by Starr, Faith
My cheeks were on fire merely listening to her.
“My God. He’s so sexy.” Isabella sighed.
“Both to look at and in bed, right?” Dena jabbed Isabella with her elbow. The two of them shared a laugh.
For the second time that day, I was speechless.
Isabella brought her phone to life. She pulled up a video on YouTube. I was beyond shocked.
Isabella, Dena, and Sabrina hadn’t lied. Ryan was a celebrity? WTF? He hadn’t given off that impression at all. On the contrary, he seemed down to earth and friendly. A rock star would have for sure made it known he was famous, right?
“That’s my Nick.” Isabella pointed to him.
“Your Nick? I beg to differ.” Dena scowled.
These girls were going to get into a catfight over an unattainable man who they had a threesome with. What were they thinking?
“He’s everyone’s Nick,” Sabrina interjected. “Sorry to disappoint, ladies, but the guy is plastered all over social media with different women.”
Dena tsked, and Isabella went back to giving me a mini-lesson about the band. “Nick plays the bass and sings, along with Ryan. Ryan’s the lead singer and plays the keyboards. He’s also the main songwriter for the band.” She pointed to Mr. Sexy Pants, who stood front and center, singing his heart out. My knees weakened. My heartbeat sped up. I reached for the table next to me for balance.
“I know. They’re heart-stopping, aren’t they?” Dena moaned. She must’ve thought my odd behavior was because of the video. In a sense, she was right.
The video had clips of the four guys on stage interspersed with Ryan trying to pursue a beautiful model-type. Of course, she had to resemble a Playboy centerfold, surgically-enhanced breasts and all.
Why did he want to go on a date with me when he could have that? My happy mood faltered. I couldn’t compete with models, nor did I want to. Too much pressure on the outside when I worked my butt off on the inside.
“This is Jonas.” Isabella jabbed her finger at the screen. “He plays the guitar. He’s also a bad boy. Although last night he didn’t seem interested in playing with us. Odd.”
The thought alone of the two women sleeping with Nick didn’t sit right inside me because it probably meant Ryan was into that sort of thing too. I wasn’t. And the rock star lifestyle wasn’t something I wanted to be around.
A beware sign in bright neon pink flashed in front of my eyes: Stay away from Ryan!
His style of living was too much unhealthy temptation for me.
“And this is Mason, the drummer, and band sweetheart. He also helps write. You’ll never hear a bad word about him. He’s all tough and gruff on the outside but a total sweetie on the inside.”
It was funny how Isabella described their personalities as if she knew each member of the band personally. Well, in a sense, she knew Nick—in a biblical sense, that is.
“What about Ryan?” I asked, feigning innocence about my curiosity.
Sabrina jumped in to answer my question. “Ryan and Mason keep a low profile. You won’t see or hear much about either one of them. And when you do, it’s usually something about the band. They keep to themselves. Both of them are beautiful. I could watch Ryan sing all day.” She stuck her head in front of mine to get a better view of the screen. “Gosh. I hope they come to the club again. If they do, Ryan’s mine.”
Like hell he is!
“I thought you said he keeps to himself.”
Hello? What about that beware sign?
Yeah. Yeah.
“He’s still a man, Lizzie. He just doesn’t brag about every fuck to the press,” Sabrina defended.
Every fuck?
That was probably all the guy wanted from me—a roll in the hay. Screw that.
Who are you kidding? You’d love to roll around in bed with the man. He’s a hunk and a half.
Damn voices!
“Aren’t they dreamy?” Isabella swooned.
“At least we got our fifteen minutes of the closest we’ll ever get to fame,” Dena stated, still in seventh heaven.
“Ugh. I’m going back to work. I’m so jealous.” Sabrina rushed off toward the front entrance.
“Ladies, social time is over. How ‘bout getting back to work? You’re on the clock.” Robert, one of the managers, tapped his watch.
“There are no customers here yet,” Isabella replied.
“There are plenty of other things you could be doing to prepare for them. Now let’s go. One-two.” He clapped.
We scattered and went in different directions.
So Ryan was a singer in a famous band? I had trouble comprehending that tidbit of information. It was so out of the ordinary for my boring but dramatic life.
I went home and watched every video the band had ever made, feeling more confused but enamored with Ryan after each one. It had nothing to do with the whole celebrity thing either. This guy was the real deal from what I had gathered about him so far: talented, kind, family-oriented, nice, and drop-dead gorgeous. Add in funny, and he was everything I wanted rolled into one man. Hopefully, he had a good sense of humor.
He’s a fantasy!
The sad truth. Ryan was the type of guy who could easily destroy my heart and walk away unscathed, with another woman waiting on the sidelines to take my place. Forget that, numerous women. Case in point: Dena and Isabella. The two of them had had no issue screwing his bandmate together.
The thought about him asking me out came to me again. I was a plain Jane. An ordinary girl. I didn’t get his interest or motivation.
