Love Unrehearsed (38 page)

By the time we reached the after-party at the Soho House in West Hollywood, I had met and mingled with more famous people than I ever thought imaginable. My mind and body were buzzing with the glitz and glamour that came along with Ryan’s chosen profession, not to mention being blinded by hundreds of paparazzi flashes on our way in the door.

As we hurried away from the throng of photographers screaming, shouting, and chasing us, I wondered how Ryan managed to stay humble and grounded with all of this attention. Even I felt a tinge of supremacy from being with him, knowing that several of the people around us at this lavish party would kill to be in either of our positions.

Ryan had won three awards tonight for his role as Charles Conroy, and I was so damn proud of him it was hard to not be smug about it. Even when he and Suzanne won the award for Best Kiss, I felt extremely proud. I was glad he didn’t kiss her onstage. He promised me he wouldn’t, stating that
I
would be the only woman he kissed in public.

As I glanced around the packed affair, my eyes landed on the very lovely ass of Ian Somerhalder. Zac Efron was standing a few feet away, deep in conversation. To hell with the MTV swag gift bags; this was definitely more of a gift than anything. I was morphing into a freaking fangirl being so close to them. My fingers itched to take out my cell, capture a few photos, and send them on to Marie so we could squeal about them.

Screw it.

I tried to stifle my starstruck enthusiasm. Marie would die if she knew I could hit Ian with a spitball, he was that close. I snuck my cell phone out and took a discreet picture, needing to torment her.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asked. He seemed partially amused and slightly disappointed.

I created a new text message. “Tormenting Marie.”

He gave me that “are you kidding?” glare, but I ignored him. It was Ian Smolderhalder for cripes sake and honestly, this close, he was even better-looking in person. Marie would be jumping over chairs if she were this close to him, asking the poor guy to sign his name on her body somewhere close to her boobs with indelible ink.

I heard Ryan scoff when he spied over my shoulder to see who I captured on my cell. “His ass? You took a close-up of his ass?”

I knew I should feel guilty but altruism warred with those feelings. “It’s a gift for Marie. She’s going to flip.”

“I thought she only had eyes for my ass.” The tiny pout on his face was pathetically endearing.

I was glad he was being playful about my paparazzi moment. “She’s used the bathroom after you’ve been in it, Ryan. The mystery and allure are gone now. You’ve effectively killed it for her.”

He rolled his eyes and then frowned at both me and Ian. “That guy takes a shit, too, you know.”

I shook my head to disagree. “No, he doesn’t. He’s still in god status and we all know that gods don’t poop.”

“Oh, come on! For real?”

“Yes. You didn’t poop, either—ever—until she discovered you were a mere mortal.”

His eyebrows almost hit his hairline. “So I was a pseudo-god?”

It was hard to text and debate at the same time. “Or a constipated, time-traveling demigod.”

Ryan almost spit out his beer. “I can’t believe you just said that about me. We’re not even married yet and I’ve lost my god status.”

I shrugged while my thumbs kept typing. “I was on to you the moment I saw blood on your face. I knew you could be wounded. Gods can’t bleed. Everyone knows they are protected by mystical forces.”

His hand landed on my hip, pulling me into his groin. “But you’ve called me ‘God’ hundreds of times now. Have you been lying all this time?”

I met his darkened eyes, and was excited by his aggressiveness. “If I tell you the truth, there will be no living with you and your
huge
ego. You know I worship you, so that should count for something.”

I watched as his devilish tongue slid out to wet his lips. I wanted those wet lips on me, wanted to taste the flavor of bliss on his tongue.

Ryan held out his cell, angling it. “You want a picture? I want a picture, too,” he uttered close to my lips. “Look at the camera and smile, baby.” After he captured our smiles, he captured my mouth.

And then someone bumped into me, on purpose.

