by Reber, Tina
“Ahh, when I was around nine years old - my brother Nick was eleven, we had this bright idea to make a go-cart. We super-glued one of my mom’s laundry baskets to a skateboard and a…”
I couldn’t help but make a silly face at him.
“Wait, it gets better,” he said with a laugh. “At first we just tied the basket to the back of my brother’s bicycle and I, of course, got to ride in the back. But we couldn’t get up enough speed. So we rolled the basket to the top of 12th Street hill. I climbed in and Nick gave me a shove. Did you know that you can’t steer a laundry basket on a skateboard?”
I could picture him as a kid careening down a hill in a laundry basket. I started to laugh.
“That’s how I got this scar right here.” Ryan twisted his right arm to show me the mark on his elbow.
“Twenty stitches.” He grinned proudly.
I shook my head and smiled, imagining him being an adventurous little daredevil when he was young.
“Hey, it sounded like a good idea at the time!”
I noticed another scar across his right forearm. “How did you get that one?” I pointed to the mark in question.
“Ahh, fishing accident.” He laughed. “Nick again. Caught me with a hook once while we were fishing with our dad. I yelled, he yanked, and I got more stitches. To this day I stay far away from him when we’re fishing. What about you?” he asked. “Got any good scar stories?”
“I have to think about that one for a minute. Wait, I have one - on my right knee.”
“Well you know you have to show it to me now,” he teased.
I hesitantly pulled up the leg of my jeans to reveal the dime-sized circular scar on my kneecap. I was relieved that I had shaved my legs this morning.
“I don’t remember if I was six or seven, but I got this the day my dad took the training wheels off my bike,” I admitted. “I think there’s a cinder or two still stuck in there.” My finger pushed on the spot.
“Ha! It’s a good story, but that’s not a very good scar. It’s barely noticeable,” he added after rubbing his finger over my faint mark.
“Sorry, it’s all I have. I usually go right for breaking bones instead of getting simple scars.”
“How many?” he asked while taking his next shot on the table.
“What? Broken bones? Two - left wrist and right ankle.”
“And are there good stories that go along with the broken bones?” he asked, sounding hopeful.
“Right ankle isn’t that exciting. I slipped and fell on some icy steps at college.” I took a sip from my beer glass. “Left wrist, however, has a better punch line. Let’s just say that’s the day I learned that tequila and rollerblading should never be used in the same sentence.”
Ryan started laughing. “That’s something I would have liked to see!”
“What about you? Did you ever break any bones?”
He looked at me and nodded. “Quite a few actually. Mostly fingers and toes, but I had my left arm broken once in high school. I was playing baseball and got taken out by the third baseman.”
While he was telling me his story, I missed my shot; it was his turn.
“Thanks! Thanks a lot!” he quipped. “You’re killing me here! Do you think you could have at least left me a shot?”
I could tell he was just teasing me. He walked around the table looking for an angle as I had tucked the cue ball behind the eightball.
I noticed that I was able to look at him now for more than two seconds at a time. I watched as the fingers of his left hand formed into a bridge while he was lining up to take his next shot. He had really long fingers. The muscles on his forearm flexed when he stroked the pool stick in his hand.
From my current angle, I took in the visions of his long legs and how the back pockets of his jeans curved on his shape. And when he leaned over the table, my blue T-shirt separated from his body, exposing some tight flesh on his stomach. I could see what the big draw was for his fans… and it wasn’t his pool-playing skills.
“Eightball in the corner pocket,” I stated as I drew my stick back to make the shot that he had missed. With one precise movement, I tapped the cue ball and pocketed the eight.
“Good job!” Ryan held his hand up and gave me a gentle high-five hand slap. I started to put my pool stick back on the wall when he interrupted me.
“Oh, no! You have to play me again!” He handed the pool stick back to me. “I’m just warming up.”
“Okay, one more,” I agreed. “You can break this time.”
When it was my turn again, I noticed that he stood right behind the pocket that I was aiming for. I was lining up for my shot but it was difficult as he was shifting his weight back and forth from foot to foot.
“Um, can you move?” I asked, motioning with my hand.
“What? Am I bothering you?” He snickered.
“No. Well yeah, it’s kind of annoying actually.” I lined back up for my shot, concentrating on the game. He moved a few feet away and then started twirling his pool stick back and forth. His movements were such a distraction that I missed an easy shot.
“Oh, good try,” he complimented, although I could tell by his tone that he really wanted me to miss it.
Ryan was trying to make a long shot, so I moved to stand behind the pocket he was aiming for. I got into a comfortable stance, casually tugging my jeans down a bit further on my hips, and slipped my fingers under my shirt to softly scratch my stomach.
His eyes toggled between trying to play pool and watching me scratch my fake itch. He let out a big breath and missed his shot.
“Oh, good try,” I patronizingly complimented.
“I see!” He laughed. “You don’t play fair either!”
I grinned and shrugged slightly; we both were busted trying to distract each other. He wrinkled his nose at me and made a funny face. It was actually quite adorable.
