Only With You (28 page)

Soon we were ordering drinks, and aside from the fact that Syd was about as far away from me as she could get, the night turned out to be fun. I even realized that I really liked Dillon. He was a nice guy, really genuine, and he was funny. Ironically enough, I had the most in common with him, and a part of me sort of thought that if I’d have met him under different circumstances, we would have been friends. And maybe we would be now that I didn’t really have anything against him. It was obvious to me that despite the manufactured chemistry he tried to produce when he put his arm around Syd and leaned in close to her, he definitely wasn’t into her.

When we were ready to leave, Dillon and Sydney left holding hands, and I was only mildly discomforted by it
, but only because it meant we’d be separated for a little longer. Bert followed them out, and the rest of us took Westside’s limo back to the hotel and camped out in the bar for half an hour. Elisa sat curled up next to me, seemingly satisfied with how the night had gone as she scrolled through her phone showing me pictures from some of the gossip websites that showcased all of us at the restaurant, laughing and joking, my arm around Elisa’s shoulders where she’d told me to put it. I wondered if she’d known we were being photographed at the time.

Then there were pictures of Sydney and Dillon leaving the restaurant together and then arriving back at the hotel, looking very much like a couple
to anyone who didn’t know better. By the time I headed upstairs, feeling just a little buzzed, I felt like the night had been fairly successful in terms of throwing off the paparazzi. Of course, I had a beautiful girl waiting for me in my bed who I hadn’t been allowed to touch for several hours. That was about to change, so it probably didn’t hurt my good mood.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sydney

After the craziness of dodging the paparazzi in New York, things quieted down after we left the city and the tour continued as we traveled to Boston, then down to Pittsburgh and out to Cleveland. And each day with Ryder got a little sweeter but at the same time the knowledge that he was leaving on Sunday before we left for Indianapolis made our time together bittersweet.

It was hot when we pulled into Cleveland the day before the concert, and after being on the tour bus for so many hours, I was looking forward to stretching out in my hotel room and working on the song I’d started a few days earlier. I’d been meshing lyrics with chords on my guitar earlier in the day, but something wasn’t quite right, and I needed to work through it.

Sensing this, Ryder told me he was going to go down to the gym and run for a bit on the treadmill.
After the craziness in New York, we’d been laying low and just staying in when I wasn’t performing, but before he left he told me he was taking me out that night. We figured in a smaller city, we could find some hole in the wall pizza place and make a date of it.

He’d kissed my forehead and
headed out of the room while I’d shamelessly watched him until he disappeared out the door. I imagined I’d never tire of looking at him. An hour later he came back into the room, his face flushed, which I initially thought was from his workout, but I soon realized it was something else entirely. I also noticed his left knee was cut, and there was a trail of blood running down into his white sock, staining part of the top edge.

“What
happened?” I asked, setting my guitar next to me.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and appraised me. “Now I know how you feel,” he said.

“About what?”

“Getting attacked by the paparazzi.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my eyes narrowing before my gaze shifted down to his knee again. If anyone had hurt him, I’d make sure they never sold another picture. That was unacceptable.

He gestured toward the door. “I was on the freaking treadmill, and this guy comes and gets on the one next to me. No big deal until he starts talking to me.”

“What did he say?”

Ry
der took a deep breath. “He said, ‘You’re Ryder Thompson, right?’ and I said, ‘Yeah, I am,’ before I could even think about how he knew my name. Then he busts out with ‘What’s it like to fuck Sydney Chase?’.”

My eyes got wide, and my hand flew over my mouth.

“I wanted to punch him, Syd. I did, but when he said that I faltered, and lost my footing,” he said, gesturing to his knee. “I fell, and then I couldn’t rightfully get up and hit the guy, so I just told him you were my fucking best friend. The asshole had the nerve to laugh, told me we weren’t hiding anything, and then he left. I’m sitting on the fucking ground, blood is trailing down my leg, and he could have spit on me for all he cared.”

I got up and crossed the room to him, reaching for a paper towel and wetting it in the sink. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I said as I leaned down and started to touch the towel gently against his cut. He winced but didn’t tell me to stop, so I continued to clean it and wipe away the excess blood.

