by Grea Warner
Thank goodness for Til, I thought, as I bustled into my room. I wasn’t going to be around for dinner, either. I was going to bring food over for Ryan and the kids, and I was packing an extra change of clothes ... just in case.
***
Ryan was amused, and Sallie and Joel loved the creative dinner I made for them that night. Not only was it fun for the kids to help me make it, but it was a great teaching tool for how a food allergy doesn’t have to restrict a life. Instead of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, we had sunflower seed butter and jelly sandwiches. Ryan and I chose raspberry jam, but the kids stuck with traditional strawberry. I also sliced up bananas and apples and drizzled them with honey, and the kids got a big kick out of filling celery with cream cheese and raisins for “ants on a log.” The best part was, it was easy and quick for Sallie and Joel.
Ryan had insisted he was in charge of dessert, which to me was always the most alarming food category as far as a nut allergy. But he showed me the wrapper of the premade cookie dough and how the three of them had topped it on Rice Krispie treats—a recipe he grew up with. And there were absolutely no nut ingredients. He admitted it wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be to live a nut-free life. In fact, he said he was eliminating everything nut-related from their kitchen ... which I assured him he did not have to do.
After the kids went to bed, Ryan and I watched the conclusion of that week’s Singer Spotlight. “What did you tweet?” I asked once he turned the television off and placed his phone back on the table.
“Just how hard it is to let contestants go ... and that the makeup people need to hold back a little. It looked like I was wearing eyeliner!”
I laughed because it had a little. “Do you regret it?”
“Regret what? The eyeliner?” he questioned.
“No. Helping me out ... tweeting ... asking me to meet you in the first place. There are so many others who are way better than me.”
“Oh, boy.” Ryan’s head moved ever so slightly from left to right, but his eyes remained glued onto mine. “Where do I even start with that one?”
“The truth?” I suggested because there was no denying the talent we both witnessed on the show.
“The truth is ... first of all, I know you realize all the shows so far are recorded. I already did—saw—all of what is airing before I tweeted out to you.”
I did know that. I wasn’t really concentrating on that fact right then, though. “Yeah, and you said you regretted doing that because other people thought they deserved a chance, too.”
“Trying to use my words against me again, Lenay?” He was serious but added a little smile to also bring some levity to the conversation. “I didn’t say I regretted asking you to come in,” he clarified. “I said I regretted doing it publicly. You know I don’t do a lot of social media, anyway. Are there good singers left? I am not denying that. There are some fantastic artists. It’s gonna be hard when it comes down to the live shows, no doubt. But what you are seeing now isn’t only makeup as a cover. There are a lot of sound effects to help. Those initial tryouts that you were in? That was the real deal. Uh-huh, let me finish.” He raised his eyebrows, and I pierced my eyes at him for knowing I was going to say something, even though nothing verbally had emerged from my mouth. “Absolutely no regrets ... about any of it.” He rubbed his hand on my jeans-covered leg. “I never, in a million years, though, would have thought it would have led to this.”
I had arrived to the West Coast a young woman with miles of naivety. And the city of angels had definitely crushed some confidence. In a lot of ways, however, it had also made me stronger and more realistic. Except in little moments, like that one on the sofa in the Thompson family room, when I needed a boost ... a reminder of all I had. I was writing, it was going to be pitched, and ... Ryan.
“In a million years?” I returned to my real self after a blip in the insecure world. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a compliment.”
“Geez!” His eye roll was much exaggerated before he kissed me quickly. “What I’m saying is, I was taken in by your words—your talent for words. And I still am. That’s where my mind was set ... strongly, by the way. But you changed all that.”
“Ry—”
“For ... real,” he said with determination.
I thought about how those two little words were the first interaction between us. It had become our thing, and I loved that. When I smiled, he brought my body onto his lap. I started my finger at his temple and traced down the smooth surface of his cheek to his chin and then finally rested my open palm on his chest, covered by a blue cotton pullover.
Our kissing intensified pretty quickly then. We both knew where it was leading. And the anticipation was even greater than the night before because we understood how incredibly good it was between the two of us.
While working on unbuttoning my girl cut, dark blue top, he asked, “Upstairs? My room?”
I pursed out some air. “Why?” I asked, and then clarified, “Why not yesterday?”
We had started that way the day before but ended up in the guest room. Ryan didn’t answer. And any further action stopped, too.
I played off of his machoism with a hopefully snarky remark. “What? Didn’t think you could carry me up the stairs? Did you work out today?”
Luckily, he let out an exasperated breath and poked my side. Then he spoke honestly. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about being in the room I used to share—” He stopped himself as his eyes darted back and forth, examining mine.
“With Kari,” I finished for him.
It had been my guess all along, and I was actually glad we were discussing it. But for both our sakes, I hoped the conversation could conclude quickly. Buzzkill and all that.
“It’s my room, and the thing is ... I don’t want you to feel like you’re a guest. You’re not. I realized maybe I ... It’s up to you.”
“What do you want?” I asked, thinking maybe he still pictured her in there and that could be a problem.
