All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1) (6 page)

CHAPTER TEN

You Can Run, But You Can’t Hide

“Thanks for meeting me,” Niles says. He spreads out the blanket he asked me to bring and settles onto his back. “Seems pretty quiet out here. Nobody but me is stupid enough to run on a hot day like this.”

I almost didn’t find him. We’re on the furthest trail from the park entry and the terrain to get here was a little rough. He’d found a clearing and settled in for an impromptu inspiration break. When he texted me to join him, my own creative fire was stoked and I couldn’t imagine a single thing better than hanging out in the woods with my muse. I mean, please. Maybe I’d get some great ideas for Nash and Emily #2.

“I fucking despise writing lyrics sometimes,” he whines, looking up through a canopy of leaves.

I shake my head in an attempt to dislodge the words I just heard.

“Seriously? Your lyrics are amazing.” There is no way my muse struggles with lyrics. No way. They’re too perfect. Too him. Too—seemingly—effortless.

“You write,” he says, turning to look up at me. “Sometimes it flows, sometimes it doesn’t. Right?” Just like at the hotel, he pats the spot to the left of him. “C’mere.”

I plop down, but again, not too close.

“Somebody’s shy today,” he says with a smile. Of course, my face catches fire once again. And, of course, he notices it. “That’s okay. It’s cute.”

He props himself up on his elbows, his chest and stomach creating a nice, hard, straight line. His shirt is so big, the back of it droops toward the blanket and through the oversized armholes I get a nice eyeful of his sides and back. His skin is smooth and flawless. Not a single freckle in sight. Ohmagaw.

“So, Nash was a pretty romantic guy,” he says. “Did Emily ever get freaked out by that?”

Freaked out? By a romantic guy? Uh, no.

“Not once they got to know each other.” I shoot him a knowing look.

“Do you think he ever felt like a pussy? You know, for being so soft?”

A pussy? My Nash? Not a chance!

“No, Niles, he didn’t. Not ever. Nash is a guy’s guy, all the way. But, shit, when you fall for someone, you tend to lose your mind a little, right? Emily had already lost it for Nash before she even met him. When they finally did meet, there was heat. No denying it. No tour or ex-lover or real-life situation could thwart that. He was touched that she dug him so much and that she could feel something so raw for him from afar. In real life, when they met, it was even better. So he turned to mush a little.” I raise my eyebrows to punctuate my passionate little impromptu monologue. “It happens.”

“Yeah. It does.” Niles takes my right wrist, which I have all my weight on, and pulls it out from under me. There’s nowhere for me to go but down. In an instant, I am inches from his face, my right elbow on the ground and my left arm draped across his chest.

“Do you think something like that is happening right now, Kallie?” he whispers.

I don’t even have a chance to answer; it all happens so fast. One second, his head is rising, his lips definitely traveling straight toward mine. The next second, the rhythmic stomp of running shoes and a far-too-excited, “Kallie?!” halts everything.

I fling myself off him and stare up at our intruder. Once my eyes focus, I see it’s Katherine Koch, the mom of Alana’s best friend. We’ve gotten to be friendly over the past couple years ourselves, and like nearly every mom in our circle, she is very aware of my book.

“Katherine, hey!” I try my hardest to be casual, but there is definitely a very, very big elephant in this room. “Gorgeous day, right?”

“Yeaaaahhh,” she says. Her eyes are no longer on me. At all. There’s no hiding this. She’s staring straight at Niles. Niles without a hat or sunglasses to hide behind because they’re sitting on the blanket next to him. Oh my God, we are so busted.

“Um . . .” What do I do now? I guess I have no choice. “Katherine, this is . . .”

“Wow,
yeah
,” she says, flinging her hand out toward Niles. “Huge fan!” Niles takes her hand and shakes it gently. He’s in rock star mode, just like that. He’s sitting up straighter and has that “look.” It occurs to me just how natural and normal he is when it’s just the two of us. I get a chill thinking about how I’ve gotten to see the “other” side of him.

“Thank you. Really nice to meet you. Sorry, I’m a kinda gross.” He smiles his gorgeous smile and I’m pretty sure Katherine melts just like I do.

“You’re fine, really,” she gushes. “Can’t wait for the new album. Hope it’s soon.” I think Niles nods, but this is all so surreal, I’m not really sure.

“I’ll, um, leave you two alone. Great to meet you. And Kallie, give me a call sometime soon, okay?” Her eyebrows lift so high that for a second I think they’re going to meet her hairline.

