27. Papa-Paparazzi
TWENTY-SEVEN
PAPA-PAPARAZZI
ISABELLA
We were both wrecked waking up this morning having barely slept, instead spending most of the night wrapped up in each other.
Ryan offered to make coffee, but I immediately shot him down in favor for something far more drinkable than the sludge he makes.
That’s how we found ourselves venturing to the coffee shop down the block from his place.
Him in a baseball cap and dark tinted sunglasses to remain low profile, and me in one of his T-shirts with a pair of jean shorts I left at his place at some point in the last month of spending my nights at his.
“What are you going to get?” Ryan asks, breaking through my focus on the menu.
“I don’t know. Definitely something with caffeine. I need it if I’m supposed to work the game later tonight.”
He laughs, dropping a kiss to the top of my head. “That’s a sound plan.”
I go back to perusing the menu, trying to decide between a classic latte or something sickly sweet.
“Shit. We need to get out of here.” Ryan’s voice is laced with urgency, putting me on alert.
When I flick my eyes to him, his gaze is fixed through the windows at the front of the shop.
I start to turn around to see what’s captured his attention, but his arm shoots out, halting the movement. “Don’t turn around.”
“What is it?” I ask, hearing the panic creeping into my voice.
“The paparazzi found us.”
Oh, fuck.
I feel all the blood drain from my face and stare ahead at the coffee shop’s menu board but not really seeing it.
Who needs coffee when a brewing panic attack is just as effective?
“Ryan…” My voice is pleading, leaving the rest unspoken. Because I don’t need to say anything. He already knows. We can’t be seen together like this.
It was stupid and reckless of us to think we could come get a coffee around the corner without being spotted. We’re getting too comfortable with this. We’re going to get caught. Busted. I’m going to lose my job. I’ll have to leave LA. Move back in with my parents. My life over as I know it.
Ryan speaks, breaking through my panic spiral.
“I know, firecracker. I know.” He turns his attention to me and his eyes soften.
He steps in front of me, gripping my upper arms and lowering himself to my level.
“I’m gonna get us out of here. But don’t turn around, okay?
” His eyes flick over my shoulder. “Right now, they’re not at an angle to get a good shot of your face, so face forward and keep your head down. Got it?” he asks softly.
I offer a small, shaky nod and his smile kicks up on one side, bringing out one of his dimples.
The sight of that dimple makes my knees weak.
“That’s my girl.” He presses a quick kiss to my forehead before leaning back to assess me a moment longer.
Presumably trying to determine how close to panicking or shutting down I am.
He’s happy with whatever it is he sees as he gives my arms one soft, comforting squeeze before releasing me and turning to the barista behind the counter.
He’s in full-on problem solver mode and if I wasn’t so panicked right now, I would find it incredibly attractive.
“Hi there,” he says with his blinding smile that charmed even me. “So sorry to bother you, but?—”
“Oh my god. You’re Ryan Fletcher! Oh, wow. I’m a big fan,” the young man behind the counter cuts him off with wide eyes. It makes me want to roll my eyes. Of course, this kid recognizes him. Who in Los Angeles doesn’t recognize Ryan?
Ryan lets out a soft laugh, the one I’ve noticed he uses when he interacts with fans at the stadium and wants to remain polite and pleasant.
Keep up his wholesome all-American baseball player persona.
“Hey man, yeah. Appreciate that.” He pauses a moment, but it’s just long enough for the kid to come back to his senses.
“Do you think I could get your autograph? Wow, this has really made my day. I can’t believe Ryan Fletcher is here right now.
” The kid rambles on and Ryan turns his head the slightest to sneak a peek at me.
I widen my eyes, urging him on with the panic that’s still flowing through me, and I see the moment determination takes over.
“Uh, yeah sure. But listen, I need your help first.”
“Anything for you man!”
Ryan thumbs over his shoulder toward the entrance of the coffee shop. “It seems the paparazzi have tracked me down. I’m here with my girl and we really don’t want this thing we’ve got going on to go public quite yet. Have you got a back door we could sneak out to avoid them?”
