Love Unscripted
Page 195
I took a deep breath and sighed. “Ryan, you’re only twenty seven. And you know damn well you can get any girl you want whenever you want.
Hell, they even text their offers to you! There are women all around the globe who would pay to have sex with you. Before you talk to me about having children, are you sure you’re done sowing your wild oats?”
He covered his eyes with his hand. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this,” he muttered to himself.
“You’re a guy! That’s what guys do. Fast cars, fast women. I don’t want you to wake up next to me when I’m all pregnant and have regrets.” I teasingly squeezed the inside of his leg.
He started laughing. “How much money do you think I could make from all these women who want to have sex with me?”
“Billions!” I quickly replied.
“Really? Help me drag a mattress out into the front yard. You can sell lemonade and I’ll just fuck people all day!” he cackled.
The baby crawled over to Ryan and whacked him in the head with a wooden block.
“Ow!” He rubbed his forehead. “You’re right, Sarah. That was a bad idea. Uncle Ryan’s junk will fall off if I did that all day.”
She crawled onto his chest and slapped him a few times in the face.
“Hey! Why are you beating me up? Huh? Do I have a potty mouth? Go beat up Aunt Taryn – she’s the one who’s being silly.” He picked her up in his hands and pressed her up into the air.
Ryan sat Sarah on the floor and rolled to his side.
“Sarah?” Ryan whispered a whole bunch of nonsense in her ear. “Tell her!”
Ryan used his finger to make Sarah’s bottom lip move. His voice changed to a high pitch. “Uncle Ryan says he’s done sowing so you can just chill.” Ryan whispered in her ear again. “Uncle Ryan says you have to be married first before you have babies. And I stink so you should change me.”
“Give her to me,” I requested, reaching out for her.
I lay Sarah on the floor between my legs and grabbed the diaper bag. Ryan turned on the television, stopping on a channel just in time to hear some announcer say his name.
“Today on CTV…”
“We got Ryan Christensen in the airport in Providence with his new girlfriend.”
Large graphics streamed across the screen and the announcer’s voice came back. Different embarrassing pictures of Ryan were flashed between the verbal comments. “Keep your panties on Seaside fans! Just when you thought you saw it all – Ryan Christensen eats – Ryan Christensen picks his nose – Ryan Christensen sits in a car – we bring you…”
“We caught him feeling himself up.”
Video of Ryan patting his front and back jeans pockets when we were in the airport in Providence was shown on the screen.
“What’s up with this guy?” the obvious show host asked.
“I don’t know but our camera guy caught him feeling himself up before he went through the metal detectors,” some young guy answered.
“Feeling himself up?” the host questioned.
“Yeah, he was searching his pockets and stuff. I mean what idiot goes to the airport with change in their pockets!”
The video of Ryan patting his pockets now included me in the shot.
“Do we know who the girl is? Is she an actress?” The host circled my picture on his video screen.
“Her name is Taryn Mitchell. She owns a bar or something in Rhode Island.”
They showed old, random photos of Ryan with different drinks in his hand, pretty much accusing him of having a drinking problem.
“Wow, that’s impressive! Are all the girls in Hollywood dead?” the host sneered.
Everyone on the television screen laughed.
“I’m sure his fans hate her!” one woman commented.
A clip from an old black and white movie was shown. All the townspeople had torches and pitchforks.
Another girl chimed in. “She’s a lot prettier than Suzanne Strass, I think.”
“Yeah, and she can help him turn into another celebrity alcoholic!” some other man bantered.
“Our camera guy asked him if they’re officially a couple but he didn’t say anything. He’s dragging her through the airport by the hand. I mean, isn’t it obvious? I don’t know why he just doesn’t admit it. She’s not his wardrobe consultant that’s for sure!”
The picture refocused on me, on my face, and then zoomed in on Ryan holding my fingers as we walked through the airport. Sound bites of women crying were added in. The segment ended with repeat shots of Ryan feeling his back pockets and one more close-up of him shoving his hand in his front pocket. They even threw in sound effects of women moaning when Ryan patted himself down.
