Love Unscripted

  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 ad
mission 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 twenty-seven.

  “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 d
on’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.