Page 10 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“Yes,” I lie. “Everything’s fine.”
“Good.” Her smile is warm, but her eyes are calculating. “I’m so glad you’re here, darling. I think this will work out perfectly for everyone.”
The way she says it sends a chill down my spine.
Ryder catches my eye across the table, and for a moment, I see something there. Sympathy? Warning? But then he looks away, back at his plate, leaving me wondering if I imagined it.
“A producer from Sound Nation called me earlier,” Miranda says to Ryder. “They want to book the band to perform next month.”
Ryder nods but doesn’t directly answer, keeping his attention on his dinner plate.
I try not to stare at him, but it’s impossible not to notice things. The way he holds his fork. The way he sits with a slight slouch, yet holds a dominating presence. And, dang. The way he has an unconscious habit of running his hand through his hair when he’s thinking.
“Ryder’s band is breaking through nationally,” Miranda goes on. I assume it’s for my benefit, even though she’s not turned my way.
No one’s saying anything. Are they waiting for me to say something? “Cool.”
“They just performed on the Jameson Late Show last month. Their social media following has exploded.” Miranda taps herphone as if to prove her point. “You’d have heard of them, Alice? Sky Chaos?”
I glance at Ryder, and then back at my aunt. “Is that the name of the band?”
Miranda lets out a hearty laugh. “Have you been living under a rock, darling?”
I’m really getting over the worddarling.
Ryder exhales, shifting in his seat. “We only just broke out. Not everyone watched the show.”
“But everyone’s on social media,” Miranda counters.
“I’m not,” I pipe up. “Well, only to upload photos of my parents’ catering business. And now, well… No need for that anymore.”
Miranda grimaces. “Positively morose, dear.”
I’d scoff if she hadn’t scared me into paralysis. Am I supposed to apologize for alluding to my parents’ deaths?
“Going off social media doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”
I look up after Ryder says this. He’s watching me closely, and soon there’s feeling in my facial muscles again.
Ryder nods at Miranda. “I’d delete mine if the label didn’t insist I have one.”
“Darling, you need to build a following,” Miranda replies.
Ryder’s brow furrows. The worddarlingmight repel him too.
I almost laugh, but Miranda’s presence keeps me on mute.
I pick up my fork for more pretend eating, and ask, “What kind of music do you play?”
Ryder’s chains jingle against his chest as he sits taller in his seat. “Rock. Alternative rock, I guess you’d call it.”
I try for a smile. It doesn’t really show, but I give myself points for the effort. “I’ll have to find the clip from the Late Show.”
Ryder shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but I catch a hint of satisfaction in his expression. “It was a good break, but we’ve got more work to do.”
The rest of dinner passes in a blur of Miranda talking about Ryder’s upcoming performances, his social media metrics, and his image. The more she speaks, the more he sounds like a product rather than a person. Ryder nods when appropriate and agrees when expected.
Finishing my played-with plate of food, Miranda finally dismisses me with, “You must be exhausted,” and I practically flee to my room.
