Cutting his hair would be dangerous. Very dangerous. Standing so close, touching him. While my brain malfunctioned over the possibility, my mouth short-circuited and started blathering off nonsense. “It’s what I do. Cut hair. Or I did. As my job. Before I came on tour with you and started playing music. My mom insisted we all have fallback jobs, and I didn’t want to go to college, and beauty school sounded like the easiest thing. Although I’m sure you don’t want me to do it. I’m not all that great, and you probably have someone you pay a thousand dollars an hour to cut it—”
“Sure.” Ryan cut off my rambling.
I had expected him to say no. That he had somebody who would fly out and take care of that sort of thing for him. His gorgeous locks were too important to leave in the hands of a semiprofessional such as myself.
“Oh. Okay. Are you sure?” I didn’t want to force him to endure my presence.
“Yes, Maisy. I’m sure. I’m getting a little scruffy.” A bit of that light was back in his eyes, the teasing, intense one that made my stomach feel hollow.
“You know, we were just on the set of your music video. You could have had the professional hairstylist cut it then.” Suddenly my brain shifted gears, and I wanted to cut his hair. To do something nice for him to show him I was grateful. To get the chance to be close to him. What I didn’t want was for him to agree only because . . . I was here. Still convenient.
“They wanted my hair a little longer for the video.” But he didn’t say anything else to reassure me.
Deciding I was an adult and could handle it, I took one of the kitchen chairs and put it next to the sink. “Sit here. It’ll be easier to clean up than trying to cut your hair in the bathroom. Not that you’ll be the one sweeping it up. I’m sure they’ll have somebody who—” I was rambling again. “I’ll be back in a second.”
He did as I asked, and I went into the bathroom and grabbed the shampoo and conditioner the ranch had provided. I didn’t recognize the brand but figured it would work. I also took a couple of fluffy white towels.
Then I rummaged through my bag to find my special hair scissors, a comb, and clippers. I cut my brothers’ hair on a regular basis, so I brought them along in case I needed them on tour.
Ryan watched me as I walked over. “Lean forward,” I told him. I stood between his legs, his arms on either side of my outer thighs. My hands shook as I put one of the towels around his neck. “I’m going to, um, wash your hair first. It’s easier for me to cut wet hair.”
I turned the water on, letting it run until it turned warm. I had him tilt his head back so I could get his hair under the faucet. “Is that too hot? Too cold?”
“It’s just right.”
I was about to wash and cut his hair. Which meant touching him even more. I let out a sigh and pushed his hair under the water. As I’d imagined, it was really soft.
This was something I had done every day for years. I’d washed the heads of thousands of people. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just a job. Totally impersonal.
Unfortunately, nothing about this moment felt impersonal.
I put a small amount of shampoo in my palm and scrubbed it in. I let my fingers gently dig into his scalp, and I lathered up the shampoo. I did it slowly, enjoying the sensation of getting to touch him. The wet, silky threads of his hair slid across my hands, caressing them. I broke out all over in goose bumps.
He let out a soft groan of pleasure. “That feels really good.”
My knees buckled. Literally buckled. They smacked into the cabinet under the sink, but I caught myself before I landed in his lap.
Concentrate! Instead of lingering, I tried to be all business. It didn’t help that he sighed and relaxed even more, obviously liking what I was doing. I was so intent on trying to finish that I didn’t notice when my hair fell across his face until he tugged gently on the ends.
“Sorry for hitting you in the face with my unruly hair,” I said. I turned off the water and dried my hands. Then I dried his hair with the same towel. I ignored how close I had to stand to him to do this.
“I don’t mind,” he said after I finished. “I’m curious. Why do you keep your hair so long?”
“Get up for a second.” He stood, and I repositioned the chair in the middle of the room so his hair wouldn’t get into cabinets or on countertops. “You can sit.” I got my scissors and comb and waited while he sat back down again.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded me.
That was probably because I had been trying desperately not to make eye contact with him. My pulse still hadn’t quite recovered from how much he’d liked getting his hair washed. “It’s not even that long right now. I cut six inches off a few weeks ago. Anyway, when I was little, Rapunzel was my favorite fairy tale. I wanted to grow my hair down to the floor until Parker pointed out that she grew her hair long to let her kidnapper in and out of her prison. Which sort of ruined the whole thing for me. Then it was because I wanted to be strong like Samson.”
My scissors stilled. I’d never told anyone that before. Not even my brothers.
“Why did you need to be strong?”
I pulled up a section of his hair and snipped. Muscle memory took over, making it so that I could cut and chat at the same time. “Because my mom needed me to be. She relied on all of us a lot. She did her best, but in the end, she was devoted to a man who didn’t care about her. Or us.” My throat felt thick, as if I’d suffered another bee sting. I cleared it, wanting a lighter note. “Now I don’t know. It’s my best feature.”
“As a guy, please allow me to tell you that it is not your best feature.”
Blood rushed out of my brain, leaving me light-headed. “Oh? What is?”
“I’m too much of a gentleman to say.”
I hit him on the shoulder, and he laughed, and it felt like nothing bad had ever happened between us. We were back to being Maisy and Ryan again. Or Mayan, the couple name the tabloid sites had taken to using.
“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.
I paused in the doorway, feeling like I should say or do something.
Instead, I just left, my mind and heart jumbled up. What did Ryan want from me?
More important, what did I want from Ryan?
What I wanted and what I needed were two very different things. I had my rules for excellent reasons. I didn’t arbitrarily wake up one day and decide I would stay away from musicians. Yes, they were passionate people who loved music the same way I did, but they were flaky and commitment-shy and broke hearts. Women lined up just to breathe the same air they did. Pleeches were willing to do absolutely anything to be close to regular musicians. They were a thousand times worse when it came to guys like Ryan. I didn’t want to always feel insecure, to always be wondering if my significant other would be faithful to me.
