Текст книги "Love Unscripted"

Автор книги: Tina Reber

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Just then I heard a phone ring. I popped my head out of the cooler and felt my pocket for my cell phone, but it wasn’t mine that was ringing.

“Hey, Mike. Yeah, I’m safe. I’m at some bar,” Ryan muttered, trying to sound like he was fine. The hand that rubbed his forehead was still

shaking. He wasn’t fine.

He looked at me as he held his phone away from his face. He was blinking rapidly and he looked confused for a moment. “Ahh, what’s the name

of this place?”

“Mitchell’s Pub.” I slid a new napkin with our family name on it to him.

“A place called Mitchell’s Pub. Listen, I’ll call you when I’m ready. I’m just having a beer.”

“My driver,” he stated, like he could read the question in my mind. “I suppose he thinks he might get fired by the studio for losing track of me.”

I had no idea what to say, so I gave him a brief smile and darted away into the kitchen. I figured he wanted to be left alone anyway; distracting

myself by stocking the coolers sounded like a good idea. I took my time to load up two cases of beer onto the metal cart and wheeled them back

into the bar.

He was still sitting there as I unloaded the cases by the bar refrigerators. I tried not to look at him. He’s probably so sick of people bugging him.

As soon as he finishes that beer, he’ll call his driver. What would be the point of talking to him? Just leave him alone.

He stared at me while I emptied the cases of beer into the coolers. I could see out of the corner of my eye that his head turned and his eyes

followed me when I took the empty boxes back to the kitchen. I still couldn’t make myself look at him.

Ryan cleared his throat when I returned. “Well, you obviously know who I am. Can I ask what your name is?” His tone was very polite and friendly.

“Taryn,” I replied, glancing at him for a split second through the curtain of hair that spilled from my shoulder. I pulled my hair back out of my way

and tried to refocus my eyes on putting away the clean glasses that remained on the sink counter.

“It’s nice to meet you, Taryn.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” My nervousness made my responses sound unintentionally indifferent.

“So, Taryn, do you have a last name?”

“Mitchell?” I squeaked. So much for appearing casual and un-ruffled!

“Ah, I see,” he murmured as he held up the bar napkin with Mitchell’s Pub insignia on it. “Are you sure you don’t mind if I stay for a few minutes?

Then I promise I’ll be out of your hair.”

“It’s no problem, really,” I whispered, giving him a brief, friendly smile.

My nerves were tangled in knots so I had to keep busy. I grabbed a new liquor order form and took it to the other end of the bar to fill it out.

I could feel him watching me, even though I refused to look up and confirm that feeling. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this top today? Could he

see down the front when I bent over? I fixed my shirt at the shoulders, trying to inconspicuously see if I could see any cleavage. I’ll have to change

my shirt after he leaves. His beer is almost finished.

I tried not to make eye contact with him, but I could still tell that he was staring; his head turned and followed every move I made. I felt a little

strange as he gawked at me, so I picked up the television remote and turned the large flat screen on; maybe he needed something else to look at.

But he didn’t seem to notice the television.

I allowed myself another quick look at him and observed that his brow was pulled together. He looked confused; either that or he was deep in

thought.

“Are you doing okay?” I asked, concerned.

“Yeah, I think so.” He nodded and combed his fingers back through his hair. “I was just wondering, are you always this talkative?”

I was trying to appear preoccupied by filling the garnish holder with drink swizzle straws. I smiled bashfully at his comment.

“I thought you’d prefer to be left alone. I’m sure the silence and peace must be refreshing,” I murmured, assuming he’d agree.

He laughed lightly at my comment.

“It is, but it’s also nice to be able to talk to a woman who isn’t screaming at me,” he said, looking a bit more relaxed. “You’re not going to

scream at me, are you?”

“No,” I said in my softest, non-threatening tone. That’s when I noticed the laceration on his face.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I don’t know if you realize it, but you have a pretty big scratch on your face.” Now that I was able to actually look at

him more closely, I saw the dried streak of blood that ran down his neck.

Ryan rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Unbelievable,” he murmured.

I opened up the first aid kit I kept behind the bar and picked out an alcohol swab.

“Is it that bad?” he asked.

I nodded gently. “There’s some blood. It’s not that bad, but you should clean it just in case.”

