Love Unrehearsed
Page 109
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Lauren.”
Wonderful. The bitch from Florida, in the flesh. “Are they arguing?”
“Appears so.”
Now I was even more curious, like watching one of those pathetic reality shows where the drama is over-the-top, but for some reason you just can’t shut it off. “I didn’t know they knew each other.”
Ryan’s hand tightened on mine, almost to the point of pain. “I didn’t know, either.” It obviously bothered Ryan to see them all interacting, although judging by the way Kyle glanced around, he seemed bored with the whole thing. I watched as Kyle’s gaze lingered on the very short dress and long, bare legs just a few feet away.
Lauren seemed to be making a point, trying to placate Nicole now. Apparently the heated conversation had taken a new turn.
Lauren pulled Nicole in for a hug. I was shocked by their overt friendliness; Nicole had her face pretty much buried in Lauren’s neck, and then for a moment I swore they were about to kiss.
Ryan tugged my hand, irritated by it all.
“Come.”
I wanted to resist, reluctant to tear my eyes away from the girl drama, but his tone left no room for arguments.
By the time we reached the after-party at the Soho House in West Hollywood, I had met and mingled with more famous people than I ever thought imaginable. My mind and body were buzzing with the glitz and glamour that came along with Ryan’s chosen profession, not to mention being blinded by hundreds of paparazzi flashes on our way in the door.
As we hurried away from the throng of photographers screaming, shouting, and chasing us, I wondered how Ryan managed to stay humble and grounded with all of this attention. Even I felt a tinge of supremacy from being with him, knowing that several of the people around us at this lavish party would kill to be in either of our positions.
Ryan had won three awards tonight for his role as Charles Conroy, and I was so damn proud of him it was hard to not be smug about it. Even when he and Suzanne won the award for Best Kiss, I felt extremely proud. I was glad he didn’t kiss her onstage. He promised me he wouldn’t, stating that I would be the only woman he kissed in public.
As I glanced around the packed affair, my eyes landed on the very lovely ass of Ian Somerhalder. Zac Efron was standing a few feet away, deep in conversation. To hell with the MTV swag gift bags; this was definitely more of a gift than anything. I was morphing into a freaking fangirl being so close to them.
My fingers itched to take out my cell, capture a few photos, and send them on to Marie so we could squeal about them.
Screw it.
I tried to stifle my starstruck enthusiasm.
Marie would die if she knew I could hit Ian with a spitball, he was that close. I snuck my cell phone out and took a discreet picture, needing to torment her.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked. He seemed partially
amused and slightly
disappointed.
I created a new text message. “Tormenting Marie.”
He gave me that “are you kidding?” glare, but I ignored him. It was Ian Smolderhalder for cripes sake and honestly, this close, he was even better-looking in person. Marie would be jumping over chairs if she were this close to him, asking the poor guy to sign his name on her body somewhere close to her boobs with indelible ink.
I heard Ryan scoff when he spied over my shoulder to see who I captured on my cell.
“His ass? You took a close-up of his ass?”
I knew I should feel guilty but altruism warred with those feelings. “It’s a gift for Marie. She’s going to flip.”
“I thought she only had eyes for my ass.” The tiny pout on his face was pathetically endearing.
I was glad he was being playful about my paparazzi moment. “She’s used the bathroom after you’ve been in it, Ryan. The mystery and allure are gone now. You’ve effectively killed it for her.”
He rolled his eyes and then frowned at both me and Ian. “That guy takes a shit, too, you know.”
I shook my head to disagree. “No, he doesn’t. He’s still in god status and we all know that gods don’t poop.”
“Oh, come on! For real?”
“Yes. You didn’t poop, either—ever—until she discovered you were a mere mortal.” His eyebrows almost hit his hairline. “So I was a pseudo-god?”
It was hard to text and debate at the same time. “Or a constipated, time-traveling demigod.”
Ryan almost spit out his beer. “I can’t believe you just said that about me. We’re not even married yet and I’ve lost my god status.”