The kid leans over to peer around Ryan’s large body and catches a glimpse of said paparazzi. I wonder how many there are…
“Oh, yeah. Of course, man. It’s back that way.” The kid points over his shoulder to a hallway at the back of the café where a sign points toward the restrooms.
Ryan leans across the counter and claps him on the shoulder. “Thanks, kid. You’re really saving our ass here. Got a name?”
“Uh, yeah. The name’s Max,” he says quickly.
Ryan nods and reaches to grab one of the paper to-go cups and snatches the Sharpie from Max’s hand.
He scribbles out a quick personalized message and signs the cup before shoving both into Max’s hands.
His jaw drops as he looks at the cup like Ryan was King Midas and turned the cup into pure gold with a single touch.
“Wow, thanks so much. My friends are never going to believe me when I tell them about this!” Max says, speaking a mile a minute, volume increasing with each word out of excitement.
“Thanks a lot for your help, Max. And I’d appreciate it if when you recount this story, you don’t mention my girl here. Sounds good?”
“Oh, yeah. For sure. She was never here. Got it!” Max says with a quick imitation of a salute that nearly makes me snort.
Ryan gives him a quick nod of thanks before turning and grabbing my hand. “Alright, remember, keep your head down, okay?” I nod in understanding. “Okay, let’s get out of here, firecracker,” he says with a bright smile that warms my entire body like the sun.
He turns and pulls me behind him. All the way I keep my head down, eyes trained on the ground ahead of me, so I don’t trip on anything.
We weave through tables and past other patrons that start whispering as we make our hasty retreat.
The anxiety of this entire situation has me wanting to lift my head to see if anyone is taking pictures, but I know that would only make it worse.
At least my hair hides my face a bit like this.
Not soon enough, we burst through the back door into an alleyway surrounded by dumpsters.
Ryan turns to lead us out of the alley, and I start to lift my head now that we’re in the clear, but he whips around quickly and crowds my body with his, halting my steps.
If he hadn’t thrown his arms around me, I’m sure I would’ve fallen back on my ass.
“Fuck. Can’t go that way. You good to run, firecracker?”
The nerves and panic spike again. Running? Good, god. I’m not in the kind of shape to be running with a professional athlete. But I also can’t be caught in such a compromising position with Ryan fucking Fletcher.
Guess running it is.
“Uh, yeah, Ry. I can run.”
“Great, let’s go. I’m going to turn you around before I move. Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand, okay?”
“Okay,” I say, adrenaline pumping through my veins and taking over. Maybe this won’t be so bad. His arms move to my shoulders, and he guides me to turn around in place, so I’m still hidden behind his hulking body. The second he takes my hand, he squeezes and that’s the signal to go.
We both launch forward, taking off and flying toward the opposite end of the alleyway, away from where we can hear footsteps trying to follow. Muttered curses come from behind us.
“Fletch! Who’s the girl?”
“Are you seeing someone?”
“Miss, are you sleeping with Ryan Fletcher?”
Jesus Christ. Who in their right mind thinks it’s okay to ask someone that question?
Ryan’s hand tightens in mine, reminding me he’s right here. But the more we run, the more my lungs start to burn. Constricting.
No, no, no. Now is definitely not the time for this.
We turn corners and duck down adjoining alleys until my labored breathing is struggling to keep up with the brutal pace Ryan is setting for us. Clearly it was a terrible idea to run with a professional fucking baseball player. I might actually die.
My steps start to falter and stumble as I try to keep up with him. “Ry…an.” Gasp. “I need…” Wheeze. “A minute.” I pant as my lungs grow tighter until it’s a struggle to gasp down even the smallest breath.
He must hear the pain in my voice because he tugs us down behind a car parked nearby. His gaze traces over my face, taking stock of my current state. What he finds seems to cause him worry because concern slowly seeps into his eyes until it drowns out any other expression.
“Isa, what’s wrong?” It’s his turn for his voice to come out panicked. I’d laugh at our switch if I could actually breathe.