Hell, they even text their offers to you! There are women all around the globe who would pay to have sex with you. Before you talk to me about having children, are you sure you’re done sowing your wild oats?”
He covered his eyes with his hand. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this,” he muttered to himself.
“You’re a guy! That’s what guys do. Fast cars, fast women. I don’t want you to wake up next to me when I’m all pregnant and have regrets.” I teasingly squeezed the inside of his leg.
He started laughing. “How much money do you think I could make from all these women who want to have sex with me?”
“Billions!” I quickly replied.
“Really? Help me drag a mattress out into the front yard. You can sell lemonade and I’ll just fuck people all day!” he cackled.
The baby crawled over to Ryan and whacked him in the head with a wooden block.
“Ow!” He rubbed his forehead. “You’re right, Sarah. That was a bad idea. Uncle Ryan’s junk will fall off if I did that all day.”
She crawled onto his chest and slapped him a few times in the face.
“Hey! Why are you beating me up? Huh? Do I have a potty mouth? Go beat up Aunt Taryn – she’s the one who’s being silly.” He picked her up in his hands and pressed her up into the air.
Ryan sat Sarah on the floor and rolled to his side.
“Sarah?” Ryan whispered a whole bunch of nonsense in her ear. “Tell her!”
Ryan used his finger to make Sarah’s bottom lip move. His voice changed to a high pitch. “Uncle Ryan says he’s done sowing so you can just chill.” Ryan whispered in her ear again. “Uncle Ryan says you have to be married first before you have babies. And I stink so you should change me.”
“Give her to me,” I requested, reaching out for her.
I lay Sarah on the floor between my legs and grabbed the diaper bag. Ryan turned on the television, stopping on a channel just in time to hear some announcer say his name.
“Today on CTV…”
“We got Ryan Christensen in the airport in Providence with his new girlfriend.”
Large graphics streamed across the screen and the announcer’s voice came back. Different embarrassing pictures of Ryan were flashed between the verbal comments. “Keep your panties on Seaside fans! Just when you thought you saw it all – Ryan Christensen eats – Ryan Christensen picks his nose – Ryan Christensen sits in a car – we bring you…”
“We caught him feeling himself up.”
Video of Ryan patting his front and back jeans pockets when we were in the airport in Providence was shown on the screen.
“What’s up with this guy?” the obvious show host asked.
“I don’t know but our camera guy caught him feeling himself up before he went through the metal detectors,” some young guy answered.
“Feeling himself up?” the host questioned.
“Yeah, he was searching his pockets and stuff. I mean what idiot goes to the airport with change in their pockets!”
The video of Ryan patting his pockets now included me in the shot.
“Do we know who the girl is? Is she an actress?” The host circled my picture on his video screen.
“Her name is Taryn Mitchell. She owns a bar or something in Rhode Island.”
They showed old, random photos of Ryan with different drinks in his hand, pretty much accusing him of having a drinking problem.
“Wow, that’s impressive! Are all the girls in Hollywood dead?” the host sneered.
Everyone on the television screen laughed.
“I’m sure his fans hate her!” one woman commented.
A clip from an old black and white movie was shown. All the townspeople had torches and pitchforks.
Another girl chimed in. “She’s a lot prettier than Suzanne Strass, I think.”
“Yeah, and she can help him turn into another celebrity alcoholic!” some other man bantered.
“Our camera guy asked him if they’re officially a couple but he didn’t say anything. He’s dragging her through the airport by the hand. I mean, isn’t it obvious? I don’t know why he just doesn’t admit it. She’s not his wardrobe consultant that’s for sure!”
The picture refocused on me, on my face, and then zoomed in on Ryan holding my fingers as we walked through the airport. Sound bites of women crying were added in. The segment ended with repeat shots of Ryan feeling his back pockets and one more close-up of him shoving his hand in his front pocket. They even threw in sound effects of women moaning when Ryan patted himself down.
