by Grea Warner
“Uh, yeah. Why? How?” I didn’t know which question I really wanted to ask, but I was, admittedly, glad we were steering away from the staying-the-night comment.
“It’s just like how people crack their knuckles.” Before I could admit to occasionally doing that, he continued, “So, here’s the story. I was on the wrestling team in high school.” He was well-built, but he didn’t exactly seem like the bodybuilding type—a little too lean and tall. “I dislocated my left hip, which kind of threw everything on that side off. Plus, I pushed recovery. So, that shoulder got a little messed up, too ... just where I would pop/crack it pretty good. And I think all of that eventually tightened my neck. So, now it’s the neck.”
“Wow. I thought that was just a cartoon thing... cracking necks.”
“Nope. The first time did scare me a bit,” he admitted. “But it’s perfectly fine. It relieves pressure.”
“Like when you’re tense or stressed?”
“Uh, yeah.” He looked at me for a beat and then said, “I should at least get Joel started with his bath. I swear the kid rolls in dirt during playtime.”
I shook my head and squinted my eyes. “Go ahead. I need to check my e-mail and social media accounts, anyway.”
“Yeah, you never know who might tweet you.” He smirked and called out for his son, “Joe-Joe, let’s go, bath!”
* * *
The entire ride back to my place, I had an inner monologue with myself. Actually, it was a bit of a combustive feud—almost like the devil and angel resting on my shoulders. Something had changed ... how I felt ... about Ryan. It came on suddenly with his innocent offer for me to stay over. But if I thought about it, it was even before that. It was in the way I naturally found myself openly talking with him. It was in the way I felt so comfortable around him. It was in the way our ideas challenged and complemented one another’s so succinctly.
But I had to realize that’s all it was. It was work and the way creative people collaborated. I was getting excited about a career dream coming true, but for him, it was something he had seen plenty of times. He was simply being nice. He gave no signs otherwise ... and, he was married. Married.
Goodness, first I had a one-night stand with a whore of a guy, and now I was beginning to have feelings for a married man. What kind of preacher’s daughter was I? What kind of woman was I? What kind of human being?
Chapter Four
“So, I don’t want to jump the gun.” Ryan’s deep blue eyes seemingly glistened. “But I’m pretty sure I can get you some interest.”
“Us, right?” I spoke of the brand-new songs we had created, as well as some of my initial ones we had tweaked. “We worked on them together.”
“For me ... just working on the creative side again is worth it. You need this.”
“Ryan, that’s not our deal.”
It had come out a little as a whine, but it was because I was brought up with a strong belief of being fair, sharing with others, and following through with commitments. Greed was one of the seven deadly sins and an absolute no-no in a preacher’s house. And even though I was semi-arguing my point in the most lavish home I had ever been in, I did think Ryan’s morality was similar. I had read about the charities he and his wife donated to, and I could see the simplicity of how he lived. The house wasn’t meant necessarily to impress. It was truly a home. It just had to be guarded and secured for obvious reasons.
I thought he was going to agree, but he was actually humoring me. “The deal was—you got to make lunch, and I got you back and forth.” He took a sip of his water. “I actually should say the songs aren’t ready just so I have an excuse to keep doing this.”
I shook my head and tried to prompt a more legit answer while also pushing away the emotional pull of the sinful feeling that had emerged the day before. “So, what’s next?”
“I’m setting up time with some audio guys. I want you to do a professional recording. Not just the cell phone stuff. And then I can send it out.”
“Really?” My voice rose in excitement. I guess, had I thought about it, that would have been the next step, but it was still exhilarating.
“For real.” His smile was large as he watched my animation.
“That’s ... wow.”
And then ... then ... his lips were on mine. Ryan’s lips were touching, brushing, caressing mine. He had leaned in from where we were seated next to one another, and he was kissing me.