I let the insecurities rest and continued my online investigation. Sabrina had been wrong. There was plenty to read regarding Ryan’s life.
“Multi-talented Ryan Josephs, lead singer and pianist for On The Fence, learned to play the piano all by himself. He never took a single lesson.”
The man was a Liberace behind the ivories and had never taken a lesson? Impressive.
“Ryan Josephs, who portrays a ‘nice guy’ image to the public, is anything but, say multiple women who have had private encounters with him.”
Great. His intention was to get me in the sack. Yet something in my gut told me otherwise.
“What is Ryan Josephs of On The Fence hiding that keeps him out of the spotlight?”
Hiding? What was he hiding? Sure, he had hidden his profession from me, but I knew that wasn’t the big secret the tabloid was referring to.
Whatever. It was all bullshit. It was the exact reason why I never read gossip magazines. Most of the stories were made up. I wasn’t going to allow my opinion of Ryan to be tarnished by what I read online, even the part about his nice guy image being fake. I didn’t believe for one minute that was for appearances. I’d met and spoken with the guy several times already. He hadn’t once bragged about being famous or acted egotistically.
He still wants to get in your pants.
I set my phone on my nightstand. I would see for myself what kind of a person he was by getting to know him. Hopefully, he was the good kind.
The man is a slut. He’s nothing but trouble. He’s probably a druggie too.
For heaven’s sake, my inner pessimist needed to give it a rest!
7
Ryan
“What do you mean you’re selling the house?”
The chair I had been sitting on flung backward when I jumped off it. I didn’t care. My blood was boiling.
“Simmer down.” My father raised his hand for me to cool it.
Not a chance in hell.
My mom had intentionally waited until my father got home from work to deliver this news. I knew why too—back-up. What a shit move on her part.
“No, I won’t simmer down. Where the hell did this come from?” I righted my chair, my breath huffing.
“This house is too big for us. We want to move into something smaller with less upkeep.”
“Less upkeep?” Shit. I exhaled. They had me on that one. They certainly didn’t need such a big house anymore. I sat a
gain. “Okay. Then what’s your asking price? I’ll buy it from you.”
“I’m not taking retirement money from my son.” My mother spoke adamantly.
“It’s my money. I can do whatever I want with it. Investing in real estate makes perfect financial sense.”
“You already own an apartment. You don’t need this house.”
“I know I don’t need it. I want it.”
“We think it’s time for all of us to move on with our lives and leave the past behind.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. The past haunts me every fucking day.”
“Language,” my mother snapped.
“I’m sorry, but this comes out of nowhere. Besides the fact that this was the house I grew up in, the garage is sacred to me and the guys.”
“We understand what you’re saying, but the garage is simply a room. You can set up a home studio anywhere.”
“That’s not the point, Dad. Our greatest music has come to life in that garage.” I pointed toward the door off the kitchen area that led into the sacred room.
“Your talent is within all of you. It doesn’t matter where you write or practice it.”
I clenched my jaw, pissed beyond belief. Why didn’t they get it?
“Listen, you’re off traveling on a tour bus for months on end. Your father and I are alone in this big house. We don’t want a pool to clean and a lawn to mow. Living in an apartment where we don’t have to worry about maintaining the grounds is a smart move.”
“I get that and agree. I’m giving you an easy solution. Sell me the house. It’s a win-win for all. And please stop giving me guilt about my career. You should be happy the guys and I have found success instead of always griping about how you hate us riding on a tour bus, visiting strange towns, and having to deal with crazed fans. It’s my job. I love what I do. It’s sad you can’t acknowledge that.”
“It’s not that I don’t acknowledge it.”
“Then what is it?”
She quieted.
“Mom?”
“I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. I worry about you is all.”
“I know, and I appreciate it. I really do. But I’m an adult. You have to trust I can make sound decisions for myself.”
My father reached across the table, shoved one of the empty dinner plates aside, and cradled my mother’s hand in his.
“As far as the house is concerned, things have changed. Property values are going down in this area. It wouldn’t be a sound investment for you to buy it. You’d lose money.”
My dad could talk until he was blue in the face. Nothing would change my mind.
“It’s not about the money. Did you ever think that maybe I want to hold on to this place because it’s the only stability I have right now? It’s always here for me, waiting, whenever I want to practice in it.”
“Your apartment can become that too.”
My father was so thick-headed.
“Did you already list it?”
“We met with an agent last night.” My dad glanced at my mom.
“Without telling me first?” It took everything I had to reel in my anger.
“I’m sorry to break the news to you, Ryan, but if your mother and I want to sell the house, it’s our prerogative. We don’t need your permission or blessing.”
“You mentioned moving into an apartment. Where?”
“Closer to the beach is preferable.” My mother’s shoulders relaxed.
“That puts you farther away from grandpa,” I said.