“I can feel it,” Ryan muttered as he ran his fingers over the raised marks. “My jaw hurts.”

“Don’t touch it,” I cautioned, pulling the first aid kit closer. I attempted to hand him the swab, but he seemed perfectly fine with letting me tend to

him.“

Um, can you tilt a little bit more?” I asked nervously. My hand trembled slightly as I wiped the swab across his wound, trying to be as gentle as

possible. There were actually two distinct fingernail marks across his jaw, though the stubble on his face covered most of it up. I saw his eyes

scrunch together; the alcohol must have stung a little.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Almost done.”

Ryan was gazing at my face while I put some antibiotic cream over the raised scratches. I noticed his eye color was a lovely mix of blue and

green, making them very striking. It was hard to look at anything else.

“Thanks,” he said, softly and sincerely.

I wiped the remaining cream off my finger. “I don’t mean to be intrusive, but may I ask what happened to you today?” Secretly I was dying to

know how he got in this condition.

“Um,” he began, “I had some errands to run but I guess I didn’t get too far.” A broken smile appeared on his lips as he scratched his eyebrow

with his thumb. “It’s actually a bit embarrassing.”

“That’s okay. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.” I politely dismissed my question and closed the lid on the first aid kit.

“Ahh,” he groaned, keeping me engaged in conversation. “I went out to see if I could get a present for my mom; her birthday is in a few weeks. I

had some free time today, so I escaped from the hotel and went for a walk. I managed to go into one of the shops down the street, but couldn’t find

anything I wanted to buy.”

He took a sip of beer, pausing to collect his thoughts. His eyes focused on the bar instead. “When I left the store, there were a handful of women

waiting for pictures or autographs or something. I tried to be polite and walk away but…”

He let out a big sigh. “One girl grabbed me and tried to pull my shirt off. Then the chase started.” His lips twisted in disgust. “I took off running

and here I am. I feel like I just got mugged.”

“It sounds to me like you did get mugged. Do you want me to call the police?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head infinitesimally. “They were just excited fans.”

I reached up to the top shelf for my unopened bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue, thinking that we both needed something special to calm us down.

“Would you like one?” I asked.

His eyes widened and he nodded enthusiastically.

“You have good taste,” he complimented.

I briefly smiled and pushed a filled shot glass in his direction. He tapped his glass into mine before tossing it back in his mouth.

“Do you mind if I ask you another question?” I asked tentatively. I still wasn’t sure if he wanted to be ignored.

“No, I don’t mind. Please – ask.” Ryan winced and puckered his lips from the after burn of the whiskey. His expression was slightly amusing.

“Well, I’m just curious why you’re walking around without an escort. Don’t you usually have bodyguards with you?”

“Yeah, most of the time,” he shyly admitted. “I just really wanted to go for a walk by myself. It’s beautiful outside today. I didn’t think I needed

security to do that, but I suppose I should rethink that, huh?” he said while examining the large rip in his T-shirt. “Damn. This was one of my

favorites.”

I couldn’t help but nod in agreement with his statement; a shot of whiskey was burning my throat now. I refilled our shot glasses; it would take

more than one to calm me down.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” I asked politely. “I’ll be right back.”

I ran upstairs to get him a new T-shirt. There was a huge hole in his shirt and I felt terrible for him. On my way through my apartment, I stopped to

check my appearance in the mirror. Great, my nipples are standing at attention. Guess I was in the cooler too long? I tried to push them back in as

I picked the clean T-shirt out of the laundry basket. It was still warm from when I took it out of the dryer this morning.

“Here. Please… take this.” I handed him my favorite oversized T-shirt. It was dark blue and soft from many washes. “Your T-shirt is really torn.

You can’t walk around looking like that. The bathroom is over there if you would like to change.”

“Thanks! Thanks a lot!” Ryan unfolded the shirt and looked at it, appearing very puzzled. “Wait, this shirt can’t be yours. It’s way too big. Is this

your…”

I shook my head. “No, it’s mine – well it used to be my father’s but now it’s a very comfortable sleep shirt.” My admission made me shrug. “I just

washed it. I’m sorry, it’s all I have. You don’t have to… I just thought...”

