Page 73 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“Alice,” he presses. “You almost fainted back there. Drink some water.”
It feels like admitting I’m stupid. Of course, I know Ishoulddrink water.
I stare at the water bottle and realize how dry my mouth has become.
Okay, it won’t be the worst thing in the world to take a sip, even thoughhetold me to do it.
I grab the bottle but have a hard time twisting the cap off. It irritates the dry skin of my palm and makes me grimace.
“Gimme,” Ryder says, easily taking the bottle from me.
I’m mesmerized by the veiny back of his hands and the flex of his biceps. He easily twists off the bottle cap.
“Here.”
He’s still holding it.
He didn’t put it down.
It feels weird taking it directly from his grip. I squeak something mildly resembling, “Thank you,” and put the bottle to my lips.
As I gulp more times than anyone could ever consider cute, Ryder takes his tablet out of his backpack.
He sets it on the tabletop and gives it a gentle pat. “You can take a look after you eat.”
I pluck the bottle from my lips and place it on the table. “I can multitask.”
He smirks. “I’ve seen you at the dinner table. You take any excuse not to take a real bite. Girl, you’re eating first.”
“I didn’t realize so much of your time is taken up by staring at me.”
I gasp after the words leave my mouth. That was such a flirtatious tone. He didn’t hear that, did he?
He sits back with his smirk growing bigger. “It’s a nice distraction from listening to one of Miranda’s boring lectures.”
My hand covers my mouth until I realize my fingers are trembling, and then I let my hand fall to my lap.
“Don’t feel bad about a little tremor.” Ryder lifts his hand, showing me the back and front. “My hands shake too, remember.”
“But you’re so… cool and confident.”
He swallows a laugh. “The promotions people will be glad my image is paying off.”
“I just didn’t expect someone like you to deal with stage fright.” I find myself hunching to make my frame smaller. “I guess that stumble at the Late Show makes more sense now.”
Ryder groans, bracing against the table and sitting back as if he’s on a rollercoaster. “I hate how obvious my mistake was.”
“It was real,” I offer.
“I messed up, and no one’s letting me hear the end of it.”
I wince. “That’s why you’re so on edge, huh?”
He blows out a breath and relaxes his grip on the table. “Among other things. But yes, this stage fright is kicking my butt. I just can’t function if the other guys aren’t playing.”
“Like, too many eyes on just you?”
He nods uneasily.
