Meeting Ryan Daley

Meeting Ryan Daley

I'm here to meet Ryan Daley. Well, I'm in Massachusetts visiting my friend Evan, but I'm walking into this bar because Ryan Daley will be here. Probably. I hope. He doesn't know he's meeting me tonight. In fact, he knows nothing about me. However, ever since Evan told me Ryan lives in his town, I hounded him until he did enough sleuthing to find out where he would be. I showed up the day before and spent the evening with Evan and his friend Rochelle. It turns out Rochelle is friends with Ryan's ex-wife. Needless to say, she's not a fan of his (certainly not a crazed fan like I am) but she was willing to tell us he'd be at this bar to see his friend's band tonight. Now, if I could just find a way to get her to introduce us.

I'm wearing tight jean capris, black sandals and my black t-shirt with a number four on it. It's my "I'm just having a casual night out with my friends, no I'm not a crazy fan" outfit. I'm also sporting my glasses, partially to hide the bags under my eyes and partially because it adds to my cute AND smart look. We walk into the bar and Rochelle leads the pack. This is her town, her people and she's just that type to walk into a place first. She's the kind of girl guys gawk at. Not me. I'm more of the type to tone down my energy and observe until I can get a feel for the place. So it's my nature to be able to casually look around and spot Ryan right away without looking obvious. I can spot him easily because while I had Evan sleuthing the town folk, I was doing some serious cyber stalking. Yes, I know I have issues. Ryan's at the bar with two other guys. He's drinking bottled beer, but I don't recognize the label.

Rochelle picks the table and I position myself so I can see Ryan out of the corner of my eye, but more importantly, he can see me. Evan goes up to get the first round of drinks as Rochelle and I casually chat about the band. She knows them, too. It doesn't take long before I feel someone watching me. Please let it be Ryan. I don't dare look. I haven't had a drop of alcohol yet and I'm not nearly as confident as I come across. Evan returns with the drinks. It's a beer night for me. We did some hard core drinking the night before and I want to have my wits about me when I meet my new favorite author. If I get the opportunity, I want to pick his brain. The way he writes is creative and dark, two things I love, so I have this crazy idea we could have great conversations over a beer. I take my first sip. Evan tells us a story that has us both cracking up. He's funny like that. By the time my beer is half gone, I feel someone watching me again. I turn my head slightly and look at him, but he quickly looks away. Sweet. This game I can play. I wait a few minutes and glance over, then do it again. The second time, he looks over at me and I hold his gaze with my "I know I'm hot, you know I'm hot, I know you know I'm hot, so we don't need to talk about it" gaze before turning back to my friends. Evan taught me that look. At this moment, I'm grateful he did. I quickly finish my beer without looking at him again, knowing Rochelle will go to the bar for the next round. She does.

Evan and I conspire when she walks away. "I saw him look at you." He says. Evan doesn't miss a beat. "Evan, I don't know what to say or do! I didn't think past being at the same place as him." He rolls his eyes at me. "Just bring out Sassy Sidekick Anya. She'll know what to do." Evan and I used to do a radio show together. It brought out the best in me. It was brutal for him.

I look over to see Rochelle talking to Ryan and his friends. She's standing at the corner of the bar, next to Ryan, but mostly talking to the guy in the middle. He says something to her and she glances over at me. They exchange a few words and she motions for me to come over. I glance at Evan who just smiles. He's no help. I'm nervous as hell. There are two personalities that can come out right now. The one is the goofball who says inappropriate things at the wrong time. The other is cute, funny and charming. Please let the latter make an appearance. As I walk over to them, I try to look casual and confident, but inside my head, I'm silently praying Rochelle doesn't introduce me as the crazed fan I am. I position myself between her and Ryan.

"This is my friend, Anya Taylor." She says. Yes! She introduced me by my pen name. It gives me anonymity and is much cooler than my real name. "Anya, this is..." I don't even know what she says as she introduces the first guy. He's the furthest from us and looks like a badger. I hope I don't get tipsy and call him that. I've been known to do that before. I should really be paying attention, but I'm acutely aware of Ryan's presence right next to me. Badger is wearing a wedding ring and a look like his wife made him leave the house and go out with his friends. Next Rochelle introduces the guy in the middle. I miss his name too, bracing myself for the next introduction. I can feel heat waves coming off of my right side, like being this close to him is burning me. All I hear Rochelle say is that the guy in the middle is a smartass. I smile. Smartass smiles. Here it is. My heart is beating so fast, I'm afraid everyone can tell how nervous I am. I turn my eyes to Ryan as Rochelle introduces him. Her voice is cold, like she's about to feed me to a snake and doesn't like it at all. Ryan's cute in a quirky, nerdy way. Like me. But I knew this from all the cyber stalking. I smile and say hello with a coolness that I don't feel.