“Sure. And Katherine?” I gaze at her pleadingly. “Could you please keep this, you know,
discreet
?”

She looks at Niles again and then back at me. “Of course. Sorry to interrupt. Take care, guys.”

***

“So, I’m wondering something,” Niles says. He’s just gotten out of my shower (Niles was in my shower! Presumably naked!) and is standing in front of me wearing yet another set of clothes, his hair damp and messy.

I know it’s rude to blow him off when he’s talking, but I finally cannot resist a second longer. Against my better adulting judgment, my hand makes a beeline toward his head and hovers by his ear. “May I?”

“May you what?”

“I’m obsessed with your hair. Where do you think Emily got
her
obsession for
Nash’s
hair?”

He shakes his head and laughs. “You girls and your hair fetishes.” He takes my hand and steers it the rest of the way. My fingers plunge in and are happier than any fingers have ever been. I shiver, completely embarrassed that touching someone’s strands could make me so crazy.

“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” he laughs.

“And more.” My fingers don’t want to stop, but keeping them in there much longer would border on awkward, so I reluctantly pull them out and swear never to wash my hands again. “Now, what is it you were wondering?”

“Yeah . . . so . . . I was at this hotel once,” he says, walking toward the living room. I follow. “Not too long ago, actually.” He pulls me onto the couch and sits very close. “It was pretty late, after the after-party. I was settling in and before I turned on the TV, I heard something.” He fixes his gaze on something across the room, though I can’t tell what.

“Some hotels are more soundproof than others,” he continues. “This one apparently was not. At first, I thought it was someone, you know, getting it
onnnn.
” He turns to me and winks. “But then I realized it was someone crying.”

Oh, no.

“Sounded like a sweet girl, and it went on for quite a while. I felt really bad for her. I would like to think she had a good night, like, with some new friends and all. But why would someone who was happy get that sad?”

He turns to look at me. There’s no question. He totally knows.

“She wasn’t sad,” I whisper.

“Then what was wrong, I wonder?” He’s trying to look me in the eye, but now I’m the one staring across the room.

“She was
too
happy
, I bet. She probably had a big night. Her new friends—one in particular—probably brought out a lot of passion and emotion in her. Plus, she probably gets extra emotional when she drinks.” I pause. “
And
, I bet she didn’t get to say a proper good-night to her friend, and she was worried she’d never see him again. That’s the one thing that made her sad. I bet.”

“So, you don’t think her new friend did anything wrong?”

“Not one thing.”

“That’s good to know. I’m sure he’d be really upset if he knew he somehow made her sad.”

I turn to him and tilt my head. God, what a sweetie.

“He should not worry about that,” I whisper, taking his hand. “Sometimes girls just need a good cry. She’s sorry, I’m sure, if she made her friend worry.”

“As long as she’s fine, he’s fine.”

“Good. Then everyone’s fine. And they all live happily ever after.”

“Sounds like a good ending for a story.”

“Or maybe a great beginning.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Promises, Inspiration, and Sleepless Nights

“As much as I would love to, we can’t just go to a restaurant together. Especially around here. You’ll be recognized for sure.”

Niles pulls into the parking lot at his hotel and turns off my car. “But I
waaaaant
to,” he whines. He sticks out his bottom lip and my heart breaks a little right there.

“Believe me, I don’t want to leave you yet, either.”

My eyes bug out when I hear myself say this, because, yeah, I’ve been guarded—shy, as Niles said earlier—off and on all day. But now that it’s ten o’clock and our day together is wrapping up, I’m feeling bolder. And, hell, I
don’t
want to leave him yet.

“You don’t know anywhere quiet around here?” His voice is hopeful, but when I tell him I don’t know this area well at all, we both silently admit that it’s time to say our good-byes. I have the two-hour (for me) trip back home (in the dark! Ack!) and he needs to get a little bit of shut-eye since they’re loading up at 4:30 a.m. to get back on the road.

“Thank you for taking me home with you today. It was great to feel normal. And even better spending the day with you.” His phone buzzes, but he completely ignores it. He’s barely touched it all day.

“Please. It was my pleasure.”

Like,
really
my pleasure.

I suck in a breath and lean toward him, my forearms resting on the console between us, my hands dangling over his thigh. How I wish this console were not even a thing, not a barrier between us. How I wish Katherine Koch was not out running today and cursed with the worst timing in the history of ever. How I wish our lips would have met out on that trail, that they will now. How I wish I was bold enough to make a move. To lean in even further. To end this bizarre, amazing, unbelievable two days with the best ending I could think of.