He smiled at me and pulled the shirt out of my reach. He wadded it up in his hand and departed for the restrooms. The way he looked at me

made me question if he ever gets treated with kindness by strangers. My gesture seemed to take him by surprise.

When he returned, he held his hands out from his sides. His posture asked the unspoken question for me to give my opinion.

When I wore that shirt it fit me like a dress, but on his body the soft cotton covered his physique like second skin. I noticed the contours of his

defined chest through the thin fabric and how the sleeves accentuated his muscular biceps.

I nodded and smirked. He looked gorgeous in my T-shirt.

“I think it fits you better,” I murmured, noticing that the color made his blue eyes even more alluring.

“It’s really soft, and it smells really good too.” He had the collar pulled up to his nose. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I smiled warmly. I was pleased that he no longer looked like a victim.

“So you live upstairs?”

I nodded; my eyes instinctively flashed up to the ceiling. I still couldn’t look directly in his eyes. “My apartment is the entire second floor.”

“Roommates?” he asked, almost expecting me to say yes.

“No, I live alone,” I informed quickly.

“Cats?” he questioned.

I laughed lightly at his insinuation. “No. I’m allergic to them.”

Ryan grinned and pushed his empty glass forward on the bar. “Me too,” he mumbled. We tapped our shot glasses together and downed our

second shot of whiskey.

“Would you like another beer?” I didn’t want to assume.

He nodded and smiled. “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

While I was refilling his glass the keg kicked, sending a pop of foam all over my face, shirt, and hair. Oh great, perfect timing. I suppose by the

way he laughed at me that he thought it was amusing.

“You have my kind of luck,” he admitted.

“Ugh,” I groaned, wiping myself off with a bar rag.

Ryan had a huge grin on his face. As much as I was embarrassed, his smile was quite contagious.

I reached down to pull the empty keg from the cooler and gasped slightly when I noticed he had come around the back of the bar. He was

standing there staring at me again.

“Here, let me help you. It’s the least I can do.” He gently wiped some beer froth from my hair then moved me out of the way to grab the empty

keg. I felt flush – like my heart skipped a beat.

I noticed that when he was right next to me he sniffed me; he even leaned in to get a better whiff.

“Is that you that smells like… peaches?”

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye as I reflexively leaned away. I smelled my shirt to get a better understanding of what he was referring

to.

“I guess so,” I answered.

Ryan leaned over closer and smelled me again. I instinctively leaned farther away, almost tipping off-balance. His nostrils opened wider and a

slight grin appeared on his lips.

“Peach scented perfume?” he asked.

“No. Just soap and body lotion.” Why is this guy sniffing me? “Do I smell bad?”

“No. Quite the opposite.” He smiled and inhaled deeply through his nose, like he was sensing the most pleasing of all scents. He muttered

something about being a first under his breath. I didn’t understand.

“So, you really own this place?” Ryan asked, carrying the empty keg to the back room for me.

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, I’m not the best judge of a woman’s age, but aren’t you sort of young – I mean, you look about as old as I am and you own your own

business.”

His observation didn’t bother me. I was used to having people make assumptions as to how I was able to afford a pub while only being twentyseven.

“Well, my grandfather was the original Mitchell. Then when he passed away my dad took it over,” I informed him. “My father died a little over a

year ago, it's been mine ever since.”

“Oh, I’m sorry – about your father,” he corrected. “And your mom? Is she…?”

“No,” I murmured. “She died four years ago – right after I turned twenty-three.”

“Wow. I’m sorry to hear that. So do you have any brothers or sisters?”

I just shook my head. “No.” I shrugged, trying to sound content and cheerful. “Just me.”

I hated the reminder that I was alone in this world. I wheeled around the cart to load up a new keg of beer as the sadness washed over me.

“Here, let me do that.” Ryan placed his hand in the small of my back and gently moved me out of the way so he could take over loading the keg

on the cart. I jumped ever so slightly when his fingers made contact with my body; I was surprised that he touched me.

We were so close that I could smell the scent emanating from his body; he had a slightly spicy but light and manly aroma. He smelled wonderful.

I breathed in another whiff of him while I could, only I wasn’t so obvious about it.

Ryan gave the keg a good shove to get it into the cooler under the taps. Why did I notice the muscles in his arms flex? I had to shake the thought

from my head.

“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 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