When I leaned down to make my next shot he stood directly behind the pocket again. This time he lifted the front of his T-shirt enough to fake a stomach scratch. I could see the hair on his stomach, which was visible above the top button of his jeans. One naughty little thought ran through my head, but despite that I made the shot anyway.
“Nice try. But the twirling of the pool stick was more of a distraction than that was!”
I had to walk past him, and when I did he stuck the bottom of his pool stick between my feet, causing me to trip. He caught me with his free arm to keep me from falling.
“Ass!” I snickered.
“Sorry, I can’t help it if you’re falling for me,” he said confidently.
“Pff, hardly,” I muttered. I leaned my pool stick up on the wall.
“Come on. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Don’t walk away,” he pleaded.
“I’m just going to the ladies room,” I stated over my shoulder. Ryan trotted up behind me.
“What, are you following me now?” I kidded.
“Hardly.” He smiled a cocky grin at me and gave me an innocent little shove towards the ladies room door.
A few moments later, we resumed game two and it was his turn to shoot.
“So Taryn, tell me. Are you a fan of Seaside, too?” he asked, monitoring my reaction.
“No. I haven’t seen it,” I said calmly. It was the truth. I took a sip of my beer and contemplated refilling my glass.
“You haven’t seen the movie? For real?” He was frozen in his spot, gaping at me like I had two heads growing out of my shoulders.
“No, I haven’t.” I shook my head. I guess he was amazed at that revelation; his open mouth turned up into a smile.
“Yeah right!” he snorted and took a sip of his drink.
“What, do you think I’m lying to you?” I couldn’t help but look him directly in the eyes.
“What about the Seaside books? Did you read any of them?”
“No, I haven’t. Everyone I know has though. I suppose that’s why you’re so popular these days?” I shrugged and finished my beer.
He twitched his lips into a smirk. “Yeah… I think you’re lying to me.” He scratched his forehead again.
His accusation irritated me; I didn’t like being called a liar but I remained amicable nonetheless. I got up from my seat and walked over to where he stood by the pool table. I stopped two feet in front of him and looked him directly in the eyes, making sure to hold his gaze before I spoke.
“I honestly have not seen your movie nor have I read the books. You can see in my eyes that I’m not lying. I don’t know what else to say to make you believe me.”
Ryan stood perfectly still, looking dumbfounded. After a few seconds I broke our eye contact and walked over to the table where I had set the pitcher of beer. I filled my glass and looked to see where his glass was. Might as well give him a refill, too. I stepped towards him to top off his drink.
“What?” I asked carefully. He looked like he was in a trance. “Did I… say something wrong? I’m, I’m sorry I haven’t seen your movie. I hope that didn’t offend you.”
“No! That’s…perfectly okay,” he said, a hint of a smile touched his face. I watched as he just about swallowed his entire glass of beer.
“So besides kicking butt on the pool table, what else do you like to do?” he asked after I officially won our second game.
“Lots of things,” I quickly replied. I didn’t know what to tell him. I was too busy wondering why he was still here hanging out with me. Surely he had more important things to do.
“Like?” he prodded.
“Well, I like anything that involves water…swimming, boating, things like that. During the summer, some of the local businesses here in Seaport have a softball league. Sometimes we play volleyball down at the beach. But, unfortunately since I took over running the pub, I don’t have as much free time as I used to.” I shrugged. “I work a lot.”
While I was busy talking, Ryan set up the table for game number three. I noticed that his demeanor changed slightly. He was more at ease... relaxed… calm. It was like a blanket of tension was removed from his shoulders.
I was getting set to break at the table when he interrupted me.
“Quick, without thinking, what’s your favorite movie of all time?”
I stood up a little too fast. The motion along with several glasses of beer and shots of whiskey affected my equilibrium.
“Um, um,” I stammered while trying to figure out what my favorite movie of all time was. “I don’t know if I have one particular favorite. I have a few but it’s hard to pick.”
“Okay, well… what made the list?”
I sucked in a sharp breath between my teeth. “Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Galaxy Quest, anything from Pixar…” I rambled.
“I see. You like outlandish humor.” He chuckled. He rattled off a bunch of funny lines from the Monty Python movie. It was obvious that he had seen the movie as many times as I did.
“Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time!” we said in unison, both of us adding the French inflection to the movie line. It made me laugh out loud.
It was my turn to shoot again, and just as I was ready to make my shot, Ryan yelled another funny line from the movie. I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Stop it!” I pleaded, wiping my eyes.
I tried to make my shot again when Ryan came up right next to me and said a line from a funny scene in Galaxy Quest.
“Is there air? You don’t know.” He sniffed the air. “Seems okay.”
I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. “Stop!” I gasped.
I reached to give him a teasing nudge with my fingers. Ryan caught me by the wrist and gently pulled me in, folding my arm with his, until my hand was pressed against his shoulder.
“Okay, ok, ok,” he said, cracking up laughing again.
I could feel the warmth of his chest on my fingertips. Even though we were bent into each other, laughing hysterically, my mind started reeling just from this innocent touch. I could not allow myself to have those thoughts about him so I quickly pulled my hand away.
