Only With You

by Alexander, Monica

  My eyes got wide, and my hand flew over my mouth.

  “I wanted to punch him, Syd. I did, but when he said that I faltered, and lost my footing,” he said, gesturing to his knee. “I fell, and then I couldn’t rightfully get up and hit the guy, so I just told him you were my fucking best friend. The asshole had the nerve to laugh, told me we weren’t hiding anything, and then he left. I’m sitting on the fucking ground, blood is trailing down my leg, and he could have spit on me for all he cared.”

  I got up and crossed the room to him, reaching for a paper towel and wetting it in the sink. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I said as I leaned down and started to touch the towel gently against his cut. He winced but didn’t tell me to stop, so I continued to clean it and wipe away the excess blood.

  “Do they have to be such assholes?” he demanded, and I looked up at him.

  “Some are. Some are nice. They’re trying to get their story, and sometimes they take extreme measures.”

  He ran a hand back through his hair. “Shit is gonna hit the fan when we finally come clean,” he said, shaking his head.

  He was right, shit would hit the fan, and there would be nothing we could do about it. But I didn’t need to feed into his emotions anymore. My goal in that moment was to calm him down, ease his mind, so I chose a different tactic.

  “Well, we don’t have to worry about that for a few months, okay,” I said, rising up to stand in front of him.

  I was calmer, because I’d dealt with photographers for years. Ryder was getting his first real taste of what it was like in my world. I knew it was time he’d become as immune to it as I was, but that wasn’t going to happen overnight. And I was mad that the guy had caused him to get injured, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. The hotel was a public place, and unless Ryder wanted security with him at all times, which I’d happily arrange, he might have to deal with stuff like this once and a while.

  “I’ll have Bert call the front desk and let them know about the guy giving you a hard time,” I offered, and Ryder waved me off.

  “No, I’m just pissed. Whatever.”

  “But if he’s not staying here, then he shouldn’t be using the facilities.”

  Ryder shrugged. “He had a key card, so he might be staying here.”

  I doubted it. Most of the photographers couldn’t afford to stay in the hotels we stayed in, and that was part of the reason why we stayed there.

  “Can I do anything?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. I’m going to grab a shower, but maybe we should stay in tonight.”

  “No,” I said vehemently. “We’ve been hiding for a week. Enough. If someone wants to make accusations, let them. You’ve been my friend long before we started dating, and no one batted an eye about us hanging out together. Let’s go get pizza.”

  Ryder sighed, and a part of me couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be relieved to get back to his normal life. Honestly, at times it seemed like he had it made living in a small town away from all the craziness I dealt with on a daily basis. I was slightly envious.

  A few hours later, Ryder had visibly calmed down when we decided to go out for dinner. And fortunately, we didn’t have any run-ins with nosy photographers as we left the hotel and headed to a pizza place the concierge had recommended. We told him we wanted something small and out of the way, private, and he’d delivered.

  The tiny restaurant only boasted ten tables, and we were able to tuck into one in the back and enjoy our last real dinner together for a while. The waitress was friendly and asked me for an autograph for her niece, which I signed happily, and a few people who were dining at other tables turned and stared. I also thought I heard the telltale clicks of cell phone cameras going off a few times which probably couldn’t be helped. I didn’t say anything to Ryder for fear of him going off on the other diners for taking pictures of us. It wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, and I was used to it. As long as they didn’t approach us, I was good.

  As we were finishing the last of our pizza, I started to relax and think that maybe we could have a low-key night out, just the two of us. But a few seconds later, I knew that was wishful thinking when Ryder looked up and his expression changed. He was facing the front of the restaurant, and my back was to the door.

  “Shit,” he muttered, and when I started to turn around, he stopped me. “Don’t look.”

  I sighed and sat back against the booth. “Photographers?”

  “Yeah, there’s like ten of them out there.”

  I shook my head, irritated that someone had given up our location. This was one of the benefits of living in L.A. In a city so used to having celebrities in its mix, the paparazzi never felt as overwhelming to me, and they always gave you enough space to do your thing as long as they could their shots in, but it was different in other parts of the country. I also knew the places in L.A. where they would never go, so I could easily hide out if I wanted to. We didn’t have that luxury here.

  “I’ll tell the driver to pick us up around the back,” I offered, picking up my cell phone as Ryder laid his credit card down to pay the bill.

  I was still on the phone when the waitress came to pick up the check, and Ryder made quick work of asking her to let us exit through the kitchen. Since we could be seen through the front window, Ryder told me to go first, act like I was going to the bathroom and leave out the back. He’d meet me a few minutes later.

  When he ducked into the car after I’d waited for ten minutes, he smiled at me, no doubt exhilarated by this first thwarting of the press.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” I asked taking his hand in mine.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I kind of feel like a spy.”

  I rolled my eyes playfully. “It gets less exciting each time.”

  Then his expression got serious. “I can imagine.”

  “How’s your knee?”

  He shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m tough.”

  “Battle scars,” I muttered as our car drove past the front of the restaurant.