I shrugged while my thumbs kept typing.
Wonderful. The bitch from Florida, in the flesh. “Are they arguing?”
“Appears so.”
Now I was even more curious, like watching one of those pathetic reality shows where the drama is over-the-top, but for some reason you just can’t shut it off. “I didn’t know they knew each other.”
Ryan’s hand tightened on mine, almost to the point of pain. “I didn’t know, either.” It obviously bothered Ryan to see them all interacting, although judging by the way Kyle glanced around, he seemed bored with the whole thing. I watched as Kyle’s gaze lingered on the very short dress and long, bare legs just a few feet away.
Lauren seemed to be making a point, trying to placate Nicole now. Apparently the heated conversation had taken a new turn.
Lauren pulled Nicole in for a hug. I was shocked by their overt friendliness; Nicole had her face pretty much buried in Lauren’s neck, and then for a moment I swore they were about to kiss.
Ryan tugged my hand, irritated by it all.
“Come.”
I wanted to resist, reluctant to tear my eyes away from the girl drama, but his tone left no room for arguments.
By the time we reached the after-party at the Soho House in West Hollywood, I had met and mingled with more famous people than I ever thought imaginable. My mind and body were buzzing with the glitz and glamour that came along with Ryan’s chosen profession, not to mention being blinded by hundreds of paparazzi flashes on our way in the door.
As we hurried away from the throng of photographers screaming, shouting, and chasing us, I wondered how Ryan managed to stay humble and grounded with all of this attention. Even I felt a tinge of supremacy from being with him, knowing that several of the people around us at this lavish party would kill to be in either of our positions.
Ryan had won three awards tonight for his role as Charles Conroy, and I was so damn proud of him it was hard to not be smug about it. Even when he and Suzanne won the award for Best Kiss, I felt extremely proud. I was glad he didn’t kiss her onstage. He promised me he wouldn’t, stating that I would be the only woman he kissed in public.
As I glanced around the packed affair, my eyes landed on the very lovely ass of Ian Somerhalder. Zac Efron was standing a few feet away, deep in conversation. To hell with the MTV swag gift bags; this was definitely more of a gift than anything. I was morphing into a freaking fangirl being so close to them.
My fingers itched to take out my cell, capture a few photos, and send them on to Marie so we could squeal about them.
Screw it.
I tried to stifle my starstruck enthusiasm.
Marie would die if she knew I could hit Ian with a spitball, he was that close. I snuck my cell phone out and took a discreet picture, needing to torment her.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked. He seemed partially
amused and slightly
disappointed.
I created a new text message. “Tormenting Marie.”
He gave me that “are you kidding?” glare, but I ignored him. It was Ian Smolderhalder for cripes sake and honestly, this close, he was even better-looking in person. Marie would be jumping over chairs if she were this close to him, asking the poor guy to sign his name on her body somewhere close to her boobs with indelible ink.
I heard Ryan scoff when he spied over my shoulder to see who I captured on my cell.
“His ass? You took a close-up of his ass?”
I knew I should feel guilty but altruism warred with those feelings. “It’s a gift for Marie. She’s going to flip.”
“I thought she only had eyes for my ass.” The tiny pout on his face was pathetically endearing.
I was glad he was being playful about my paparazzi moment. “She’s used the bathroom after you’ve been in it, Ryan. The mystery and allure are gone now. You’ve effectively killed it for her.”
He rolled his eyes and then frowned at both me and Ian. “That guy takes a shit, too, you know.”
I shook my head to disagree. “No, he doesn’t. He’s still in god status and we all know that gods don’t poop.”
“Oh, come on! For real?”
“Yes. You didn’t poop, either—ever—until she discovered you were a mere mortal.” His eyebrows almost hit his hairline. “So I was a pseudo-god?”
It was hard to text and debate at the same time. “Or a constipated, time-traveling demigod.”
Ryan almost spit out his beer. “I can’t believe you just said that about me. We’re not even married yet and I’ve lost my god status.”
I shrugged while my thumbs kept typing.