When I pulled my lips away from his, his face jerked back a little from the abruptness. I knew the harsh ending was the exact opposite of the soft, new feeling our mouths joining had created. But I couldn’t let it go on. The Uber was beeping outside his house, and ... the action was wrong. Oh, my goodness, it was so wrong.
“I ... I gotta go.” Luckily, knowing the driver was on the way, I had already gathered my things. I just hadn’t realized I was going to have to make such a hasty exit.
“Bethany ...” Ryan called out as I hurried toward the front door. “I’m ... let me—"
I didn’t hear his final words. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to. I scurried down the sidewalk and found myself, once again, in the back of a car with my mind scrambling and my heart jumping.
There was a difference with the day before, though. I knew the feeling wasn’t one-sided. It wasn’t only me. I most certainly hadn’t been the one to initiate the contact. He had. Ryan was the one who had tilted in, minimized his eyes, and bit his lip for just a second. He was the one whose mouth had found mine and who did the slightest of groans when I accepted our lips together. But he was also the one who was married. And I was the one who, despite wanting and desiring his touch, ran.
***
Ryan called a couple times during my shift later in the day, but he didn’t leave a message. And without a message, I was not going to respond. I wouldn’t know what to say, because I had no idea what he was thinking. My mind cycled through the possible reasons why the kiss happened ... a) it was simply an excited, in-the-moment smooch, b) it was how creative people acknowledge an accomplishment, or c) it was something he did on a regular basis. Ugh! Geez, I hoped it wasn’t the latter. How did I keep finding these Casanovas?
After a restless night, I forced myself to go to breakfast the following morning just to get out of my closet of a room. I wanted to see if I could interact with someone other than my bad girl personality because, dang it, if the angel and devil weren’t once again residing solidly on my shoulders, whispering all kinds of things. Neither the toast with jam nor my friends at the table helped, though. They may as well have not been there. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but Ryan.
My phone rang right as I made my way back to my room. When I looked at the screen and saw Ryan’s name, my heart palpitated. But it wasn’t a fluttering, light feeling. It was nerves. It was still not knowing what had happened and what was going to happen. And I just couldn’t answer.
Instead of hanging up, though, he left a message. When I picked it up, his voice seemed pretty even-toned. It sounded, I thought, like any other conversation we had. Darn it, if I wasn’t even more confused.
“Hey, Bethany. Are you free to meet up today? I’d like to go over some stuff. Call me.”
My excuse for not calling him back had been that he hadn’t left a message, but that no longer held true. I knew I had to reply, and I couldn’t lie. My Christian lessons were very well ingrained. I was good at teasing and sarcasm but not breaking the rules ... like kissing a married man. The guilt for that was already too much. I couldn’t add lying on top of it.
But I did cop-out in a way. I texted instead of called. Didn’t know we were meeting. At your office?
Can’t, was his immediate text reply. Weekend—closed.
My shoulders tensed, and I felt under pressure to respond. You don’t have a key?
That was the only thing I came up with. At least it made sense. He was the owner of his business. The building that housed the office should be open.
His message back came a co
uple minutes later. I do. But there won’t B anyone there & I’m pretty sure that defeats your purpose.
Saturday. Closed. Yes, that meant no one, no one, would be there. And he called me out on my ulterior motive to be in public ... to avoid being alone and not have to deal with what happened or let it happen again. That’s what I got for being devious. It was almost like lying.
Before I determined how to respond, he sent another text. Come to the house. We need to talk. The kids R here. Hmmm, he was providing his own buffer—two innocent young children. And then, immediately after, he added, I want to explain.
There was no denying what he wanted to talk about or explain. We both knew. And the fact that he was basically saying it, made my body shimmy with more nerves. I really didn’t want to face it. I wanted it to go away. No ... I wanted it to have never happened. Well, there was a little part of me ...
Maybe I could simply brush it off, and we could move on. You don’t need to, I offered.
I do, he typed back. But I can’t do it over the phone especially not text.