“Bethany, I’m asking you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” It didn’t. As long as he felt comfortable, I wanted him no matter what or where. “You decide.”
“Ah, geez.” He grabbed at the zipper of his jeans and undid it, exposing his white briefs. “I can’t play this your-choice game right now.” He pulled off his shirt, flung it behind the sofa, and kissed me passionately before quickly but gently laying me prone.
His actions were definitely intensifying things to the next level, but suddenly a rational thought invaded my mind. We were in a room with open pocket doors. Two very impressionable young children were a floor above us somewhere.
“Kids?” I breathed out.
His breathing pattern was similar to mine as he spilled out the words, “Asleep. Told you ... can’t leave rooms. Green today?” He had gotten my shirt completely off and was gazing at my bra. And then we took care of our pants and, very soon after, collided most blissfully into each other right there on the sofa.
***
“That was Judge Ryan.” I smirked with his face still so close to mine moments after our climax and collapse.
“What? What do you mean?”
“The other judges ... they confer with one another and debate. But Ryan Thompson?” I lowered my octave a little to mimic a male voice. “Nope. No. None of this. Sofa it is.”
Ryan’s stomach bounced in laughter. “You’re exhausting, Lenay.”
“That’s because you’re old.” I smiled a tease, knowing our ten-year age difference definitely seemed to meet somewhere in the middle.
“Really?” He swiftly and expertly flipped us around so I was lying on his stomach and he on his back.
“No,” I admitted. “You proved you’re not a few minutes ago.”
His smile was genuine before he gave me a kiss and asked, “You’re staying, right?”
“Uh ... yeah. Okay? Yeah?”
“Don’t make me Judge Ryan you,” he teased. “No more debate. Yes, you’re s
taying.” And then he added, “Upstairs in my room.”
“Mmmm-hmmm.” I was glad he made the decision. I think when it came down to it, it was truly his to make.
“And I can so carry you up there.”
“No doubt.”
***
After breakfast with the kids that next morning—where Joel was trying to con Ryan into giving him a Rice Krispie cookie and Sallie was wondering why I was working at their house so early—Ryan got them bustled off to the school van. Then he insisted on dropping me off at my place on his way into the office. I didn’t mind. It meant that many more minutes to be with him. And I absolutely wanted that.
“What are you doing today?” he asked as we got closer to my place.
“I’m not sure. Probably resting from my active weekend.” I waited for him to look my way so the magnetic, sexy feel could connect both of us.
It had been another night when I hadn’t had enough sleep. But that time, it was for better reasons. Noting not even a trace of Kari in the master bedroom—no photos, clothes, double toothbrushes, or anything else—I fell a step deeper. It was me who initiated our lovemaking that second time in his bedroom, but he certainly hadn’t been far behind or put up any arguments.
“Mmmm,” he murmured in the driver’s seat, surely remembering what I was. “Once you recover, look over your bio, double-check your links, and let me know if you have any changes.”
“Oh, shoot. We were supposed to work on that.”
“I got distracted.” He did a short chuckle.
“Funny, me, too. Next right,” I noted the street to turn onto. “And then it will be down on the right.”
“Sorry my schedule is picking up,” he said as we started down my street. “Got those show promos tomorrow. I’ll definitely see you on Friday, though.”
“Little nervous about that,” I admitted.
“You shouldn’t be. You were on national television. This recording is nothing.”
Maybe it was because of the way the national television gig went, or maybe it was because I knew if I didn’t get the recording right, the possibilities of ever making it took a nosedive like the worst day on Wall Street. I didn’t say any of that, though. I wanted to push away those insecurities. Besides, we had arrived at the apartment house.
“Right there.” I pointed to the building approaching on the right. “Where those women are coming out.” Ryan pulled the car up to the curb a little before the entrance, and I internally sighed. “All right.” I tried to sound casual. “Thanks for driving me home.”
When he didn’t say anything in reply, I stopped looking at the apartment building and, instead, glanced over at him. He had a most definite look of longing. It was something we could rectify when it was me leaving his house. I could kiss him before opening the door and going down the sidewalk to meet the car service. Not in his car, though ... in public ...
“Ah, screw it.” Before I could respond, he grasped my face in both his hands and pulled me in for a quick but needy—needed—kiss, followed by that deep, stirring groan of his.
My closed smile was huge. “See you Friday.” Grabbing my tote bag, I opened the car door while the coast was still clear, winked, and tried not to skip to the front door.
***
Both miraculously having a free afternoon, Willow and I were able to help one another with our career needs. She was my second set of eyes on the material Ryan requested, and I was her amateur photographer. My friend was working on her portfolio for graduation and needed not only photos of her designs but some of her, also. We started out in the building’s mid-way lounge, but its dark red décor and limited lighting weren’t ideal. The best shots were on the roof of the apartment building. Usually a place where we would sunbathe, the mid-day natural light and blue skyline as its backdrop worked much better.
My next-door neighbor tried to pry more out of me regarding my Easter dress attire, but I kept mum. It was hard, especially because I was once again skimming around the truth without flat out lying. I respected and made the promise to Ryan, though, and that took precedence.