Rochelle's phone, which is a permanent extension of her right hand, buzzes with a text message. She reads it and starts tapping the screen. Without looking up she says to me, "Do you mind ordering this round? I need to make a call." Without waiting for a reply, she walks away. I'm stunned. Fucking Evan. He text her, I know it. And now I'm here standing next to Ryan. Alone. I look for the bartender while taking a deep, slow breath. I can do this. I'm an adult for crying out loud. I'm a badass. This is what I tell myself as I stand there awkwardly, tapping my foot, like I do when I get nervous. I don't dare look at Ryan.

Smartass saves me, "So you're friends with Rochelle?" he asks. "Just met her last night." I reply. "Are y'all originally from this area?" I did this on purpose - using my southern slang when I have an obvious northeast accent. What can I say, it's a conversation starter.

Badger nods. "You're obviously not from around here." He says.

I shake my head and tell him I'm here to see my friend Evan, stressing the friend part. Ryan's watching me now. Smartass starts kidding around with me as I glance around for the bartender again. I'm not in a hurry now, but I need to at least look like I'm trying to order our drinks. We banter back and forth. As the bartender approaches, I see Smartass glance down at my left hand. Oh shit. He's interested. And he's hot. He's the type of guy that's used to getting the girl. While I order our next round, I think quickly. I need to keep Smartass engaged in the conversation, because he's the talker, but let Ryan know he's the one who's caught my interest. This, too, I can do. I have this way of focusing my sexual energy on someone and I know they can feel it. I send all I've got in Ryan's direction. Now I'm more confident as we banter and it becomes quite evident that Smartass is witty, but he's no match for me. Ryan realizes it too and smiles, but he's looking down at the bar. It makes me smile. The drinks arrive and I tell them it was nice to meet them. I hold Ryan's gaze longer than the others and Smartass catches on.

Before I can grab the drinks and walk away he says, "So, I just want to know, is my boy Ryan here going to get laid tonight? Because he could really use it right now." Ryan looks at him like he's going to kill him.

In my head, I'm thinking, "You have no idea how bad I could use it!" I'm on an unintentional streak of celibacy now, thanks to my recent divorce.

I pause. This is pivotal. I'm not sure if Smartass said it to embarrass me or Ryan, but I'm going to use it to my advantage. I shrug. "While I'm not opposed to a mind-blowing experience with no strings attached, I haven't decided if there's a connection here." I say boldly. Smartass raises his right eyebrow at me like I'm speaking a foreign language. I look directly at Ryan and say, "I guess there's only one way to find out." And I kiss him. When I pull away, he is visibly stunned and a bit flustered. Smartass just looks shocked. "Yeah. It's definitely a possibility." I say, grab the drinks and walk away.

When my back is to them, I meet Evan's gaping stare with my "Can you fucking believe I just did that?" face. Rochelle comes back to the table and I won't answer any questions, but force them to talk about other things. It's killing Evan to not know what led up to the kiss. I can feel Ryan's stare burning into me, but I refuse to look at him. When I finish my second beer, I walk across the room to the restroom. Finally alone, I silently do a happy dance. I could still feel my lips burning from his touch. My whole body tingles. I used the facilities and composed myself. I have no fucking idea what I'll do next. As I grabbed the door handle, all of a sudden I have a fear that I'll walk back out to the table and he'll be gone.

I wretch open the door, walk into the dark narrow hallway and almost stumble into Ryan, who is leaning against the opposite wall. I stare at him for a moment, unable to speak. He takes this moment of shock as an opportunity to press me up against the wall next to the bathroom door. He strokes his fingers through my hair and puts his hand at the base of my neck, pulling me into a kiss. A hard kiss. The "I'm glad he's got me against the wall cause I'm pretty sure my legs will no longer support me" kiss. As he presses his torso against mine, my whole body lights up. Rational thought is gone. I reach up under his shirt and stick my nails into his back, latching him to me like a panther holding her prey as he takes his last sweet breaths of life. I feel his erection harden against my lower stomach. I'm so turned on, I could have an orgasm just thinking of him inside me. But I'm supposed to be playing it cool. Rational thought takes over again. I retract my claws and slide my hands to his sides, placing my thumbs on his hip bones and gently pushing him away to end the kiss before I remove my hands from under his shirt. I stare into his smokey gaze, knowing mine matches it.

