“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’tneedto 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 panickingor 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 Angelesdoesn’trecognize 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.”
