Page 4 of Saving Ian Pope

“Ah, yeah, sure.” I grabbed the handles of my bag on the ground and started to hoist it over my shoulder.

Ian stopped me, taking the straps in his hand. “I’ll carry that for you.”

“Thanks. Evelyn was right.” I led the way out of the booth, waving to Tessa, who pointed to me and Ian and made some obscene interlocking gestures with her fingers.

I whipped my head around so Ian wouldn’t glance back, and as I stepped into the sunshine, I rubbed Fabio’s...abs and silently thanked him.

Chapter 2

IVY

As I caught up to Ian, I cleared my throat. “So, lunch. I think the food trucks are over in front of Dodd Hall, aren’t they?”

“What’s a Dodd Hall?” Ian tilted his head, as he slung my canvas bag over his shoulder.

“Oh, sorry.” I waved my arm in the air. “It’s a building across the street. I went to UCLA, and I mostly took classes on this side of campus, so I know all the building names—at least I think I remember them.”

“How long ago was that?”

Was he trying to discover my age? I couldn’t remember his, but we had to be about the same age, as I’d been in my teen years at the same time as he and his band members had started out, also in their teens.

“I graduated six years ago.” I pressed a hand over my trembling heart to suppress the anxiety that consumed me every time I thought about those tumultuous months following my graduation from college.

“And is this where you learned to become a romance writer?” He spread his arms and turned, taking in the leafy quad lined with book booths.

“Not exactly. I was an English lit major, so I did have to do a lot of writing, and it had to be good writing, but it was an entirely different process from writing fictional stories. I read a lot, including romances, and just decided to try one out for myself. I sold the second book I wrote and was recently able to quit my day job to write full time.” He didn’t have to know that some life insurance money helped me with that move—money I’d sunk into a townhouse in Santa Monica, mostly to protect it from Matt.

He nodded. “That’s impressive.”

I felt that warmth creeping into my cheeks again. “Ugh, I didn’t mean to go on about myself.”

Dragging his sunglasses to the tip of his nose, he lowered his head to look at me. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?” I stopped walking, too distracted to move and worship at the same time. God, I could get lost in those eyes.

“I don’t know. Put yourself down or at least diminish your talents.” He drew a circle with his finger in the air. “Tapes in your head.”

That sounded like one of those pop psychology phrases, and I had no intention of wasting my short time with the very hot Ian Pope delving into my insecurities.

I grabbed his finger. “Tacos or noodles.”

“What?”

Pointing to several food trucks lined up on the utility road between campus halls, I said, “So far, I can make out a taco truck and a noodle truck. I’m sure there are more.”

Five minutes later, we stood in line at a food truck called Canoodles, appropriately enough because that’s what I wanted to do with him...among other things. We both decided on something called Thai Bomb with green curry and tofu.

After we ordered at the window, Ian patted his pockets. “I gave my last cash to Tessa for the robot sex book. They probably take cards or Venmo, yeah?”

“My alma mater, my treat.” I plucked my wallet from the bag still hanging over Ian’s shoulder and slid out two twenties to pay for the bowls and a couple bottles of water.

As part of the book festival, small plastic tables and chairs dotted the lawn and walkway. I led Ian past the crowds to the shady sculpture garden, where others clearly had the same need for tranquility. We claimed a spot on a bench beside the flowering coral trees, boasting their bright red flowers for the summer.

“This is a great spot.” Ian unwrapped his chopsticks and aimed them at my fork. “You’re not using chopsticks?

“Never really mastered the art of chopsticks. Way too much work to get food into my mouth.” I stabbed a chunk of tofu with my plastic fork. “Why did you come to LA with your manager? Are you making new music? I don’t think I’ve heard anything from you, lately. Okay, I admit I don’t follow your career that closely.”

With his chopsticks pinched between two fingers, Ian opened his bottle and chugged some water, but not before I caught the shadow that seemed to darken the sparkle in his eyes. Had I said something wrong? Maybe I should’ve done a surreptitious search on my phone before asking him questions about his career.

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