Page 130 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“No, I—“ He stops, running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine.”
More silence. The kind that makes my skin feel too tight.
I finish making my sandwich and move to the island, settling onto a stool. Ryder takes the seat beside me, close enough that our knees touch. I take a bite of my sandwich. Chew. Swallow. Take another bite. We eat without speaking. The only sounds are the soft patter of rain against the windows and the occasional rustle of movement.
From the corner of my eye, I watch Ryder eat his own sandwich. His jaw works methodically, and he seems as focused on eating as I am. Like if we just concentrate hard enough on this mundane task, we won’t have to acknowledge what happened upstairs.
But I can’t stop thinking about it. The way he looked at me. The gentleness of his touch. The careful way he asked if it was okay before—
“So,” Ryder says suddenly, breaking the silence. Then he stops, as if he’s not sure what comes next.
I look at him. He’s staring at his sandwich as if it holds the secrets of the universe.
“So,” I echo.
Another beat of silence.
“The storm stopped,” he offers.
I glance towards the window. He’s right; the rain has faded to a light drizzle.
“Yeah.”
“You handled it really well.”
“Thanks to you.”
His eyes flick to mine, and I see heat there. Memory. My face burns, and I quickly look away.
This is excruciating.
I’m about to say something when the sharp click of heels against hardwood echoes from the hallway. Ryder and I both straighten immediately, putting a few more inches of distance between us, acting like guilty teenagers caught doing something we shouldn’t. Which, I suppose, we kind of are.
Miranda sweeps into the kitchen, her phone in one hand and her leather-bound planner in the other. She’s changed from this morning’s workout clothes into a black cashmere sweater and tailored pants.
“There you are,” she says to Ryder. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour.”
“My phone’s upstairs,” Ryder replies, his voice carefully neutral.
Miranda sets her planner on the counter and flips it open. “We need to go over your schedule for the weekend. The venue is confirmed for tonight, and there are several changes to the original timeline.”
Tonight? I glance at Ryder, but his attention is fixed on Miranda.
“The sound check is at six,” Miranda continues, consulting her notes. “Doors open at eight. You’re on at nine-thirty. Mr. Kensington has given me the names of the other executives from the label who will be there.”
Ryder nods casually. “Cool.”
“Mr. Kensington was very pleased with the meeting last night,” Miranda continues. “Tonight is pivotal. It’s like a mini-showcase, but none of the competing bands are in the lineup.”
My stomach tightens. Competing bands? Wow. This showcase really is make it or break it for Ryder.
Ryder leans further toward Miranda, sneaking a peek at her planner. “Sounds good.”
“Tonight’s performance could be the deciding factor in whether he wants to invest in more than one album.”
“That’s good,” Ryder says, though his voice lacks enthusiasm.