  The photographers, having realized we’d snuck out, were staring to dissipate, but one looked up and noticed our car. I turned around to see him get into his dark SUV that was parked nearby, and he started to follow us.

  “Damn,” I said, shaking my head.

  “What?” Ryder asked, turning around. “Is that guy following us?”

  “Yeah, he is.” I lowered the partition, so I could speak to the driver. I explained the situation, and he nodded in understanding before telling me he’d drive us underground into the hotel’s garage and let us out there.

  I sat back and relaxed, watching the city fly by as I held Ryder’s hand in mine, knowing that after Sunday, it would be a long time before I’d get to do it again.

  When we pulled into the garage, the driver of the SUV was prevented from getting in since he didn’t have a room key to gain access. I smiled in triumph, but it was short-lived.

  Ryder got out of the car first, and then held his hand out to help me out. As he did flashbulbs started going off five feet from us as a guy in all black stepped out from behind a parked car. Without thinking, Ryder grabbed my hand, yanked me from the car and took off running toward the elevator. All I could think was how pissed I was that I’d worn heels and how I never should have let Pablo and Bert have the night off. They’d each offered to come with us, because at least one of them usually went everywhere with me, but I’d declined, knowing they hadn’t had a night off in a while. I figured we’d be fine. I’d been wrong.

  But I also hadn’t expected Ryder to act like he was. He’d never done it before when we’d encountered cameras. But back then we weren’t keeping a secret that would create intense media buzz, so I guess he thought he was helping the situation. He wasn’t. Running from the cameras wasn’t smart. It was as if we were admitting we had something to hide. I figured I’d need to talk to him later about how to act in situations like this, but I wasn’t doing it when his head was where it was at in that m
oment.

  Slamming his key into the slot to call the service elevator the hotel let me use, Ryder let go of my hand. Impatience was written all over his face. Behind us, the photographer continued to snap pictures. Then he started to come around the side, his camera never slowing. Out of instinct, I cowered against Ryder, because the guy was intense, and I wouldn’t put it past him to get into my personal space. But doing that only excited him. I’m sure he felt like he’d scored huge with the shots he was getting.

  “You’re wasting your time, asshole,” Ryder told him, and the guy just sneered and chuckled.

  I assumed he was the same guy Ryder had encountered in the hotel gym. “We’re friends, and we’ve been friends for twelve years. No one’s going to give a shit about these pictures. There are fifteen others just like them already online.”

  “We’ll see about that,” the guy said, as the elevator doors opened, and Ryder rushed us both inside. “I’m sure the public would love to know that you’re staying in Sydney Chase’s room.”

  “We’re just friends,” I told him passively, speaking up for the first time. I usually didn’t talk to photographers.

  At that, the photographer made like he was going to join us in the elevator, but Ryder put his hand out to stop him. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I’m a hotel guest,” the guy snapped.

  “If you get on this elevator, you face will meet my fist.”

  The guy cowered for a second since Ryder had twenty pounds on the smaller man. Then he took a step forward.

  “Try me, asshole,” Ryder threatened as the doors slid closed.

  As soon as we started to move, Ryder leaned back against the wall of the car, his eyes closing as he shook his head. I noticed he was quaking, and he opened and closed his fists a few times, taking deep breaths.

  “You okay?” I asked him.

  He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

  “I’m alright. Aside from my arm feeling like it was going to pulled from the socket, I’m good.”

  He looked ready to murder someone, but then his face softened.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and I instantly regretted making the joke.

  “I’m kidding,” I said stepping up to him. “And I’m sorry about all that.”

  I wrapped my arms around his waist and looked up at him. The doors chose that moment to open onto our floor.

  “Come on,” he said, taking my hand and leading me to our suite.

  As soon as we were inside, Ryder let the door swing closed and went to go sit on the couch. His head fell into his hands for a few seconds before he looked up at me.

  “I don’t like this,” he said, and for a second I was afraid he was talking about what dating me was putting him through. “I don’t like them following you and taking your picture. It’s creepy as hell.”

  “Ry, they’re just pictures. It’s okay, really.”

  “No, it’s not, but I know there’s nothing you can do to stop them. Just promise me you’ll always take Bert or Pablo with you when you go anywhere from now on.”

  “Ryder,” I said, trying to reason with him. “It’s fine. I’ve been dealing with this for four years. I’m used to it.”

  “No,” he said, eyes flashing. “I had no idea it was like this all the time, that they stake you out and follow you. It’s dangerous, and I don’t like the fact that I won’t be here. I’m gonna go nuts from halfway across the country, Syd.”

  He had no idea how bad it could get. He’d just gotten a small taste, but I wasn’t going to tell him some of the things other celebrities I knew had dealt with. It would only succeed in freaking him out. And he didn’t want to know about how unpredictable the fans could be.

  I went over and sat next to him, taking his hands in mine. “I love you for being so concerned, and I promise I’ll bring security with me. Usually it’s not this crazy. They like to get pictures of me to sell to the fashion magazines, and when there’s something going on – usually a relationship something – they’re more intense. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “I just didn’t realize,” he said, shaking his head. “God, Syd. I don’t want to go.”