My sigh was strong. I understood. He wasn’t going to risk an electronic trail of the deceitful, unholy act we had done, especially in the Hollywood snoops world.
It was going to happen. I was going to have to meet Ryan in person. And I knew it was better to get it over with and not agonize longer and let things fester. I just hoped I wasn’t going to have to face another disappointment in my life. I hoped it wasn’t going to mar the friendship and professional relationship we had built.
Okay, I agreed. In about an hour? I wanted to at least look presentable—put on some basic makeup to cover the dark circles under my eyes and wear clothes that didn’t look like I had just crawled out of bed.
That’s good. Do U need me to send a car?
No, I answered right away. I got it.
He didn’t argue or push. He didn’t tease that I could just bring some grub in exchange. He didn’t say anything at all. And I knew whatever he was going to say once I got there was going to be different than any of the normal, easy-going conversations we had happily been accustomed to.
***
The poor Uber driver probably thought I was a manic drug user. I was as jittery as heck in the car, and I’m pretty sure I was mumbling to myself. Not knowing what I was going to say or what Ryan was going to say, I wanted to vomit right there in the back seat. Geez, I hadn’t even been that bad when I auditioned for the TV show.
Luckily, I was greeted by the perfect little ice breaker. “Hi, Bethany!” Sallie opened the front door to welcome me.
“Hi, Sallie.” My smile was natural on her friendly greeting.
“We’re watching a princess movie. Joel doesn’t like it, but I do. Daddy says he has to because it’s my turn to pick.”
“What princess movie?” I asked.
“Belle,” she announced. “You wanna watch with us?”
“Sallie, at least let Bethany in before you bombard her with stories and requests.” That was Ryan’s voice.
When I lifted my eyes away from the six-year-old, I found her father propped against the staircase banister as if he had been casually standing there watching our entire interaction. He probably had been. But was it because he was a protective father making absolutely sure who was at the door, despite the guard at the gate announcing my arrival? Or, was he doing it to keep his distance from me?
Our eyes only met for the slimmest of seconds before we both took refuge in looking back at Sallie. Yes, it was a good thing we had a buffer. Just spotting his intense deep blue eyes on me was enough to make my body tighten.
“Daddy, can Bethany watch with us?”
“Let her in,” Ryan said a little more succinctly that time.
As Sallie stepped aside, I more properly entered the residence and shut the door behind me. I normally would have instantly shrugged off my shoes and started walking further into the interior of the home. But my sandals remained fastened as did my stance.
Ryan, who I noticed was barefoot, answered his daughter’s question. “Bethany isn’t here to watch princess movies, Tink.” Her lower lip stretched out in the cutest little pout as Ryan continued, “You better go make sure your brother doesn’t change the show. He’s the slyest four-year-old I know.”
With her eyes seemingly growing wide at Ryan’s suggestion, she belted, “He wouldn’t dare!”
My belly bounced at the little girl’s dramatic exit. Ryan actually laughed out loud and shook his head. And then ... there we were. Alone.
“So ... uh, about recording ...”
Despite all the conversation starters I had internally scripted on the ride over, that was what came out. It was not even close to being as melodic or smooth as I had hoped. In fact, it was like a stuttering, old vinyl. Although, I suppose anything was better than the silent tension that had invaded the foyer in the matter of seconds.
“Can we deal with the elephant in the room first?”
“There’s nothing—” I tried to just move past the fictional, ugly, gray mammal who wasn’t only occupying the room but also my brain.
But Ryan denied me. “Bethany, we have to talk about the fact that we kissed.”
He looked at me dead-on then, but I couldn’t mirror his action for long. I felt guilt. Didn’t he? Shouldn’t he? He was the married one.
I let go of the air in my lungs. If I didn’t then, I think I might have passed out. “I know. I understand.” I decided to go with the best of the scenarios I had come up with. “I get that it was simply the excitement of everything.”
