Love Unscripted
Page 198
“So we’re party crashing? That’s cool.” Nick belched and cracked open a beer.
The suite was fully stocked with beer and wine and there was a hot buffet of food already laid out on a long table. Ryan and Nick dove right in, helping themselves to the assortment of food and snacks. The two brothers were already partially drunk and I was glad that Ryan was getting some food in his stomach.
I looked out the large glass window that overlooked the arena. On the other side of the glass were twelve private seats. I knew where I was going to be sitting during this game!
The suite door opened, causing a flash of light to reflect off of the window. I instinctively turned around to see who was entering. What a big mistake that was.
Four young, giggling girls came through the door. They just about burst out into hysterics when they saw Ryan Christensen was truly in the suite.
My eyes quickly flashed over to Ryan; I noticed he stopped chewing the wad of food that was crammed in his mouth for a brief second while his lips pursed together in annoyance.
Janelle subtly elbowed me and we both chuckled lightly. The girls were all decked out in short skirts and low cut tops. One even had her copy of Seaside in hand. Ryan quickly darted away from the buffet table and positioned himself between Nick and me. No matter where we went Ryan could not escape his fans.
The following afternoon, Ryan’s family gathered in the kitchen, readying Thanksgiving dinner.
“Honey, where do you want me to set this?” Bill asked. He was lifting the enormous turkey out of the oven.
I turned around to see what he was referring to.
Ellen pointed to an obvious empty space on the stove, slightly irritated that she had to give him direction.
Memories of my dad asking my mom the same question flashed in my mind. My dad was helpless too. I returned my attention back to scooping sweet potatoes into a serving bowl. Janelle was softly humming songs to herself while she set the dinner table.
“Hey, Honey... where is Sarah’s bottle?” Nick yelled from the brown recliner in the family room.
When Nick yelled, I instinctively looked over. His voice sounded so much like Ryan’s it was hard to tell the difference.
Ryan came sauntering into the kitchen wearing one of the new pairs of jeans that I got for him. For some reason that thought made me warm inside. I noticed he was looking around the family room for something.
“Hey, Honey? Do you know where my sneakers are?” Ryan asked, momentarily distracted by the television. My head naturally turned to answer him.
Instead of replying I broke out in laughter. I held onto the counter as my hilarious internal thoughts cracked me up. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me, wondering just what the heck was wrong with me.
“There are too many honeys in this room!” I breathed out in jest, answering Ryan’s glance. That term of endearment must have been engrained in all of them. It was also apparent that all the Christensen males were now incapable of independent thought and action.
“Every time someone yells ‘Honey’ I turn around!”
I asked for it. I was bombarded with repeated “Honeys” from all three of them.
Ryan started our first Thanksgiving dinner playfully kicking me under the table. We were both smirking when he slipped his leg under mine so our legs were resting together.
“Did you guys have fun last night?” Bill asked, passing the bowl of stuffing to me.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Nick was quicker.
“It was all right, up until Ryan’s fans showed up in the suite,” Nick interjected curtly, poking his butter knife at Ryan. “Superstar had to sign his autograph and pose for pictures and everything with his little girlfriends.” His snide tone was evident. “Ooh, I want a picture. No, pose with me!” Nick teased in a forced high-pitch voice.
Ryan slapped some mashed potatoes on his plate. The serving spoon clanged loudly when it made contact with the china; the noise made me flinch. The scowl on Ryan’s face was evident. Instead of Nick being thankful that Ryan provided an entire evening of first class entertainment - free of charge to him and his wife – he saw the opportunity to give Ryan a cheap shot and took it.
“How the heck did that happen?” Bill questioned. He looked over at Ryan. “I thought you had a private suite?”
Ryan shrugged. “It was a private suite Dad, but there were still eight other ticket holders. One of the girl’s fathers was some senior VP at the bank that has it rented for the season. She brought friends.”
Bill’s face pulled down in a frown.
“It’s humbling, you know. I mean most actors would kill to have my problems. This is what all actors strive for. A-list movies, A-list parts… not having to go to audition after audition only to be turned down or passed over. I should count my blessings, after all it is Thanksgiving.” Ryan took a moment to eat some food.
