropriate diner conversation.

Thankfully, he changed the subject. “They’re all your brothers? Even ...”

“Even Cole,” I said firmly, not willing to explain our sordid family history at this point in our professional interaction.

Because that’s all this would ever be. Strictly professional.

He got the hint. “Is Fitz short for something?”

“Fitzgerald. Our father wanted to name us all after famous jazz musicians. Cole is short for Coltrane, and then Parker couldn’t really be shortened.”

Ryan ate another tiny sliver of pie. “I don’t know anyone in jazz named Maisy.”

I pushed down the lump in my throat as I thought of my mom. “My mother insisted that I be named after my grandmother. So my middle name is Ellington. When I was little, my mom used to call me Maisy Ell. Have you heard that old song about Daisy?”

He shook his head, so I hummed a few bars and sang the chorus.

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do

I’m half-crazy all for the love of you

It won’t be a stylish marriage

I can’t afford a carriage