Love Unscripted (5 page)

“
Thank you.” I smiled.

“
Sure! No problem,” he said happily.

“
This bar is beautiful.” He rubbed his hands across the mahogany rail as he returned to his seat. “You don’t see craftsmanship like this anymore. The scrolling and detail is magnificent.”

“
My grandfather built it.” I beamed. “Every time I look at it, it makes me smile. He put so much of himself into this place. All this woodwork you see was done by his hands. The booths, the wainscoting, he built it all.”

Ryan stood up and walked toward the enormous wooden pillar that spanned from floor to ceiling.

“
Your grandfather was a talented man.” His fingers were busy tracing the intricate patterns carved in the dark oak post. “I really like the exposed red brick too. This place reminds me of a pub I was in once when I filmed in Ireland. Has that authentic feel to it, you know?”

“
Thanks!” I replied. His compliment seemed very genuine and made me smile. “I always thought this place had that old-world charm too.”

His gaze rolled over to the far end of the pub. “That’s a pretty big stage. You have bands play here?”

“
Yeah, just about every Friday and Saturday night. I’ve been thinking about doing open-mic nights during the week too.”

Ryan was distracted. “Yamaha,” he said in an amusing voice, drifting his fingers down the keys. “Your piano?”

“
Yes.” I nodded. For some unknown reason I followed him over to the stage. “That’s my baby grand. It was a birthday gift from my grandfather.”

“
Cool. Looks like you have a pretty impressive sound system. Lighting and everything.” His hand pointed and waved in the air.

Ryan’s eyes flickered over to the opposite wall and he strolled away to investigate another part of the pub. Something else had captured his attention.

“
What do you say to a game of pool?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me as he stood in the brick archway that led into the poolroom.

“
You want to shoot pool – with me?” I actually looked over my shoulder to see if he was talking to someone else, even though I knew full well there was no one else here.

“
Sure! That is if you’re up to it. I haven’t been able to play in a long time.” His voice trailed, a hint of sadness etched his words.

I shook my head, wondering why he would want to spend any more time here than he had to.
Maybe he is just being polite?

“
I don’t know,” I whispered.

“
Come on, please? Just one game. I’ll even let you win.”

“
Why, don’t you think I can beat you on my own?”
Does he think all girls suck at shooting pool or is he just teasing me?

“
Well, I don’t know. Are you really good? You’ll probably kick my butt,” he conceded. “But I think I’ll take my chances. Come on, one game. I just need to get my mind on something else.”

“
Okay, one game.” I nodded and proceeded to pick out a pool stick. He was rather irresistible when he pleaded like that.

“
I’ll rack, you can break,” Ryan said, placing the billiard balls in the wooden triangle.

I leaned over the table in my breaking stance and cracked the stick into the cue ball, pocketing a striped ball.

“
Huh, I think I’m in trouble!” He chuckled.

I made the next shot, but missed the third. It was his turn.

“
So you’re a lefty?” he asked while he chalked the tip of his pool stick.

“
No, not really. I’m ambidextrous,” I shyly admitted.

“
Ambidextrous?” He smiled. “Very interesting.”

His reaction made me feel like I had to explain. “I’m mostly right-handed, but I shoot pool and I throw with my left.”

“
I tried to write with my left hand once when I had my right arm in a sling, but it was nothing but scribble. Can you write with your left hand?” He motioned as if he was writing on paper.

“
Yeah, but it feels awkward and I can only print. I think I would have been a lefty, but I remember the teachers in grade school forcing me to use my right hand instead. I was always slightly confused with which scissors to use.”

He smiled at me again. After all these years, he was the first guy who ever noticed that about me.

“
Sometimes I wish I could write with both of my hands. It would probably make autograph signing more tolerable.” He smirked.

Ryan tried to make a bank shot, but missed. His beer glass was almost empty so I quickly walked over to the bar and tapped a pitcher of beer and got a glass for myself. I always shot pool better when I was relaxed, and I was anything but relaxed at this moment.

“
May I ask what you did to get your arm in a sling?” I glanced up at him while lining up for my next shot.

He smiled innocently and laughed. “It’s a funny story, actually.”

“
I like funny stories.” I shrugged a bit.

“
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 12
^th
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.