“No. Yes. But no. I mean ...” When he stumbled on his words, I was able to look up again. “Not on my end. Is that all it was for you? I thought ... Look, I don’t want you to think this is sexual harassment or anything.”
I hadn’t even considered any kind of harassment. But I guess it happened in the Hollywood world, and both women and men had to be careful. If there was one thing I knew, though, it was that Ryan treated me as an equal ... even if I didn’t think I deserved it.
I made sure to answer definitively. “Oh, goodness, no. Don’t worry about that.”
The muscles in his face seemed to ease a tad as if his jaw unlocked before he opened his mouth to speak again. “I’m attracted to you, Bethany. We have a bond, and it’s more than just words on paper.”
Oh, swish! My brain was instantly fuzzy again ... not that it had been altogether clear. Despite my eyes blinking so much I couldn’t see properly, I did know I had heard him correctly. And dang it if I didn’t feel the same way, and it was what I would have loved to have heard him say, if only ...
“I need you to say something, or I’m gonna feel like a total heel.” His words managed to get my eyes to refocus.
Ryan’s dark brows were slightly pushed toward one another as if he was anticipating my response. His mouth formed a straight line. The look was similar to when I had seen him judge on TV ... but not quite. The difference was the soft, almost watery appearance of his eyes.
“It’s not one-sided,” I whispered, and those eyes of his seemed to brighten. But then I said, “I just can’t. I’m not a prude.” A flashback of the storage area with Andre definitely solidified my non-prude status. “Ryan, you’re married,” I cited the obvious. “I can’t. God help me, it’s not that ... I can’t.” That was all I could say or do—clearly, it was his turn.
And it was agonizing waiting for him. As I wondered what his next words would be ... if it would change anything or everything, he closed his eyes and then stretched his neck to crack it. Yes, the tense feeling was overwhelming for both of us.
“I’ve never kissed someone else since Kari,” were the first words out of his mouth when he eventually brought his gaze back to mine.
I’m sure he could see the doubt tattooed across my face. I knew the world of celebrities. I saw the magazines at the grocery stores and watched the entertainment shows as much as anyone else did ... besides my parents. But at the same account, I truly felt there was something
special ... something different ... a kind of pull between the two of us.
“Honestly.” Yep, he could see my doubt., and it was his turn to let his breath go. “I want to tell you something, and I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t, because I made a promise. And I’m a guy who keeps his promises ... sometimes to a fault. Right now, though, it’s only hurting you and, selfishly, me, not to tell you.” If he hadn’t completely had my full attention, he surely did then. “Besides, the other person involved has broken promises to me left and right.”
Our short conversation was like being on a roller coaster. It was going fast and had so many curves, but after the initial start of actually getting on the ride, I was easing into it. I think we both were. We were almost talking as we normally would.
“Kari.” He said the name of the person who had broken the promises and whom I had suspected. He paused again and nodded as if he was reconciling something in his brain. “Bethany, I’m trusting you not to tell anyone.”
His request shot up my nerves a tad. “Is it against the law? I don’t ... I don’t want to know if that’s the case.” I’m not sure why I went there besides the serious look on his face.
“No,” he denied instantly and seemed to relax slightly. “No. Nothing like that.”
“Okay,” I said, not only because I was agreeing to his request but also because he wasn’t saying anything else.
“We’re divorced. We actually have been for a while.”
I’m sure a GIF of my reaction would have been trending almost instantly had someone been there to capture it. I felt my jaw drop in that exaggerated way you see people do out of absolute, genuine shock. I had no idea, and I was pretty sure all of America—heck, the world—didn’t, either. Tabloids and websites and entertainment shows and social media ... the Thompsons, by all accounts, were happily married.
I hadn’t vocalized any of that, but yet Ryan seemed to perfectly assess my reaction. “I know.”
The word “what” eventually came out of my mouth.
“We’re divorced,” he said a little more evenly that time but was still peering his eyes at me as if gauging my reaction.