What we did end up talking about wasn’t much easier. Since I wasn’t around the house as much, I was missing out on the gossip, and Andre Upton was the number one subject. One of our apartment mates found out Andre’s aunt had just passed away. Between the obit and the information coming out because of the charges against him, it was uncovered that it was Andre’s aunt who had raised him after both his dad and grandmother did stints in jail and his mother was too strung out and having other kids to keep custody of him.
“So, now on top of having to pay back the apartment to keep out of jail, he has funeral expenses,” Willow explained.
“Yeah, that’s rough.” I tried to be sympathetic.
More than anything, Andre’s story made me appreciate all I had. I didn’t have enough money to own a car or home, but I made by. I certainly didn’t have to steal or beg. And I may have been sheltered growing up, but I always knew I was wanted and cared for. That not only included family but also friends like Willow and a certain music manager who was changing my world in so many ways.
Chapter Nine
Ryan was there to greet me when I first arrived at the recording studio just down the hall from his office. Almost immediately, though, he had meetings to attend. But that was probably for the best. Although I could have used his support, it couldn’t be in the intimate way I really craved. So, having him present probably would have just distracted me.
I had been in recording studios before—first on sight-seeing tours, then on campus where I worked at the radio station, and finally at a temp job I had in Carolina before moving west. But that day it was all about me, and it was thrilling and nerve-wracking at the same time. I was harder on myself than the professional techs were. They kept insisting that with some tweaks in post-production, everything was going to sound great. It made me think of what Ryan had said about the makeup and special effects of the music world.
Before we wrapped, I decided to do an alternate version of one of the songs. I wanted to play around with the tempo by slowing it down at the end compared to the rest of the song. It was just to get another feel ... kind of a different twist on the meaning of the song. Almost like a cliff-hanger at the end of a book. Like, oh, what just happened there?
I wasn’t in the booth but in the main room playing around with it, when I heard Anamaria’s voice. “Ryan, there’s a phone call.”
I stopped singing and looked up as Ryan cleared his throat. “Take a message,” he said to his secretary.
The way he was comfortably propped in the doorway made me wonder how long he had been standing there. I tried not to smile. But I hoped he could tell or feel it in the slight blink of my eyes.
“It’s important,” Anamaria insisted.
“Wha—”
“It’s about Kari.” That time her words made me look down like a guilty party, even though I knew I wasn’t.
“Just take a—” he started again.
“It’s ... something happened. They said it’s urgent.” I looked first to the woman who said it and then to the man next to her.
“Okay.” Ryan’s eyes caught mine for the briefest of seconds before he followed his secretary out of the studio.
I was distracted from that point on. Luckily, recording that version was the last thing we were doing, and the guys admitted they liked the final cut better. “Haunting” is what Morrison called it.
Having run a little over our time, they packed up in a hurry, and Morrison alone walked me to Anamaria’s desk. Just beyond, I saw Ryan in his office. His door was shut, but it was glass, so I could see how very serious he looked while talking on the phone. Anamaria explained to us that Ryan couldn’t be disturbed, which worried me even more. Morrison just shrugged it off, though, and said he would send Ryan the file as soon as he put the magic touches on it. When he started to give me a hug good-bye, I glanced Ryan’s way again and instead shook hands with the head technic
ian.
Once Morrison left, I spotted the leather sofa I had originally sat on before my first ever meeting with Ryan. I couldn’t help but think how much had changed since then. It was all good, and it had started right there.
“Miss Lenay.” Anamaria—who called me by my California name despite knowing my legitimate last name—seemed shocked I was going to take residence on the sofa. “I told you, he’s on the phone.”
“I can wait,” I insisted.
I wanted to wait. Sure, I wanted to tell Ryan all about the session he had put into play, but mostly, I was concerned. I was concerned for him and whatever the call was about. Anamaria had said “urgent” when she originally told him, and by the look on his face in that office, it appeared it was.
“It’s still about that same call.” Anamaria confirmed my internal thoughts. “I don’t know that he—"
She was interrupted by the intercom system on her desk, which suddenly had Ryan’s voice coming out of it. “Send her in,” he directed.
Anamaria looked completely shocked, and I was a little, too, especially when I could see he was still on his phone, but she silently waved her hand for me to go into Ryan’s office. I picked up my guitar case and purse, did a half-smile at her, opened Ryan’s door, and walked in. He motioned for me to shut the door behind me.
As I sat down, Ryan was pacing while speaking into the phone. “My biggest concern right now is the kids. They can’t find out.” My eyes furrowed in apprehension as Ryan tried a non-convincing smile at me and continued to talk with whoever was on the other line. “I know. I know the school or daycare won’t—” As he continued, I wondered if it was actually his ex he was talking to. “I’ll call and make sure—” He seemed to either keep losing his thought or was cut off by the other person. “I’m going to pick them up. ... . Yeah. All right. I mean, it’s all right. I need to talk with her.” He listened and replied again. “I know. I know. Okay.” He looked at me. His smile was not any more convincing at all. “Yeah, that, too. Hey, thanks.” And with that, he hung up his phone and did the longest exhale I had ever heard from him.