Instead, I lean back and settle my hands back into my lap. “Thank you for indulging my fangirl crush, Niles.” I cast him a quick sideways glance. “It was very, very sweet of you, and you’re off the hook now. Tell your people you held up your end of the deal.” Because that’s what this was, right? A PR arrangement? I have to keep my head on straight and remember that.

Even though he just told me it was “even better” spending the day with me.

He turns to me, a serious look washing across his face. “I . . .” He looks out the window behind me, then pulls his eyes back toward me. “I honestly don’t know what this was at first. And especially now. But I know this new ‘friendship’ of ours is far from over.” My chest tightens.

“I am sincere about keeping you distracted this summer,” he says, his voice turning a little weird. “So, you better plan on it.”

He moves toward me, leans over that goddamn console, and rests his forehead against mine. “I’ll talk to you soon. Drive safe.” His lips are so close, mine instinctively pucker. But he pulls away, grabs his running bag and mini-cooler out of the back, and hops out. He waves at me through the window as I remain in the passenger seat, a muddled mess.

And just like that, he’s gone.

***

              When I finally arrive home, it’s after midnight and I am exhausted, but energized at the same time. I want to sit and think about every single thing that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours, but I am very inspired to put some ideas on paper for Book Two (and maybe even come up with a title so I can stop calling it Book Two). I remind myself that Niles did not win three Grammys by sitting around thinking about it, so I grab my laptop and prepare to settle in. If I commit to an hour of focused work, I’ll reward myself with some daydreaming. Then, I’ll head to bed and what? Carry on like none of this ever happened? What does tomorrow hold for me? After a whirlwind like this, where do I go from here? Back to normal? Has my life changed? Have I changed?

              I ponder these questions as my email gears up. I open my inbox and am completely elated when the name at the tippy top is none other than Niles Russell. When I open up the message, there is a picture of us—the Tongue picture—staring back at me.

              “Here’s to a great summer ahead!” the email says. “xo, Niles.”

              I respond with a simple “<3” and press send.

              I ignore every single one of my forty-seven other emails and get to work. After two hours, my butt hurts and my eyes are droopy, but I’m still typing. Two hours after that, the clock on my computer tells me it’s just about time for Niles to be packing up to head back on the road. I grab my phone and take a picture of my laptop screen.

              I text Niles the picture with the message: “Almost 5,500 words in. Thanks, muse! #amwriting” and he immediately responds with, “Atta girl. You’re amazing. #amimpressed”

             
Eek!

              “Get some sleep now,” he types. “One of us should.”

              “No sleep last night for you either?”

              “I didn’t have my napping partner.” Winking emoticon.

              “Baby, I’ll nap with you anytime.” Double winking emoticons.

              “That’s what I’m hoping.” Even more winking emoticons. I squee right out loud, my heart bursting. “P.S. Why weren’t you this flirty earlier today? lol”

              As I consider this question, Niles answers it for me.

              “Oh yeah. You’re a word girl. But remember, no need to hide behind them. Not with me. Capeesh? (How the hell do you spell capeesh?)”

              I laugh because, really, I have no idea how to spell it. But I make a note to find out and use it in Book Two.

              “When will I see you again?” I type. “Because it won’t be soon enough.”

Shit, thirty seconds from now would not be soon enough.

              “Hang tight. I’m figuring that out as we speak. Any days you’re totally off the grid?”

              Ha. Even if there were, I’d move mountains to change my plans. I miss my girls like crazy, but they’re gone and other than working on Book Two and a couple freelance copywriting projects, I have no specific obligations all summer.

              “Sounds pathetic, but I’m wide open. Not a single plan.”

              “Good. Then be flexible and be ready. Hope you’re not as scared of flying as you are of driving.”

              “If I could have flown instead of driven yesterday, I would have. Believe me.”

              “I do. I was hoping you’d text to tell me you made it home safe.”

He was?

              “Glad all is well. Now get some rest. I mean it.”

              I promise him I will, but hey, I’m not the one who will be performing in front of thousands of people tonight. I can sleep all I want when I’m dead. For now, I have a book to write . . . and a rock star to fantasize over.

              A rock star who wants to know my summer plans so he can figure out when we’ll see each other next.

             
Holy. Freaking. Bleep.