Love Unscripted
Page 11
“My grandfather built it.” I beamed. “Every time I look at it, it makes me smile. He put so much of himself into this place. All this woodwork you see was done by his hands. The booths, the wainscoting, he built it all.”
Ryan stood up and walked toward the enormous wooden pillar that spanned from floor to ceiling.
“Your grandfather was a talented man.” His fingers were busy tracing the intricate patterns carved in the dark oak post. “I really like the exposed red brick too. This place reminds me of a pub I was in once when I filmed in Ireland. Has that authentic feel to it, you know?”
“Thanks!” I replied. His compliment seemed very genuine and made me smile. “I always thought this place had that old-world charm too.”
His gaze rolled over to the far end of the pub. “That’s a pretty big stage. You have bands play here?”
“Yeah, just about every Friday and Saturday night. I’ve been thinking about doing open-mic nights during the week too.”
Ryan was distracted. “Yamaha,” he said in an amusing voice, drifting his fingers down the keys. “Your piano?”
“Yes.” I nodded. For some unknown reason I followed him over to the stage. “That’s my baby grand. It was a birthday gift from my grandfather.”
“Cool. Looks like you have a pretty impressive sound system. Lighting and everything.” His hand pointed and waved in the air.
Ryan’s eyes flickered over to the opposite wall and he strolled away to investigate another part of the pub. Something else had captured his attention.
“What do you say to a game of pool?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me as he stood in the brick archway that led into the poolroom.
“You want to shoot pool – with me?” I actually looked over my shoulder to see if he was talking to someone else, even though I knew full well there was no one else here.
“Sure! That is if you’re up to it. I haven’t been able to play in a long time.” His voice trailed, a hint of sadness etched his words.
I shook my head, wondering why he would want to spend any more time here than he had to. Maybe he is just being polite?
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Come on, please? Just one game. I’ll even let you win.”
“Why, don’t you think I can beat you on my own?” Does he think all girls suck at shooting pool or is he just teasing me?
“Well, I don’t know. Are you really good? You’ll probably kick my butt,” he conceded. “But I think I’ll take my chances. Come on, one game. I just need to get my mind on something else.”
“Okay, one game.” I nodded and proceeded to pick out a pool stick. He was rather irresistible when he pleaded like that.
“I’ll rack, you can break,” Ryan said, placing the billiard balls in the wooden triangle.
I leaned over the table in my breaking stance and cracked the stick into the cue ball, pocketing a striped ball.
“Huh, I think I’m in trouble!” He chuckled.
I made the next shot, but missed the third. It was his turn.
“So you’re a lefty?” he asked while he chalked the tip of his pool stick.
“No, not really. I’m ambidextrous,” I shyly admitted.
“Ambidextrous?” He smiled. “Very interesting.”
His reaction made me feel like I had to explain. “I’m mostly right-handed, but I shoot pool and I throw with my left.”
“I tried to write with my left hand once when I had my right arm in a sling, but it was nothing but scribble. Can you write with your left hand?” He motioned as if he was writing on paper.
“Yeah, but it feels awkward and I can only print. I think I would have been a lefty, but I remember the teachers in grade school forcing me to use my right hand instead. I was always slightly confused with which scissors to use.”
He smiled at me again. After all these years, he was the first guy who ever noticed that about me.
“Sometimes I wish I could write with both of my hands. It would probably make autograph signing more tolerable.” He smirked.
Ryan tried to make a bank shot, but missed. His beer glass was almost empty so I quickly walked over to the bar and tapped a pitcher of beer and got a glass for myself. I always shot pool better when I was relaxed, and I was anything but relaxed at this moment.
“May I ask what you did to get your arm in a sling?” I glanced up at him while lining up for my next shot.
He smiled innocently and laughed. “It’s a funny story, actually.”
Ryan stood up and walked toward the enormous wooden pillar that spanned from floor to ceiling.
“Your grandfather was a talented man.” His fingers were busy tracing the intricate patterns carved in the dark oak post. “I really like the exposed red brick too. This place reminds me of a pub I was in once when I filmed in Ireland. Has that authentic feel to it, you know?”
“Thanks!” I replied. His compliment seemed very genuine and made me smile. “I always thought this place had that old-world charm too.”
His gaze rolled over to the far end of the pub. “That’s a pretty big stage. You have bands play here?”
“Yeah, just about every Friday and Saturday night. I’ve been thinking about doing open-mic nights during the week too.”
Ryan was distracted. “Yamaha,” he said in an amusing voice, drifting his fingers down the keys. “Your piano?”
“Yes.” I nodded. For some unknown reason I followed him over to the stage. “That’s my baby grand. It was a birthday gift from my grandfather.”
“Cool. Looks like you have a pretty impressive sound system. Lighting and everything.” His hand pointed and waved in the air.
Ryan’s eyes flickered over to the opposite wall and he strolled away to investigate another part of the pub. Something else had captured his attention.
“What do you say to a game of pool?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me as he stood in the brick archway that led into the poolroom.
“You want to shoot pool – with me?” I actually looked over my shoulder to see if he was talking to someone else, even though I knew full well there was no one else here.
“Sure! That is if you’re up to it. I haven’t been able to play in a long time.” His voice trailed, a hint of sadness etched his words.
I shook my head, wondering why he would want to spend any more time here than he had to. Maybe he is just being polite?
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Come on, please? Just one game. I’ll even let you win.”
“Why, don’t you think I can beat you on my own?” Does he think all girls suck at shooting pool or is he just teasing me?
“Well, I don’t know. Are you really good? You’ll probably kick my butt,” he conceded. “But I think I’ll take my chances. Come on, one game. I just need to get my mind on something else.”
“Okay, one game.” I nodded and proceeded to pick out a pool stick. He was rather irresistible when he pleaded like that.
“I’ll rack, you can break,” Ryan said, placing the billiard balls in the wooden triangle.
I leaned over the table in my breaking stance and cracked the stick into the cue ball, pocketing a striped ball.
“Huh, I think I’m in trouble!” He chuckled.
I made the next shot, but missed the third. It was his turn.
“So you’re a lefty?” he asked while he chalked the tip of his pool stick.
“No, not really. I’m ambidextrous,” I shyly admitted.
“Ambidextrous?” He smiled. “Very interesting.”
His reaction made me feel like I had to explain. “I’m mostly right-handed, but I shoot pool and I throw with my left.”
“I tried to write with my left hand once when I had my right arm in a sling, but it was nothing but scribble. Can you write with your left hand?” He motioned as if he was writing on paper.
“Yeah, but it feels awkward and I can only print. I think I would have been a lefty, but I remember the teachers in grade school forcing me to use my right hand instead. I was always slightly confused with which scissors to use.”
He smiled at me again. After all these years, he was the first guy who ever noticed that about me.
“Sometimes I wish I could write with both of my hands. It would probably make autograph signing more tolerable.” He smirked.
Ryan tried to make a bank shot, but missed. His beer glass was almost empty so I quickly walked over to the bar and tapped a pitcher of beer and got a glass for myself. I always shot pool better when I was relaxed, and I was anything but relaxed at this moment.
“May I ask what you did to get your arm in a sling?” I glanced up at him while lining up for my next shot.
He smiled innocently and laughed. “It’s a funny story, actually.”
