Turn The Page (Kissed by A Muse Book 2)

by S. K Munt

  However, it was an exciting false alarm and I’m happy to report that I got to know a very talented, very understanding Aussie guy over here who is every bit as delicious as ‘our’ Ryan is so ladies, don’t lose heart! They’re still out there! Hotties in leather jackets, musicians who drive sexy Dodges, and in my lucky case… a dashing young Canuck who is taking me out to see the sights tonight! So even though my heart belongs to the Kindle edition of Ryan Weaver, I’m starting to hope that maybe there’s a 3D man out there for me too, and that’s progress!

  -Honeybee out!

  Leigh didn’t bother re-reading the post before she pressed return, but got up and made her way towards the bathroom to get ready for her date, hoping that the warm water would wash away the torrent of cold that Ryan had dumped on her with his parting words and hoping for both of their sakes’ that she didn’t cross his path again before it was time for her to fly home and safely out of his tentative existence.

  Nine

  Ryan

  Imogen’s living room was eight paces wide, and five paces deep. Ryan knew this because on his twentieth lap around it, he began to count his steps, closing the book on the third page and chucking it onto Imogen’s black velvet couch, wishing she were there so that he could have startled her with it.

  Oh so that’s where you’re gonna end up man? Hating on an old lady? Well, you’ve already abused a beautiful tourist about six times in two days, gotten yourself kicked out of a mate’s hotel and earned yourself a speeding ticket…

  Ryan made a strangled noise and flopped onto the couch, finding that it had landed on the exact page that he was up to. He tried to make himself focus on the words: the author was going on about a lake, where a little girl was playing with her two chums, Ryan and Justin, while her rock-star daddy jammed with his mates on the porch of a beautiful lakefront house nearby. The setting sounded beautiful- ideal, even, and the writing was lyrical. But every time his eyes dragged across the name ‘Ryan’ his intestines turned into hissing snakes.

  Is this my childhood? Is this the girl in my dreams? Is this Justin guy the guy I lose to? Sweet Jesus. If we were friends since we were kids…

  Ryan groaned and shut the book again, flipping open to the inner jacket and scrutinising the photo of the author intently, waiting for a bell to ring- but nothing sounded. Kathryn Praser was a plain woman in her mid- thirties, with mouse-brown hair, retro specs and a generic face that lacked any distinction. If he’d met her before, she’d fallen through his memory like sand through a sieve.

  That’s because you haven’t met her! Face it Ry- this is all Imogen’s doing. She probably named you Ryan Weaver because she read this, saw how the musically-inclined fella jumped off Niagara Falls in the end and thought: ‘Ha! The irony!’ and that’s it!

  Ryan closed the book and flipped it to the back, running his eyes over the synopsis again and frowning. So far, he hadn’t felt as though any part of the story was his, and yet he had to admit that there was something to the name Kylie Lyle that was resonating with him. Not the Kylie part though, but the way her first and last names rhymed in a way that brought a smirk to his face. Was that because of her though, or because of him? He knew he couldn’t really be Ryan Weaver, but what if he had a rhyming name, like Ryan Fry? Or Ryan… Hine or something stupid like that? He stared at the ceiling, letting surnames bounce off his first name inside his mind like little dodgem cars, waiting for something to crash and explode but still, he remained blank, and when he ran a mental search on the name Justin, he was left equally unmoved and uninterested.

  After five minutes of sightless seeing, every single name had abandoned his consciousness, he was left with one venust face and one lousy name.

  Gilbert Blythe, Gilbert Blythe… why is THAT name ringing bells, and not any of the others? I wonder if he really is bigger than me?

  Ryan pushed up and stared across the room, over the breakfast counter crammed with Imogen’s cactus collection in her gaudy, antique teacups, and saw only Leigh’s cute butt as she hightailed away from him. He bent over the coffee table and hit the power button on Imogen’s white notebook, wondering if he’d be able to smooth things over with Leigh. He could finish the book, he supposed, then contact her- but it would take him at least a full day and who knew how long she was in town for? Could he maybe call her that night or show up at her room with an apology?