“I will still be able to visit him on Sundays. And as difficult as it is for you to accept, we don’t know how long he is going to be around. He’s getting worse, not better.”
No shit.
Knots formed in my stomach.
If my parents didn’t want to sell the house to me personally, I’d figure out another way to buy it. I didn’t care how much money I lost doing so either. Memories were priceless and irreplaceable.
“Great talk. I’m out of here.” Again, I pushed the chair back, this time more gently so it wouldn’t fall. I was irritated as hell. I stormed to the front door and slammed it shut behind me.
“Ryan!” My father called while following me to my car.
I paused before getting inside it. I didn’t give him the respect of facing him.
“It’s for the best. You have to stop thinking with your emotions.”
With my back still toward him, I responded, “Thanks for sharing.”
I hopped into my car, brought it to life, and sped off without giving him so much as a wave.
“Fuck!”
My fist hurt from slamming it so hard against the steering wheel.
As soon as I got to my apartment, I sat at my keyboard with a pen and paper and furiously scribbled down lyrics since I couldn’t use the garage at the moment.
Drowning
Trying to breathe
Sinking
Just another day to grieve
The memory of your love
Will never set me free
Just because I moved on
Doesn’t mean the pain isn’t still tormenting me
Our hearts are bound together
By the oneness we once shared
A heart forever broken
That can never be repaired
I’m drowning
Still struggling for a reason why
Sinking deeper
Because I can’t find the words to say goodbye
We had our ups and downs
Stuck together through it all
I promised to protect you
Instead I let you fall
Deep within is forgiveness
It has to start with me
I’ll pray for it ‘til the day I die
Without you in my life, it’s empty
Drowning
Please give me air to breathe
Sinking
I must pray, I must believe
Choking
The air just won’t come out
I’m suffocating
It’s because of you, there is no doubt
I set the pen down and read over the lyrics.
How fucking depressing.
Using the pads of my fingers, I massaged my aching temples. And here I had thought the pain would lessen. Nope. It hadn’t. Not a bit. I was still nursing a broken heart. Probably always would too.
8
Lizzie
Ryan seized control of my dreams at night and of my thoughts well into my shift the following day at the center. I couldn’t wait to go on our date. But as excited as I was, I had to keep things in perspective. The videos I watched of his band showed him acting touchy-feely with many different models/actresses. I still couldn’t wrap my head around his decision to ask me out. Not to belittle myself. I considered myself decent looking enough but a supermodel I wasn’t. Far from it.
Ryan showed up to visit his grandfather at around two-thirty. The residents and I were playing a game of Bingo at the tables. My eyes met his when he entered the room. Warmth settled in my heart. I leaned my knee on the chair next to me because, out of nowhere, both of my legs felt like goo. Add in trembling hands to go with the wobbly knees. I didn’t understand my body’s sudden nervous reaction to seeing him. I was hardly the starstruck type. I think it had more to do with Ryan himself—his presence, his aura. I sensed compassion and thoughtfulness in him, and I considered myself to be a good judge of character, but the fact still remained that he was a rock star.
He gave me a five-finger wave. I acknowledged him with a head nod and a smile.
Spotting Morris, he strolled over and sat next to him.
What a sexy strut he has.
I hadn’t given it enough attention.
Ugh. I was so doomed with this guy. And how cute was it that he helped his grandfather locate the numbers on his Bingo card?
Beware!
It was too late. I had already crossed the threshold into the danger zone.
After
the game, the aides brought out snacks. Ryan helped me collect the cards and Bingo chips. Some of the residents had slept through the activity, some had played with the plastic chips—scattering them all over their cards, while others had actually played. According to me, any mental stimulation was better than none.
“I’m looking forward to later.” Ryan stacked his pile of cards and placed them neatly inside the box.
Note to self: He’s just as OCD with putting things in proper order as I am.
Add another tally mark to the pro-Ryan column.
He seemed somewhat tense, on edge. Why? From the live footage I’d watched online, he had an assortment of women at his disposal. Did that include me? Absolutely not. I wouldn’t allow myself to be placed in a groupie/one-night stand category.
The logical part of me considered calling off our date. Why start something that wouldn’t go anywhere, let alone chance getting my heart broken?
“Yeah. It’ll be fun.” My double-crossing and dry mouth responded without giving my logical thought a warning—the evil traitor. And where was my water bottle when I needed it?
He flashed me a bewildered expression.
I took the game from him and returned it to the storage cabinet. To give myself necessary breathing room, I moved around the tables to assist residents who required help eating their snacks. It wasn’t fair of me to act standoffish. Ryan had done nothing wrong. It was me, my thoughts ruminating and making the situation bigger than it was.
What the…
I instinctively flipped around to see who had smacked my butt, prepared to give the guilty culprit a piece of my mind, then remembered where I was. This wasn’t the club.
Figures. “Seymour, please keep your hands to yourself.”
“I’d rather keep them on you.” He raised his brows.