“I just… need to…” Wheeze. “Catch… my breath.” I try to pull in deep breaths but each one feels like broken glass and makes me sound like I’m a small animal.
I’m that penguin from Toy Story with the broken squeaker.
Except for me, it’s defective lungs. “I’ll…
be fine.” Inhale. “Could use… some water… though.” Every word comes out choked and pained around the invisible grip around my lungs.
“Isa…” His eyes are filled with fear. He wants to help me but doesn’t know what he can do.
“I have… asthma.”
“Fuck, Isa! You should’ve told me!” He reaches out and rips the purse that miraculously stayed in place on my shoulder as we fled.
Ryan rifles through the bag, pulling things out and throwing them on the ground beside him.
Once he’s reached the bottom of the bag, he finally looks at me again. “Where’s your inhaler?”
I nibble on my bottom lip nervously and focus my attention on the cement in front of me as if it’s much more interesting than the conversation we’re currently having.
Ryan’s thumb and index finger gently pinch my chin and lift my head, forcing me to meet his gaze.
I can pick out all the emotions swimming in his eyes: panic, fear, and the newest one, agitation.
“Isabella. Where. Is. Your. Inhaler?” The question is firm and makes me wince knowing he’s not going to like the answer.
“Don’t… have one.” I squeeze out around my gasping breaths.
His eyes widen at my admission. “What do you mean you don’t have one?”
“Insurance… not covered… expensive.”
He releases my chin and runs both his hands through the long strands of his hair, mussing it more. “Isa, fuck, you can’t just not have an inhaler.”
The vise on my lungs is slowly starting to loosen and it’s becoming a little easier to breathe. “I know, Ry. But it rarely… flares up like this. Only when I overexert myself. And I know… my limits.”
His face is stricken at my words. I already know he’s blaming himself for this. The flare up. Running. The paparazzi. I reach out to grip his hand in mine and give it a small squeeze. “Ryan, I’m fine. I can already breathe a bit easier. I just need to take it easy and maybe get some water.”
“You should have told me,” is all he says, looking down at our hands with a broken look on his face.
“Why, Ryan?”
He looks back up at me like he’s surprised I asked the question. “Why? Because if I had known, I could’ve come up with another plan to get out that didn’t result in giving you an asthma attack.”
“Ryan, seriously. I’m fine. This is why I didn’t tell you.
We needed to get away, and this was the best option.
” I let out a defeated sigh. “I don’t tell people because I can do everything I need to in life without it ever being an issue.
Like I said, I know my limits. I hate feeling like I’m weak because I have a pair of ineffective lungs that like to turn on me.
” I reach out to cup his cheek. He leans into my touch, gaze softening. “I’m okay, Ry.”
He looks at me for a few beats longer just to be sure I’m telling him the truth.
He must finally come to the conclusion that I am, because he relaxes.
He takes my face in both hands and leans his forehead against mine, breathing me in.
“I was just so worried, Isa. I don’t want to be the reason you’re hurting. ”
“I know, Ry. You’re a protector. That’s what I love about you.
” My entire body tenses once the words leave my lips.
I didn’t mean to say that. The L-word. I mean it wasn’t quite an I love you declaration, but it was pretty damn close.
Luckily for me, he either didn’t notice or is choosing to brush over it.
He pulls his face away to press a soft kiss to my forehead, dropping his lips lower still to brush them over mine.
It’s not quite a kiss, because now is clearly not the time for that.
“So, are you going to pick up my things that you threw all over the place?” I ask with an arched eyebrow.
He barks out a laugh, amusement replacing the worry in his eyes.
“There’s my firecracker.” He shakes his head with another huff of a laugh before he sets to work reassembling my dumped-out purse.
Once everything is returned to its rightful place, Ryan pokes his head around the car we’re still ducked behind.
“Alright, coast’s clear. I think we can take it a bit more leisurely for now.
How about we head home and order breakfast in. Sound good to you?”
“Yeah, sounds great,” I say with a soft smile as he pulls me to my feet, never once releasing my hand as we weave our way through the streets back to his building.