“Hey! No making out.” I looked over into the goofy, disapproving face of Ryan’s
Seaside
co-star, Kathleen Jarrett, and took in her awesome black sequin dress and gorgeous eyes. Behind her, her handsome actor boyfriend, Ben Harrison, beamed, flashing those adorable dimples.

“She’s taking pictures of Somerhalder’s ass,” Ryan said dryly, tipping back his glass of beer while he discreetly indented his partial erection into my hip.

Kat gapped at me. “Really?”

I sucked in a quick breath from feeling the unspoken need in Ryan’s pants and the silent point he was trying to make. Kat was waiting for an answer, so no sense denying it. “It’s for Marie. She’ll get a kick out of it. I’ve got to get one of Zac Efron, too. She’ll freak.”

“Ooh, I know him. You want to meet him?” Kat asked, bouncing excitedly.

“No, she doesn’t,” Ryan answered for me.

Kat rolled her eyes and finished her drink. “Jealous much?”

Ryan scoffed, taking another sip. I patted his gloriously tight abs. “He knows I love him and only him.”

Soon we were surrounded by most of the
Seaside
cast, all of us laughing, joking, and downing plenty of expensive alcohol. Even Suzanne was tolerable.

Kat set her glass down on the table. “I need to use a bathroom. Taryn, go with me?”

Ryan leaned over and gave me a quick kiss. “Don’t get lost.”

I took my hand off his thigh and followed Kat through the tightly packed crowd. Why is it that when you’re slightly buzzed and wearing uncomfortable shoes, the ladies’ room becomes a half-mile walk? Kat squeezed past some people, turning to grab my hand to pull me through. I couldn’t help but giggle with her when we got to an open space.

She wrapped her arm around mine. “That was fun.”

I was still laughing, having a blast when I sort of fumbled in my tracks, unsure if my eyes were deceiving me. Sure enough, two girls were making out hot and heavy in a darkened corner.

Holy hell. Welcome to Hollywood.

Should I be shocked or turned on by their blatant public display? The whole thing had me quite bemused until one of them broke away and made eye contact.

I staggered.
Holy hell, that’s . . .

Lauren Delaney.

Sucking face with Nicole Devin.

Never in a million years . . .

The second Lauren saw me she pulled back from Nicole, shoving her away, apparently flustered from being caught.

“What are you looking at?” Kat asked, yanking on my arm.

I nodded my chin and Kat guffawed loudly, apparently just as shocked as I was.

“Oh my God. I . . . Wait until I tell Ryan.” I thought Kat was going to double over with laughter. “He’s turning all his leading ladies into lesbians.”

I gave her a stern look. “That’s not funny.”

“Oh yes it is! What are the odds?” She looked over her shoulder. “That means Suzanne is next.”

We were outside the women’s bathroom when my cell rang. It was Marie, probably calling to squeal in my ear over Ian Smolderhalder’s exquisite derriere.

“I almost touched it!” I blurted excitedly, not even bothering to say hello.

I could tell by the first sound she made that she was upset. “Taryn, listen. Tammy just called. Pete was just rushed back to the hospital. I don’t know what’s going on but she said that he tried to walk and couldn’t feel his leg so she called the ambulance. I guess he fell in their bedroom.”

My slightly inebriated condition mixed with a power shot of worried adrenaline made me feel lightheaded. I covered my other ear with my hand, trying to hear her over the chatter and noise. By the time I hung up with her, I felt as if I’d been socked in the stomach. I left Kat behind in the bathroom and hurried back to the table to tell Ryan.

Ryan halted in mid-sentence when he saw me. “Tar?” One word that said,
You only went to the bathroom. What the hell happened?

I glanced at the cell still in my hand while horrible visions of Pete not being able to walk down the aisle of his own wedding plagued my thoughts. “They just took Pete back to the hospital.” I filled him in with what little I knew.

He took a deep breath then Kat suddenly bounced up behind him, all too excited to tell him what we witnessed on our way to the bathroom.

Ryan’s mouth fell open. “You’re shitting me.”

Kat was having too much fun teasing him like this. “Full-on tongue action.”