Rules are made to be broken.
Ryan’s words echoed in my head, but he was wrong. Rules were meant to keep us safe. To protect us.
Yes, I was attracted to him. Along with every other heterosexual female on the planet. That didn’t mean I had to act on it. We could stay friends. Good friends. Who enjoyed each other’s company and did not get physical.
Because if I kissed Ryan, there’d be no going back. I’d cross a line I couldn’t uncross. I already felt so many complicated things for him. If I added cuddling, hand-holding, and kissing, I knew it would destroy me.
That’s what I would tell him. I would keep pretending to be his girlfriend for as long as he needed me to, but that had to be it.
When I went around a bend to our cabin, I saw two people pressed up against one of the walls seriously making out. Like they’d chosen that spot solely to make a mockery of my decision. As I got closer, I realized it was Fitz and Piper. They were wrapped up in each other, oblivious to everything around them.
My first reaction was a combination of “Good for them!” and “Ew, disgusting.”
Then my heart and my stomach ached, wanting that kind of passion for myself. With Ryan.
They didn’t even notice as I walked by. So much for Piper never dating someone she toured with.
Rules are made to be broken.
Maybe Ryan was right. And I was wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t crush my soul and my heart. Maybe we had a chance.
Maybe, like Fitz and Piper, I deserved some happiness in my life.
The next day my brothers decided to do some of the activities the ranch provided, like horse roping or cattle riding or something. I just needed my steak to be on a plate. I didn’t need to know what it did during its downtime.
Although everything Fitz said now seemed suspect. Was he really going off with Cole and Parker? Or did he have secret plans to meet up with Piper? Did my other brothers know about them? I guessed they didn’t, because there would be relentless tormenting if they knew.
I wondered what they would do if they found out what I was considering when it came to Ryan.
“What are you going to do today?” Parker had asked just before they left.
“I was planning on going for a walk.” A walk right over to Ryan’s cabin.
My rational, logical self kept reminding me that keeping my distance was the best thing I could do. The smart choice. I didn’t want to lose his friendship.
But you could have so much more than just friendship! I’d never dated anyone seriously before. The idea of Ryan being my boyfriend, for real, was thrilling in a way I hadn’t ever experienced. I wanted to be with him. It was time to take a chance.
After tonight’s show we would have an entire week off. My brothers were going to rent a car and drive over to Billings because Parker’s favorite band (entirely female, naturally) was playing. I had suggested flying home, but nobody else wanted to. I supposed I would tag along but didn’t have any definite plans yet.
Maybe Ryan and I could spend some time together. Just the two of us. With no overprotective siblings nearby.
I decided to text Ryan to see if he was in his cabin. Often in the mornings and afternoons, he had radio and magazine interviews. I couldn’t find my phone anywhere. I had just located it on the back of the toilet (?) when the front door opened and shut.
I heard Fitz’s voice. I wondered if he had a secret rendezvous planned that I was about to mess up.
But Piper wasn’t with him. He was on his phone. “We’ve got a few weeks left on the tour, and then we can get it ready to put on the market. If you’re right about how fast it will sell, we need to be home in order to move our stuff out.”
Unable to believe what I was hearing, I walked slowly to the living room. Fitz’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. He was shocked to see me.
“I’ll call you back later. Thanks.” He hung up.
“What was that?” I half expected him to say it was none of my business.
“I told you about the house. I’ve been talking to a couple of real estate agents.” He wouldn’t look at me. He went into the kitchen, got out a glass, and filled it with water from the sink.
“You said we might have to sell. We’re making so much money now, and I got us caught up.” I’d been going through all kinds of things to make sure we were okay financially. I’d even been forced to give up my favorite guitar for it.
Fitz drank the entire glass, and I wondered if he was trying to avoid talking about it. But I was not going to let him get out of this conversation, and he seemed to know it. “We’re gambling on the chance that we’ll get more tours and more sales after this. We may not, Maze. This may be all there is. Especially with the way Ryan’s fans are reacting to the news that the two of you are ‘dating.’” He used his fingers to make air quotes. “We may be the most hated band in America by the time we’re done.”
He was saying this was my fault. I had agreed to something I never would have agreed to normally just to keep our mom in Century Pacific. And now he was saying it was my fault?
I was too mad to even speak.
“We have to act like this is all there is. If we sell the house, save all the money, and use just the interest, that will be enough to pay for Mom’s care for as long as she needs it.”
I noticed he didn’t say the rest of her life, even though deep down, we all knew that was the case.
“Especially given how upset Ryan seems to be with you lately, I’ve been really, really worried. We have enough money from the tour to live off for a while, but we both have to realize that this could all go away tomorrow and act accordingly. We may not need the money from the tour once we sell the house, but your relationship will affect our ability to get future gigs. If Ryan’s hurt or bitter, he could ruin our reputation with every venue, every promoter, with a single tweet. We’d never work again.”
While he was not being explicit, his tone implied what he wanted to say. That he had warned me to stay away from Ryan. To not let it become real. Because as I knew too well, every real relationship eventually ended. And then we’d be fired because Ryan wouldn’t want his ex-girlfriend on tour with him. He’d fired the previous opening act for less. I hadn’t listened to Fitz, and now all our futures were threatened because of it.
“I’m sorry, Maze. I know how you feel. It’s how we all feel. None of us wants to sell the house. But we don’t have a choice. It’s what has to be done.”
My brother walked by me and patted me on the shoulder as he left me alone with my thoughts and regrets. I sank down onto the couch, letting my phone slip out of my hand. I couldn’t text Ryan now. I couldn’t do anything to risk my professional relationship with him. This job was too important.
It mattered more than anything else.
Including my heart.