He continued making funny voices and quoting my favorite movies. I was laughing so hard that I lost the third game. I couldn’t focus with the tears of laughter in my eyes.
“You cheat!” I scolded him.
“Who, me?”
“Yeah you, Mr. Innocent!”
I was getting ready to take my next shot when he stood behind me. I looked over my shoulder; he made me nervous standing back there.
“What?” he asked with a grin, like he wasn’t up to no-good.
I looked back at the table and tried to hit the ball when he grabbed the end of my pool stick.
“You suck!” I teased him after barely hitting the cue ball.
“No, you suck. You missed the shot,” he fired back at me.
I tried to crack him with the end of my pool stick but he quickly sprinted away, laughing.
Ryan leaned down to take his shot; he was just about to hit the cue ball when I faked a loud cough.
“Huh, um, you suck.”
He miss-cued and didn’t even hit another ball. The cue ball slowly rolled into the cushion. That’s when he chased me around the table.
“That’s it – you asked for it! Hey, where are you going? Like you could get away from me!”
I made two laps around the table, laughing and smiling all the way.
Eight games of pool and a pitcher of beer later, we were tied – four games a piece. We were having a really, really good time. The whole time we played, his charm never faltered. Even though we teased each other, he still complimented me when I made good shots, he encouraged me with kind words when I had a difficult shot to make, and he smiled at me incessantly.
We carried on just like two long-time friends. He made me laugh a lot. Being around him was surprisingly easy. That whole celebrity persona slipped away and he was just - Ryan - a genuinely nice guy.
“All right, this one’s the tie-breaker. Winner gets all the bragging rights,” he said, playfully tapping me on my rear with the end of his pool stick. His face took a serious expression as he lined up for his next shot.
“Can I ask you a question, Taryn?”
“Yeah sure, what?” I was curious about what he wanted to know.
“Well I was sort of wondering if you’re married or seeing someone. I don’t know if I could handle having a jealous guy attack me today, too,” he admitted.
“Um, no. I’ve never been married. And, you don’t have to worry - there’s no jealous boyfriend either,” I answered quickly, trying to be light-hearted and reassuring about it.
After the words flew out of my mouth I wished I could have rephrased them. I stared down at the ground with embarrassment. This is why I shouldn’t drink beer – you get too honest with people, you idiot. He probably thinks you’re some basket case that no man wants.
But I rationalized that he had already been accosted once today; I’m sure a bar fight would be the last thing he needed to deal with.
“You’re not dating anyone?” He sounded sort of shocked.
Looking him in the eyes was like taking a shot of truth serum.
“No, no one,” I answered honestly.
My mind flashed back to the last man I dated. How Thomas (‘The Asshole’ as he was referred to now) asked me to marry him, how he promised to love me forever, and how I gave the ring back after I found out that he had an insatiable appetite for random sex with strangers. He was the last entry on a short list of guys who smashed my heart into pieces.
“Hmm, that’s good to know.” Ryan nodded while leaning over to take his next shot on the pool table. “So why is that?”
“I suppose the right man hasn’t walked through my door yet,” I answered casually, trying to redeem myself.
In reality, men walked in and out of my door every day, but I’d been numb for so long I didn’t even care to notice them. My need for self-preservation was stronger.
His eyes locked on mine as he purposely missed the last shot of the game.
I noticed him glance at his watch as he finished his drink. I assumed he was thinking about leaving so I peeked behind the window blind slightly to see if there were still people loitering on the sidewalk.
“Is the coast clear?” he asked, even though he knew my answer.
“No. There’s still a crowd out there. I see guys with cameras and a lot of women.”
“This is ridiculous,” he sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.
“What’s worse, the paparazzi or the T-shirt ripping psychos?”
“They’re about even,” Ryan muttered. “Most of the fans are great, but some of them go to scary extremes – like today. And the paparazzi, well, they’re relentless.” His voice sounded so defeated.
“You really have no freedom or privacy, do you?” I said matter-of-factly as I glanced back at him.
“No,” he whispered. “Not anymore.”
He looked completely forlorn. I felt so bad for him. How someone could have everything and at the same time, have nothing at all. I had to fight back the urge to go over to him and wrap him in a big hug. I didn’t know what else to say, besides, “I’m sorry.”
He gave me a brief smile, but the anguish on his face was so plain to see.
“They aren’t going to leave until they’re sure you’re not in here, are they?” I didn’t want to say this out loud but it was a question that had to be asked.
“No.” His eyes shot up to lock on mine.
“Well, you can’t just walk out into that! No way!” I envisioned him leaving through the front door and getting attacked again by the throng of screaming women.
“What choice do I have?” he sighed. “Even if I manage to get to the street...” his voice trailed in defeat.
My mind was plotting – how to gain him safe passage out of here. The thought of him getting accosted by that horde out there pissed me off.
“Let me go check the back door, see if the way is clear. Stay here, okay?”
Ryan didn’t reply; the gleam of hope in his eyes was confirmation enough that he was willing to accept my help.