What to do with this moment. My core feels like molten lava is flowing through me. I do something bold. Something crazy. I grab his shirt with my left hand, mostly to keep him from pressing up against me again, knowing if he does, I'll end up breaking my celibacy stretch in the ladies ' bathroom of a seedy bar. I'm better than that. So, I grab his shirt and reach up to kiss him, while taking the extra key card to my hotel room from my right back pocket and placing it in his back pocket. I slowly slide my hand back out of his jeans, let go of his shirt and look him in the eye a moment before turning to walk away. I hold my spine perfectly straight and let my hips sway a bit because I know he's watching me walk away. Thank you, P90X3, for the great ass. Without looking back at him, I walk to the table as calm as possible even though I feel like my whole body will explode at any moment. I keep thinking, "I'm such a badass!" until the little voice of negativity kicks in, "There's a possibility he won't show." Yes, there is. And that would be humiliating. I meet Evan's eyes as I saunter up to the table. He knows what happened. It could be the flushed cheeks, the sparkle in my eye or just because he can read me so well. I sit down, every muscle in my face fighting a smile.

Evan shakes his head and smiles at me, "Un-fucking-believable". I can't hide my smile anymore and put my beer to my lips to cover it. Oh yeah. He'll show.

I love being Anya Taylor.

Meeting Anya Taylor

They enthusiastically promised me three things: I would get drunk, I would get laid, and I wouldn't have to pay for either. Yesterday my divorce was final. I expected I would feel some sense of relief that it was over. What I felt instead was a morose sense of failure. For years I told myself the marriage was failing. I was wrong. I failed. I failed in every way possible. I payed attention to all the wrong things and the wrong people for too long and Emily ran out of patience. She couldn't compete with my true love: success. Now I had it, and she was gone.

My plan was to sit on my deck and let the fill-line on a bottle of Jack Daniel's go down with the sun. With any luck I would be unconscious soon after dark. But John and Brian had other plans. They drove up in John's truck just as I poured the first two fingers of whiskey, and they practically manhandled me into the truck's narrow cab. "You'll thank us later," John proclaimed. I grunted a reply even I found unintelligible, but deep down I was grateful for their initiative. No-one would ever call them Exeter's finest, but they were the best I had. I knew them all my life, and they weren't like the others who stuck around, or left, for the bragging rights of knowing an internationally famous author. Neither of them had even read any of my books, a fact I'm still a little sore about.

We head into town and pull up to a bar I hadn't frequented in at least a decade. When I ask why this place they said chances were slim we would run into any of Emily's friends. "Not a lot of wines on the menu," John chuckled. "Besides, Don's band is playing so I figured that might help cheer you up." Brian hadn't said much up to now. I suppose it was because his wife and Emily were good friends, so I'm sure it didn't go over well that we were together. But if I had to guess, John probably threw him in the truck and drove off without waiting to hear any objections. His life philosophy was always a shoot-first-ask-questions-later regardless of how things panned out. He had the added (dare I say it) advantage of being a life-long bachelor and accountable to no-one but himself. He wore that lack of accountability with a swagger that vacillated between confidence and cocksureness.

No sooner had we ordered the first round that he leaned into me and hissed, "Fuck! It's Rochelle. And looks like she's got some new friends." I wasn't entirely surprised we ran into a woman with whom John had some kind of history. It would've been more surprising if we hadn't. But I could've done without it being Rochelle. Not only was she well-liked by Emily, but we had a couple run-ins at our kids' school that didn't end well. Granted, I could've been nicer but it was when things with Emily were really unravelling and they weren't my finest hours...or days. And Rochelle was a bit of a bitch herself.