  That’s if she’s not already packing her shit, and cursing me for ruining her holiday. I wonder if she’s on the phone to Gilbert, saying all sorts of crappy things about me? Pfft. Gilbert! That’s like, a turn of the century name, and not this last century either! I’ll bet he’s way smaller than me, and his glasses are probably twice as thick as hers!

  Thinking about Leigh made him feel all hissy in the stomach again so he pulled up Safari on the laptop, wondering where he was supposed to find that ‘Google’ thing that everyone was always referencing. His name had done such weird things to Leigh, and he wanted to know if it was as infamous as she’d made it sound, or if maybe she was just a big ‘ol book geek with dramatic tendencies- sort of like Imogen had been. Maybe he didn’t even have to read the book at all, and life would roll on just fine.

  Concentrating hard and trying to call to mind everything he’d ever heard about the Internet, Ryan clicked the track pad of the mouse over the empty bar at the top of the screen and started writing WWW. But just after he’d typed in G-O-O, he noticed that the entire browser window beneath the search bar was titled ‘Google’ and he flushed hotly and back-spaced, before typing his name there and hitting return.

  It’s okay… no one saw that… no one ever has to know...

  46,000 results. The number calculated at twenty times the rate that he was able to read the search result and he blinked, feeling the snakes inside him shed their skins in shock.

  Forty-six thousand hits for Ryan Weaver? What the FUCK? Leigh said this book was a big deal but… but forty-six thousand people out there are aware that my name isn’t my name? How embarrassing! Imogen, you mean old thing! Why not name me Michael Jackson? Or Jesus? At least people would have laughed when they’d heard that, not brain me with a hardcover novel!

  Ryan folded his arms across his knees and leaned over the computer, eyeballing the page as though it were an adversary rather than a fountain of knowledge.

  Ryan Weaver was ROBBED!

  The Hardest Fall on Goodreads.

  Team Ryan forever!

  Ryan Weaver on Pinterest.

  The Hardest Fall fan-fiction, let’s get this ending RIGHT!

  I love Ryan!

  Kathryn Praser needs a bullet!

  Ryan Weaver is a Pussy, on Facebook. Like if you lurve Justin!

  Ryan reclined back away from the screen and stared, wide-eyed at the brightly lit and unapologetic page. After several seconds of him staring at it, without it re-arranging itself to ease his distress like a kind search engine ought to, Ryan sat up and backspaced his name before wiping the can across his forehead. Then, he typed again:

  ‘Leigh Dallas-Hone.’

  This time when he clicked, the entire page filled again but the search result came up under five thousand hits, and though the page filled with her name, it took him a moment or two to realise that only two of the pages seemed to be about her. The first, for her Facebook and the second, for her blog.

  ‘Honey to the bee that’s books for me…’

  Ryan went to click on the blog link, smiling wryly at the cutesy tag line, but the Facebook link had an image attached to it, and that had his index finger tapping like Sammy Davis Jr.

  Damn she’s pretty. She’s not much bigger in this picture than in real life- but that smile...

  And then she was filing his screen; standing on a beach, hugging a different book to her chest (while covering the ‘good’ part, yet again) and beaming at the camera with her wide smile from beneath oversized glasses and a beanie. His heart skipped a traitorous beat and when he clicked on the image, the caption came up:

  ‘Okay N
icholas Sparks, you got me- this place is fantastic! Off to read ‘A Walk To Remember’ again- wrapped up in a blanket on the beach! It’s sunny here but BRR! Eleven degrees for you Aussies! I think I’ll save the swim for my next trip…’

  There was a slue of comments following the caption but when Ryan grazed over them, he was mollified to note that no one named Gilbert had commented. He flicked back to Google and then typed the name: ‘Gilbert Blythe’ into the search bar and cringed for the two seconds that it took Imogen’s computer to ponder that- and then fill his screen with images of a handsome young man. His stomach dropped, but when he looked up at the ‘results’ bar his mouth fell open- 569,000 hits!

  Ryan jerked his ass forward to the front of the couch and began to read the page, but he hadn’t made it past three links when the words: ‘Gilbert Blythe, Anne Of Green gables IMDB’ hit him somewhere between the funny bone and his solar plexus.

  And then Ryan fell back against the couch and laughed until the computer screen turned black and happy tears were leaking from his eyes. He LOVED that movie!