I actually saw him shudder. “You’re positive it was Lauren and Nicole Devin? Positive?”

Kat looked at me and we both nodded.

Ryan ran a hand through his hair, digesting this new information. “Wow. Good for them, I guess.”

I tried to change the subject, talking about anything that didn’t involve things that Ryan would stew over, but I could see that the news had affected him, slightly changing his mood. He was with Lauren for a while when they dated a few years ago; they’d been intimate for months. Ryan was not the type of man who could switch off his emotions.

Instead of letting it affect us, we mixed and mingled with so many celebrities that I was awestruck. It seemed that everyone asked the same sort of questions: What are you working on now? Did you hear about this person or that person? Most of the conversations ended with enthusiastic promises of keeping in touch and “hope to work with you sometime” comments. It was hard to discern between true intentions and crafted bullshit, but I’d like to think I guessed accurately.

Ryan had just made a private comment to me when I saw Kyle storm through the crowd on a direct course for Lauren. Someone else had engaged Ryan in conversation and after being introduced, I kept part of my attention on watching Kyle and Lauren. Kyle was pissed. I could tell because I’d seen that face before. Lauren looked stubborn, planting a foot and crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

Kyle reached for her but she rolled her shoulder away from his grasp. He apparently wasn’t going to take no for an answer, snatching her wrist and pulling her off balance so she had no choice but to follow him. He towed her along like an insolent puppy fighting the leash, and never looked back at her as she struggled.

As much as I was curious about their interactions, I was glad that he seemed to have found a new outlet for his misguided attentions.

Photographers surrounded us like hungry jackals as we hustled through LAX. My heart pounded in my chest from the chaos that ensued when we stepped into the terminal. Men were yelling, running sideways, aiming those nasty black cameras at us. So the famous Ryan Christensen was getting on another plane. Why is that even remotely newsworthy? Such nonsense. Ryan tugged his duffle bag up on his shoulder and grabbed my hand as Mike and three extra hired bodyguards moved us through the entrance. Two airport police officers flanked us, telling the paparazzi to mind the other passengers and to keep their distance.

We were ushered down a separate row to go through security and I nearly tripped over my own feet trying to walk as fast as possible. Ryan glanced back at me when I stumbled, then he stopped long enough to put my body in front of his.

“You okay?” he uttered quietly, walking his fingers over the small of my back as he nudged me along.

I nodded, slightly mortified by the prospect of having my little stumble be on the next episode of TMZ.

“This is fucking annoying,” Ryan growled to me privately under his breath.

I tried not to spy over his shoulder but the paparazzi were still taking photos and filming us as we came to a halt in the security line.

Ryan tapped Mike’s arm. “Why are we stopped?” We were standing in a special line but there were still like twenty people in front of us with a pack of rabid idiots forty feet behind us filming and photographing.

I heard a faint chime just as Ryan asked, “Is your cell ringing?” I thought I had turned it off, knowing it would have to be off for the flight. I didn’t recognize the number and considered ignoring it until thoughts of Pete being in the hospital crossed my mind.

“Is this Taryn? Taryn Mitchell?” the unfamiliar male voice asked hesitantly.

As quickly as the notion came, I pictured some obscure religious-message, flower-sending weirdo named Jerry or Jeremy calling me. I had the sudden urge to just hang up. “Who is this?”

“It’s ahh . . . Joe.”

I gasped from the slight shock.

“Joe Malone,” he continued, clearing his throat nervously. “Your um, father.”

Reconnected

Ryan nodded his chin at me. “Who’s that?”

“Joe,” I whispered, both to answer Ryan and to assure my brain that I was actually talking to the man who fathered me. I had almost convinced myself that he’d never call.

Ryan pulled his sunglasses off, hooking them over the front of his T-shirt, and focused all of his attention on me. The man on the other end of my phone sounded close to tears as his breath stuttered in my ear. I knew how he felt; I wanted to cry with him.