The suite was fully stocked with beer and wine and there was a hot buffet of food already laid out on a long table. Ryan and Nick dove right in, helping themselves to the assortment of food and snacks. The two brothers were already partially drunk and I was glad that Ryan was getting some food in his stomach.
I looked out the large glass window that overlooked the arena. On the other side of the glass were twelve private seats. I knew where I was going to be sitting during this game!
The suite door opened, causing a flash of light to reflect off of the window. I instinctively turned around to see who was entering. What a big mistake that was.
Four young, giggling girls came through the door. They just about burst out into hysterics when they saw Ryan Christensen was truly in the suite.
My eyes quickly flashed over to Ryan; I noticed he stopped chewing the wad of food that was crammed in his mouth for a brief second while his lips pursed together in annoyance.
Janelle subtly elbowed me and we both chuckled lightly. The girls were all decked out in short skirts and low cut tops. One even had her copy of Seaside in hand. Ryan quickly darted away from the buffet table and positioned himself between Nick and me. No matter where we went Ryan could not escape his fans.
The following afternoon, Ryan’s family gathered in the kitchen, readying Thanksgiving dinner.
“Honey, where do you want me to set this?” Bill asked. He was lifting the enormous turkey out of the oven.
I turned around to see what he was referring to.
Ellen pointed to an obvious empty space on the stove, slightly irritated that she had to give him direction.
Memories of my dad asking my mom the same question flashed in my mind. My dad was helpless too. I returned my attention back to scooping sweet potatoes into a serving bowl. Janelle was softly humming songs to herself while she set the dinner table.
“Hey, Honey... where is Sarah’s bottle?” Nick yelled from the brown recliner in the family room.
When Nick yelled, I instinctively looked over. His voice sounded so much like Ryan’s it was hard to tell the difference.
Ryan came sauntering into the kitchen wearing one of the new pairs of jeans that I got for him. For some reason that thought made me warm inside. I noticed he was looking around the family room for something.
“Hey, Honey? Do you know where my sneakers are?” Ryan asked, momentarily distracted by the television. My head naturally turned to answer him.
Instead of replying I broke out in laughter. I held onto the counter as my hilarious internal thoughts cracked me up. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me, wondering just what the heck was wrong with me.
“There are too many honeys in this room!” I breathed out in jest, answering Ryan’s glance. That term of endearment must have been engrained in all of them. It was also apparent that all the Christensen males were now incapable of independent thought and action.
“Every time someone yells ‘Honey’ I turn around!”
I asked for it. I was bombarded with repeated “Honeys” from all three of them.
Ryan started our first Thanksgiving dinner playfully kicking me under the table. We were both smirking when he slipped his leg under mine so our legs were resting together.
“Did you guys have fun last night?” Bill asked, passing the bowl of stuffing to me.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Nick was quicker.
“It was all right, up until Ryan’s fans showed up in the suite,” Nick interjected curtly, poking his butter knife at Ryan. “Superstar had to sign his autograph and pose for pictures and everything with his little girlfriends.” His snide tone was evident. “Ooh, I want a picture. No, pose with me!” Nick teased in a forced high-pitch voice.
Ryan slapped some mashed potatoes on his plate. The serving spoon clanged loudly when it made contact with the china; the noise made me flinch. The scowl on Ryan’s face was evident. Instead of Nick being thankful that Ryan provided an entire evening of first class entertainment - free of charge to him and his wife – he saw the opportunity to give Ryan a cheap shot and took it.
“How the heck did that happen?” Bill questioned. He looked over at Ryan. “I thought you had a private suite?”
Ryan shrugged. “It was a private suite Dad, but there were still eight other ticket holders. One of the girl’s fathers was some senior VP at the bank that has it rented for the season. She brought friends.”
Bill’s face pulled down in a frown.
“It’s humbling, you know. I mean most actors would kill to have my problems. This is what all actors strive for. A-list movies, A-list parts… not having to go to audition after audition only to be turned down or passed over. I should count my blessings, after all it is Thanksgiving.” Ryan took a moment to eat some food.