  Leigh

  By five to seven, Leigh was over sitting in her room and waiting for the awkward to start and so, she put down her iPad, parting ways with The Time Traveller’s Wife reluctantly, gathered up her handbag and jacket and let herself out of the hotel room, deciding that the lobby was a far less intimate place for them to commence their date. After all, if a date started in a hotel room, where the hell could it possibly go from there- but down?

  The elevator was slow, but she took the time to run her fingers through the hair that she’d waved using her hair brush and the hotel room dryer, relaxing the curls that were trying too hard, and then baring her teeth to make sure that she hadn’t got any of her lipstick on them. Leigh wasn’t a lipstick-wearer by nature, for she was always sipping from a coffee or rubbing her lips together while reading, but she’d worn her fire-engine red Guess top and her darkest blue jeans, and she liked the way the lipstick finished off the look. She had her flared red coat again but hoped that he was taking her somewhere warm so she wouldn’t be burdened by its weight all night, and she wished for the fifth time that she’d actually asked Bruce where he intended on taking her, so she could have known whether to go with her heels or lose her contacts. At a loss, she’d kept the glasses and the boots, but stuffed her contacts into her bag, hoping that he was going to take her to one of the fun places she’d read about.

  And this date will be fun, right? Fun, easy… Now Ryan’s dealt with and gone, so I won’t have won’t think about him at all… ever… even just before I go to sleep and need something sexy to picture...

  The elevator dinged and Leigh stepped back from the mirror so it wouldn’t be obvious that she’d been checking herself out- and then squeaked when she almost smacked into a tall, warm wall of leather and cotton that carried traces of citrus, pine and cashmere wood that made her sinuses tingle deliciously.

  Ryan.

  Oh crap.

  ‘Hey!’ Long fingers braced her shoulders as Ryan pushed her gently away from him, clearly not understanding the fact that his scent was making her WANT to stay with her face smushed against his chest. It was so light- so light that it was taunting her nostrils with sensual promises. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

  He’s back! He’s back! He’s BACK!

  ‘Hey…’ she breathed, shocked by his opportune and unanticipated arrival. He looked incredible- wearing a white shirt for a change that seemed to cling to him with static electricity, paired with dark blue jeans, a white studded belt and of course, his black leather jacket. He’d styled his hair again, and as a final, random touch- he had a cellophane-wrapped toffee apple in his hand!

  What’s with this guy and the mood swings? And seriously, did he sell his soul to get eyes that blue, or buy them in a bottle like I do? And… and a toffee apple? What is he like, eight? Mmm… looks good and sticky though...

  ‘I… I …’ she gulped- actually gulped- and put her spine in serious jeopardy by looking up at him. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to see you- figuring it was my time to apologize. Look… come over here…’ Ryan’s hands slipped from her shoulders and then one was on her lower back again, steering her towards the green couches set against the furthest lobby wall. He sat and extended the toffee apple to her. ‘This is for you, by the way- as part of the apology.’

  ‘You came to apologize to me?’ she repeated, taking the treat from him and staring down at it, stupefied. ‘With… with a toffee apple?’

  ‘They call them candy apples here but yeah, I always think of them as toffee apples… so I guess I really was a child when I was down under, huh?’ he smiled shyly and looked down at the gift with a trembling smile. ‘Sorry, if you’re a diabetic or something- but I hate giving flowers. It’s so-’

  ‘Cliché,’ she finished for him, agreeing and lifting the treat to her nose, inhaling it with closed eyes as her tummy rumbled again. ‘And this smells way better than any rose ever could, so thank you.’ She opened her eyes and was rendered breathless by the pleased smile on his face and the sparkle in those now Indigo eyes.

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Like it? I’ve been mentally undressing it since you said hi!’

  Ryan’s grin became a wicked one. He leaned forward so that his chin was hovering just over her shoulder and whispered: ‘That makes two of us…’ his eyes slid to hers, so that both his lips and mouth were only inches away from her own. ‘Love you in red, by the way.’