“Do they have to be such assholes?” he demanded, and I looked up at him.

“S
ome are. Some are nice. They’re trying to get their story, and sometimes they take extreme measures.”

He ran a hand back through his hair. “Shit is gonna hit the fan when we finally come clean,” he said, shaking his head.

He was right, shit would hit the fan, and there would be nothing we could do about it. But I didn’t need to feed into his emotions anymore. My goal in that moment was to calm him down, ease his mind, so I chose a different tactic.

“Well, we don’t have to worry about that for a few months, okay,” I said, rising up to stand in front of him.

I was calm
er, because I’d dealt with photographers for years. Ryder was getting his first real taste of what it was like in my world. I knew it was time he’d become as immune to it as I was, but that wasn’t going to happen overnight. And I was mad that the guy had caused him to get injured, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. The hotel was a public place, and unless Ryder wanted security with him at all times, which I’d happily arrange, he might have to deal with stuff like this once and a while.

“I’ll have Bert call the front desk and let them know about the guy giving you a hard time,” I offered, and Ryder waved me off.

“No, I’m just pissed. Whatever.”

“But if he’s not staying here, then he shouldn’t be using the facilities.”

Ryder shrugged. “He had a key card, so he might be staying here.”

I doubted it. Most of the photographers couldn’t afford to stay in the hotels we stayed in, and that was part of the reason why we stayed there.

“Can I do anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I’m going to grab a shower, but maybe we should stay in tonight.”

“No,” I said vehemently. “We’ve been hiding for a week. Enough. If someone wants to make accusations, let them. You’ve been my friend long before we started dating, and no one batted an eye about us hanging out together. Let’s go get pizza.”

Ryder sighed, and a part of me couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be relieved to get back to his normal life. Honestly
, at times it seemed like he had it made living in a small town away from all the craziness I dealt with on a daily basis. I was slightly envious.

A few hours later, Ryder had visibly calmed down when we decided to go out for dinner. And fortunately, we didn’t have any run-ins with nosy photographers as we left the hotel and headed to a pizza place the concierge had recommended. We told him we wanted something small and out of the way, private, and he’d delivered.

The tiny restaurant only boasted ten tables, and we were able to tuck into one in the back and enjoy our last real dinner together for a while. The waitress was friendly and asked me for an autograph for her niece, which I signed happily, and a few people who were dining at other tables turned and stared. I also thought I heard the telltale clicks of cell phone cameras going off a few times which probably couldn’t be helped. I didn’t say anything to Ryder for fear of him going off on the other diners for taking pictures of us. It wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, and I was used to it. As long as they didn’t approach us, I was good.

As we were finishing the last of our pizza, I started to relax and think that maybe we could have a low-key night out, just the two of us.
But a few seconds later, I knew that was wishful thinking when Ryder looked up and his expression changed. He was facing the front of the restaurant, and my back was to the door.

“Shit,” he muttered, and when I started to turn around, he stopped me. “Don’t look.”

I sighed and sat back against the booth. “Photographers?”

“Yeah, there’s like
ten of them out there.”

I shook my head, irritated that someone had given up our location. This was one of the benefits of living in L.A. In a city so used to having celebrities in its mix, the paparazzi never felt as overwhelming to me,
and they always gave you enough space to do your thing as long as they could their shots in, but it was different in other parts of the country. I also knew the places in L.A. where they would never go, so I could easily hide out if I wanted to. We didn’t have that luxury here.

“I’ll tell the driver to pick us up around the back,” I offered, picking up my cell phone as Ryder laid his credit card down to pay the bill.

I was still on the phone when the waitress came to pick up the check, and Ryder made quick work of asking her to let us exit through the kitchen. Since we could be seen through the front window, Ryder told me to go first, act like I was going to the bathroom and leave out the back. He’d meet me a few minutes later.

When he ducked into the car after I
’d waited for ten minutes, he smiled at me, no doubt exhilarated by this first thwarting of the press.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I asked
taking his hand in mine.