As I raise my bottle of Plum Island Belgian White to take a sip and steal a quick look, my gaze ends up lingering longer than I planned. There were three of them at the tall table. Rochelle was her usual solar flare of energy. She's a good looking woman by anyone's standards, but her personality always overwhelmed, no matter the setting, and boy, could she talk a mile a minute. I'd never seen the man with her, and I would've remembered if I had - not that many well-dressed black men in Exeter. The colorful pocket square in his blazer screamed douche, or gay, or gay douche. With the way he so easily conversed with the women and had them in stitches, I concluded he must be the gay best friend, although there was an air about him that hinted otherwise. But it was the other woman with them that caused my beer bottle to suspend in mid-air between the bar and my lips. I didn't recognize her, and in that instant I knew I would never forget her.

Despite her casual yet form-fitting jeans and t-shirt, she looked more sophisticated than anyone I'd ever run into in this tiny hamlet. It may have been the glasses she had no trouble wearing out on a Saturday night when every other woman opted for contacts. It was more than that, though. When she laughed her entire form laughed as well. And I don't mean her body spasmed in some uncontrolled way; it was if her whole mind, body, and spirit were in on the joke. We were too far away to hear her laugh, but I know I wanted to. She seemed relaxed and fully engaged all at the same time. She wasn't tall; her sandaled feet just made it to the rung of the stool. Even though I could only see her in profile, I could tell her curves were the perfect proportion for her body. I estimated she was in her mid thirties. She had an almost imperceptible overbite, and when she smiled as she tucked her short brown hair behind her ear (a gesture I usually found annoying but tonight it was unexpectedly endearing), I had this inexplicable urge to kiss her. Suddenly I realized she was looking at me and I instantly turned away, dredging up embedded memories of a shy thirteen year old caught mid-gawk at Melissa Montague's pert new breasts in seventh grade.

I wait for an anxious eternity before glancing her way again. Our eyes meet and she holds my gaze with an assuredness that completely draws me in. It wasn't the come-hither or I'm-yours-if-you-want-me-just-make-the-first-move seduction that women on the prowl usually gave. It was a deeper, more alluring communication that let me know we were the reason the other was here tonight. I couldn't look away. I must have been in full ogle when she shifted her attention back to her friends, and not a moment too soon. John started waving his fingers about two inches from my face with a snarky, "Earth to Ryan! Somebody sees something he likes. Yes, she'll do just fine." He sized her up like a cheetah about to pounce on a gazelle and I felt an irrational need to protect her swell inside. I barked at John, "Don't even think about it!" It must have come out harsher than I expected because his eyes widened a fraction as he retreated back on his stool with his open palms raised. "Easy big guy. I meant she'll do just fine for you, and I guess I don't have to wonder if you're interested!"

He chuckled under his breath and signaled Rochelle to come over from down at the other end of the bar where she was ordering drinks. Whatever I felt when I snapped at John was being rapidly replaced with embarrassment as Rochelle walked over. Her terse smile indicated that we were the last people she wanted to talk to. John leaned in and whispered something I couldn't make out, but next thing I know they were both looking back and forth between me and the woman, I was trying my best not to stare at, as though they were at a tennis match. With an exasperated sigh and a I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this eye roll, Rochelle waved her friend over. I felt time slow as she approached. I hoped I hadn't broken out in some kind of flop sweat because my heart was pounding so fast and so loud I almost missed her name as Rochelle introduced her: "This is my friend, Anya Taylor." A name as mysteriously appealing as the creature who now stood next to me smiling. Rochelle said our names in turn, her tone as caustic as battery acid when she got to me. At any other time I would have responded with a similar abrasive attitude, but in that moment, as the whole of Anya took me in, and I her, I just about forgot Rochelle or anyone else was in the bar. Anya said hello with an unexpected aloofness, and I noticed for the first time that maybe she was as anxious as I was.

Out of the blue Rochelle announced she had to make a call. She disappeared leaving Anya behind, who was now glancing around nervously and tapping her foot. I should've said something... anything... but I was paralyzed. Fortunately, this was the kind of moment John was made for, and he started talking to Anya. Turned out she was not really a friend of Rochelle's but instead was in town visiting the guy with them who must've been friends with Rochelle. I envied John's ability to banter with anyone like he knew them his whole life and making it feel like he was simply picking up a conversation they hadn't finished the day before. At six-three and fairly chiseled from outdoor work, women gravitated to him like meteors caught in the inescapable pull of a black hole (which some have actually said after being in any number of short-lived relationships with him). I noticed that he slyly checked her hand for a wedding band, and my need to protect her flared up again. And also my curiosity. I also stole a peek and felt a jolt of excitement that her well-manicured fingers were bare.