  He looked over at me, and I saw real pain in his eyes. “I don’t want you to go either,” I told him honestly, because the thought of saying goodbye in thirty-six hours made me sick to my stomach. “But you have to go. You have classes starting on Monday.”

  “Fuck,” he said, pulling his hands back and running them through his hair. “I have always put school first, always, but for the first time in my life, I feel like I have something that’s more important.”

  I smiled. “So you want to be my bodyguard?”

  He looked up and met my gaze. “Tempting thought, but no. I was more so just thinking about how much I’m going to miss you. This is going to suck.”

  “I know, but it’ll just suck for a little while. Then you’ll get into a rhythm of classes and studying and hanging out with your friends. It’ll be just like before.”

  I was lying through my teeth, but I felt like I needed to for his sake.

  “No, it actually won’t be the same. Before when we were friends, but I wanted to be more, sometimes it was easier to be away from you because it made me forget how much I wanted to be with you. It made it more manageable, but now knowing what we have, this is going to be harder than anything I’ve ever done.”

  I had a hard time disagreeing with him.

  “We’ll get through it. If we love each other, what’s two years of long distance?”

  “Two years,” he echoed. “It seems like forever.”

  I did sound like forever.

  “You forget that when I’m done touring, I’ll have all the time in the world to spend with you.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.”

  “Maybe I’ll even move to Florida. I can buy a house near the university, and it can be our little love nest when I’m not traveling.”

  I’d said it on a whim, but suddenly that didn’t seem like the worst idea.

  “I’d never ask you to do that,” he said softly, cupping my cheek. “But I love you for offering.”

  “Kind of like you offered to transfer to UCLA?”

  He smiled. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “We’ll figure it out. I promise,” I told him, while I fully intended to look into real estate near Gainesville. It might not solve all of our problems, but it would solve some of them.

  Chapter Twenty- Two

  Ryder

  “You’re back! Hell yeah!” Jake exclaimed when I walked into our room on Sunday night.

  He was leaning back against the couch battling Trey in the new Tomb Raider. Sitting next to Trey’s leg was an open pizza box with two slices left.

  Mine.

  “Ryder, what’s up man?” Trey asked, briefly glancing at me before focusing his attention back on the video game.

  I dropped my duffel bag on the floor and hopped up onto the platform. I was exhausted from a whirlwind week and an almost full day of traveling, so I collapsed behind them on the sofa and helped myself to their leftovers.

  “Not much,” I said around a mouthful of food, not really wanting to get into how much was up. I was still trying to wrap my head around it all.

  “Dude, you’re famous!” Jake exclaimed.

  I rolled my eyes and stuffed another huge bite in my mouth. There it was. The rumors of what was going on with Sydney and me and how I was trying to cause a rift between her and Dillon were all over the Internet, especially on her fan sites and Twitter. The pictures the asshole photographer had taken of us in the elevator, along with a few cell phone shots we figured people at the restaurant had taken, had been making headlines for two days.

  I realized my reaction to the photographer had probably made things worse. And Syd and I – okay, mostly me – had gotten a lecture the next day from Laurie about how to act in public if we didn’t want anyone to know we were dating, since one of the cell
phone pictures from the restaurant had featured me holding Syd’s hand across the table. I hadn’t even remembered doing that, but I’d probably been lost in the moment and not thinking.

  Elisa and I had talked while Syd was at her meet-and-greet before her concert in Cleveland the night before, and she’d broken down the list of things Laurie had gone over with me into simple do’s and don’ts. I knew Syd and I would just have to be more careful in the future.

  Laurie’s team was also doing damage control to the effect that on her next day off, Sydney was flying to Washington D.C. to publically see Dillon for a few hours, and then she was flying to Chicago for her concert the next night. I knew doing that extra traveling was adding stress to her life, and I hated that.

  If she was flying anywhere, I wished she was flying to see me, but I wasn’t that lucky. I missed her already, and I’d only just seen her eight hours earlier when she’d kissed me goodbye before I got into the car to go to the airport. I’d talked to her during my hour layover in Atlanta, but we’d only texted a few times since I’d landed in Gainesville since she was getting ready for her concert that night in Indianapolis. I knew that was what I’d have to get used to since it was going to be our reality until I had a break in between semesters.

  We’d been given a choice as to how we wanted our situation to be handled, which I thought was cool. After lecturing us, Laurie had asked us how we wanted to handle everything and the rumors that were rapidly flying around. We both knew that the buzz of our supposed relationship would tapper off once I went back to school, but we also knew that if it was announced that Syd and Dillon were no longer together, then it would look like I really was the reason. So we had two choices.

  One, they could ‘break up’, and I’d probably get hounded by the press about my supposed involvement, and she would be bad-mouthed for cheating on her boyfriend. I definitely didn’t want either of those things, especially negative press for Sydney. She didn’t deserve that. She’d done a nice thing for Dillon, and I wouldn’t let them crucify her for it.