  Leigh’s stomach contracted around disbelief, and she dropped the toffee apple. Ryan caught the candy without breaking eye contact, tapping it against her nose gently before chuckling as he pressed it back into her limp hands. ‘Gosh… there I go again, making you drop stuff. Once was embarrassing, but twice, well… that’s hell-a-intriguing.’ He leaned against the seat back, stretching his arm out to fiddle with the edge of one of her curls, studying it with a casual air as he continued: ‘Maybe I was upset for nothing, hmm?’

  Italics! Italics! Caps lock! CAPS LOCK!!!!

  Leigh couldn’t feel anything but the place where his fingers were toying with her hair, making her scalp tingle, and even though he’d moved away from her, his energy seemed to hang over her lap, in her ears like whispers and against her breath. She tried to breathe but his scent truly was hovering, and it made her feel aspirated. Was Ryan really flirting with her? For REAL, for real? It sure felt like it! But WHY?

  ‘Ryan…’ she pressed her lips together, then remembered that she was wearing lipstick, and bundled up the coat and toffee apple in her lap instead for a team huddle. ‘I’m not following. I- I owe you the apology, not the other way around.’

  Ryan’s fingers slid from her hair and rested on his right knee, so that his nails bumped against the edge of her left knee, making it her new favourite body part. ‘For what?’ he asked softly, frowning but in a thoughtful manner, not an angry one. ‘You’ve done nothing but try to clue me in on my own existence since we met.’

  ‘Maybe. But I was thoughtless- asking for you to keep me in the loop like it was some roller-coaster I had stowed away on, not your life.’ She glanced down at his fingers again, hyper-aware of the fact that all four tips were as laudable as the rest of him. ‘I don’t blame you for being-’

  ‘Hush.’ Ryan pressed his finger to her lips and Leigh buzzed as electricity travelled through her, making her curl her fingers in her coat. ‘Leigh I came here to ask if I could see you again before you go- not to give you a hard time.’ He leaned onto his elbow, cradling his jaw, but moved his free hand to rest on top of her knee where the last had been and squeeze gently- purposefully- making her insides melt and then clench tightly. ‘And that’s what I was trying to work up the nerve to do, when you bailed on me with a ‘see yah later rather than sooner’ kind of vibe that may have wounded my pride… just a lot.’

  Caps lock! CAPS LOCK!!!

  Leigh knew she would have floated up into the pitched rafters of the lobby if
Ryan’s hand hadn’t been keeping her pressed into the sofa. He was angry because she hadn’t seemed affected by fare welling him? It had taken every ounce of strength she had to get out of his car! ‘Are… are you asking me out?’ she stammered, gob-smacked and knowing that if he answered yes, she’d have to run from the room holding her vagina for the greater good. But a shadow passed behind Ryan’s eyes, and suddenly, she was sinking back down to earth.

  ‘Not exactly, like… not a date, per se. Because well…’ he removed his hand from her knee and raked his fingers through his hair, looking away and incredibly uncomfortable. ‘I…’

  Leigh wanted to die. Had she really just said that? What a girl thing to assume! ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly, shifting back on the couch as far as she could go. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I mean- I don’t want you to ask me out so-’

  ‘You don’t? Why?’ Ryan inclined his head and narrowed those eyes at her, burning through her like lasers. ‘Because of the suicide thing?’

  ‘No! Not at all! I’d take you any-’ she clamped her mouth shut on the words as Ryan’s eyebrows lifted, lightening his entire expression and the grin made her ovaries spin in dizzying circles, and Leigh wished that she had a book to bop him with again and end the mind fucking before he’d completely ravaged her and left her with nothing. ‘God Ryan, what’s wrong with you?’ she could hear the shameful tears in her voice. ‘You flirt one minute and yell the next and then act all confused when I-’

  ‘That’s because I don’t know what I want,’ Ryan said quickly, resting his hand on hers. It was as warm as though he’d held it in front of the car heater the whole way there, and the touch sent a shudder of reassurance through her that he was not to be feared even though her heart knew otherwise. Who cared if his name was Ryan Weaver, or Macaulay Culkin? A rose by any other name would still make her gasp for oxygen so long as that face remained the same! And what a face! Everything that wasn’t attached to him was negative space and ugly, even the gorgeous, gold wallpaper behind his head and the framed photograph of the rainbow-washed falls above them.