He looked over at me quickly. “Hurled?”
“I saw you on television once. You were getting carried through a crowd by a few big security guys. It looked like they just tossed you into the car.”“
When was that?” he asked.
“When you were in L.A. a couple of weeks ago. I panicked when I saw how they man-handled you.”
I felt his hand squeeze mine tighter. “Your car was completely surrounded by screaming fans; they were pounding on your windows. I worried for a moment that they were going to break through the glass. That was the night when you first called me, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” He raised my hand to his lips. “And that was the night you calmed me down. I remember crawling under the blankets to talk to you.”
“I remember wishing that you weren’t on the other side of the country,” I whispered.
“Guess we both got our wish.” He grinned.
He turned onto Mulberry Street; we were only a block away and I had my cell phone in hand, ready to call the police. Parked across the street from the pub were some SUVs, a van, and a few cars. There were a few photographers on the sidewalk, but not a large crowd like I had feared.
Ryan looked up and down the street. “Ready to make a run for it?”
I was relieved to see my parking spot free of love notes and trash. “Make sure you pay Jason well,” I requested quietly.
Ryan kept me on the inside of his arm, close to the buildings instead of the street. We sprint-walked down the sidewalk. It didn’t take long for the paparazzi to wake up and start clicking.
A few photographers jumped out of the vans, clicking their cameras fiercely. I just focused on the lines on the sidewalk and the distance from my feet to the door.
For one second I let my eyes glance up further to check for danger; that’s when I noticed the curly-haired, gap-toothed girl running towards us.
She had things in her hands, no doubt a picture or two for him to sign.
I thought it peculiar; all girls travel in packs. You would rarely see a girl without a fellow girlfriend tagging along… just like Suzanne and Francesca. But this girl seemed to be alone.
People were yelling “Ryan, Ryan” and even a few times yelled “Ms. Mitchell” or “Taryn” to get me to look, but I copied Ryan’s stance and kept my focus on getting to the door. Some of the photographers were trying to be nice, asking us if we enjoyed our evening. Ryan didn’t answer. He tucked his chin down to his chest and I felt his grip on my waist get tighter. I had my key ready in my right hand.
The curly-haired girl reached us before we got to my door. She almost lunged at Ryan, and I gasped at her forward behavior. He instinctively raised his right arm to block her and he turned his body in my direction. I could feel his panic level matching mine.
“Whoa, whoa!” he cautioned her.
She started babbling about how much she loves his movies and his acting abilities. He graciously slipped the marker out of her hand and scribbled his autograph inside her book, trying to be cordial. A few other annoying men and women stepped up to get autographs too, and Ryan signed his name as quickly as he could.
I grimaced as I stuck my key in the door; I hoped that their pathetic day was complete now that they disturbed him and got his signature on a picture. I twisted the key in the lock and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket with my other hand, pulling him through my doorway.
We walked up my apartment steps in silence; both of us slightly traumatized from the rush that followed a simple act of just coming home from a nice dinner with friends. I only turned on one light in my living room; I could imagine all the people down on the sidewalk staring up at my windows, analyzing the shadows in my apartment. I wonder if these shades are opaque enough? Do I need heavy curtains too?
I hung my coat up in the closet and picked his coat up to hang it up too.
“Babe, do you have your phone or is it in your coat?” I patted his pockets to feel for it. He was staring off at one of the closed windows, deep in thought. My words pulled his attention back to me. I smiled at him, but his mind was a million miles away.
I went into the kitchen and pulled a bottle out of the wine fridge; a two-year-old bottle of ice wine - my favorite. I poured two glasses; I figured he could use a nightcap and I wanted him to try one of the wines from our vineyards. He was sitting in the single chair in the living room; his head was in his hands.
I crouched down in front of him, drawing his eyes to look at me. “Hey, are you okay?” I handed the glass to him.
“I guess I’m just tired,” he murmured. I didn’t buy it. He was troubled again, and I was wise enough now to know why. Several ideas of how to distract him danced through my mind.
I hurried down the hallway with my newly formed plan. I would need a few things and a few minutes alone. After taking a thorough moment to freshen up in the bathroom, I locked my bedroom door and changed my clothes.
This will take his mind off his worries, I thought to myself as a buckled the dainty leather strap attached to my shoes around my ankle. Once I was complete, I made my approach down the dark hallway, stopping just where the light met the darkness. Ryan looked up and gasped.
“You like?” I asked, turning slightly for him to get a new view of the alluring black undergarments I was barely wearing.
He sprang out of the chair like someone set him on fire and crossed the distance between us in three strides. I combed his hair back with my fingers and softly bit his earlobe in my teeth.
“Want to go violate me on a pool table?” I whispered in his ear before pulling his lips to mine.
The sound of people yelling at each other startled me from my sleep. My head jumped off my pillow as my eyes tried to focus in the morning light.
“Huh, what’s wrong?” Ryan mumbled, still mostly asleep.
I suppose I woke him when I flinched. I heard truck brakes squeal and doors slam; the noises were coming from the alley.
I crept over to the window on my tippy-toes; the wood floor was cold. Outside, there were several men with cameras arguing with the driver of one of the delivery trucks, but I couldn’t see the entire alley from this angle as part of the fire escape was in the way. I pulled the blind back another half inch to get a better view.
“Honey, put some clothes on first if you’re going to peek out the windows,” Ryan muttered. He was rubbing his eyes with his fingers.
I grabbed one of his T-shirts from his open bag that was on the floor and slipped it over my head. The cotton held his scent, and although I liked his manly smell, this shirt desperately needed to be washed.