“Yeah,” he said. “I kind of feel like a spy.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “It gets less exciting each time.”

Then his expression got serious. “I can imagine.”

“How’s your knee?”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m tough.”

“Battle scars,” I muttered as our car drove past the front of the restaurant.

The photographers, having realized we’d snuck out, were staring to dissipate, but one looked up and noticed our car. I turned around to see him get into his dark SUV that was parked nearby, and he started to follow us.

“Damn,” I said, shaking my head.

“What?” Ryder asked, turning around. “Is that guy following us?”

“Yeah, he is.” I lowered the partition, so I could speak to the driver. I explained the situation, and he nodded in understanding before telling me he’d drive us underground into the hotel’s garage and let us out there.

I sat back and relaxed, watching the city fly by as I held Ryder’s hand in mine, knowing that after
Sunday, it would be a long time before I’d get to do it again.

When we pulled into the garage, the driver of the SUV was prevented from getting in since he didn’t have a room key to gain access. I smiled in triumph, but it was short-lived.

Ryder got out of the car first, and then held his hand out to help me out. As he did flashbulbs started going off five feet from us as a guy in all black stepped out from behind a parked car. Without thinking, Ryder grabbed my hand, yanked me from the car and took off running toward the elevator. All I could think was how pissed I was that I’d worn heels and how I never should have let Pablo and Bert have the night off. They’d each offered to come with us, because at least one of them usually went everywhere with me, but I’d declined, knowing they hadn’t had a night off in a while. I figured we’d be fine. I’d been wrong.

But I also hadn’t expected Ryder to act like he was. He’d never done it before when we’d encountered cameras. B
ut back then we weren’t keeping a secret that would create intense media buzz, so I guess he thought he was helping the situation. He wasn’t. Running from the cameras wasn’t smart. It was as if we were admitting we had something to hide. I figured I’d need to talk to him later about how to act in situations like this, but I wasn’t doing it when his head was where it was at in that moment.

Slamming his key into the slot to call the service elevator the hotel let me use, Ryder let go of my hand. Impatience was written all over his face. Behind us, the photographer continued to snap pictures. Then he started to come around the side, his camera never slowing. Out of instinct, I cowered against Ryder,
because the guy was intense, and I wouldn’t put it past him to get into my personal space. But doing that only excited him. I’m sure he felt like he’d scored huge with the shots he was getting.

“You’re wasting your time, asshole,” Ryder told him, and the guy just sneered and chuckled.

I assumed he was the same guy Ryder had encountered in the hotel gym. “We’re friends, and we’ve been friends for twelve years. No one’s going to give a shit about these pictures. There are fifteen others just like them already online.”

“We’ll see a
bout that,” the guy said, as the elevator doors opened, and Ryder rushed us both inside. “I’m sure the public would love to know that you’re staying in Sydney Chase’s room.”

“We’re just friends,” I told him passively, speaking up for the first time. I usually didn’t talk to photographers.

At that, the photographer made like he was going to join us in the elevator, but Ryder put his hand out to stop him. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m a hotel guest,” the guy snapped.

“If you get on this elevator, you face will meet my fist.”

The guy cowered for a second since Ryder had twenty pounds on the smaller man. Then he took a step forward.

“Try me, asshole,” Ryder threatened as the doors slid closed.

As soon as we started to move, Ryder leaned back against the wall of the car, his eyes closing as he shook his head.
I noticed he was quaking, and he opened and closed his fists a few times, taking deep breaths.

“You okay?” I asked him.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I’m fine. Are
you
okay?”

“I’
m alright. Aside from my arm feeling like it was going to pulled from the socket, I’m good.”

He looked ready to murder someone, but then his face softened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and I instantly regretted making the joke.

“I’m kidding,” I said stepping up to him. “And I’m sorry about all that.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist and looked up at him. The doors chose that moment to open onto our floor.

“Come on,” he said, taking my
hand and leading me to our suite.

As soon as we were inside, Ryder let the door swing closed and went to go sit on the couch. His head fell into his hands for a few seconds before he looked up at me.