As I was leaving the gym, he invited me to his place over the weekend. I took his number and said I'd call him. We were soon hanging out at his house in Malibu, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. We sipped white Russian tequila, snorted Pink cocaine and talked about everything until dawn. We bonded instantly when we learned that both our fathers had died of cancer sixteen years earlier.
"When I lost my dad, I lost my best friend," he said. Since our mothers were unavailable, we were like two kids no one came to pick up after school. I was out in L.A., on my own, estranged from my family in Boston. They did not approve of my lifestyle. More than I wanted love, I needed someone to take care of me. Ryan acted like a protective father figure. He reminded me of my dad.
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There was only one problem. He had two small children out of wedlock with his live-in girlfriend. She was away with the kids the weekend we had our get-together.
Two months later, I ran into Ryan at a car show on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. That day, at the auto show, he paid attention to everything I worked so hard on: my tan, my breasts and my body. He said, "I keep thinking of you. Have you been thinking of me?" He was still living with his girlfriend and kids. He said, "If you can handle that, let's hang out. I really want to see you again."
"What does your girlfriend think about you seeing other people?" I asked
"She's okay with it as long as I don't flaunt it in her face. We only stay together for the sake of the kids. So am I gonna see you again?"
"I don't know. I want to, but I don't think it's a good idea," I told him.
"Come on, please, please!" he begged.
When we met the following week at a park in Beverly Hills, he was sitting on the grass stoned out of his mind, unable to string a sentence together. It disgusted me that my savior was completely incoherent. "What the hell is wrong with you?! You can't even get up off the ground!" I stormed off to sit on a near by park bench. My rational side told me to walk away from Ryan that day and never look back. But the abandoned little girl, whose dad died when she was seven, was having a meltdown. She needed to stay more than I wanted to leave.
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A few minutes later, Ryan dragged himself over to me, lay his head on my lap and said, "Why are you freaking out on me?"