All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1) (7 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Hits and Misses

              “You know, it would be swell if you picked up your damn calls once in a while, Kallie.”

A guy’s voice is in my ear, but it’s not the guy I want it to be . . . and I have no idea how it happened. I lift my head off the back of my couch and realize I had fallen asleep while writing. I’m sure when I heard my phone ring, I snatched it without thinking. I’m impressed I was coherent enough to at least say hello, but I’m crushed that it’s Brad’s voice I’m hearing instead of Niles’s.

              “Hi, Brad,” I say, sitting up. “Great to hear from you.” If “sarcastic” was an animate object, it’d be sitting on the couch next to me right now.

              “Yeah, well, your girls wanted to talk to their mother, but since she doesn’t answer her phone, that’s proving impossible. I told them I’d try one more time, then they’ll have to wait until we get back to my mom’s. So thanks for finally picking up. Now I don’t have to repair their broken little hearts.”

              “Gee, Brad, dramatic much?” I sigh. “I’ve had my phone nearby all weekend.”              “Then maybe you should answer it. Check your call records. See how many times we’ve tried. Five, at least. Since Friday night. It’s now Sunday. So, in my book, that’s pretty shitty phone monitoring.”

              I think back to my calls and, sure, I ignored a few (Katherine Koch’s, for example), but none of them were from Brad’s phone.

              “I would never not pick up a call from the girls, Brad. Your phone number never once showed up all weekend. So ease up, all right?” My voice rises, despite my best attempts otherwise.

              “I called from my mom’s phone.”

              And there it is. That trap where he does something stupid, inexplicable, or otherwise nonsensical, but somehow pins it back on me to make me look like the bad parent. It’s my favorite of his how-dare-you-leave-us, now-I’ll-make-you-pay tactics. Not.

              I take a deep breath and try to calm down. I hate how riled up I get every time I talk to him these days. It’s so strange to me how we’ve gone from barely talking at all when we lived in the same house to talking often, and rarely in a controlled state.

              “Okay. That’s why I didn’t pick up. It was a number I didn’t recognize.” I want to tell him to quit being a baby and cut me some slack and use his own damn phone for crying out loud, or
at least
leave a message, but instead I say, “I’m sorry. I miss the girls terribly and if I knew it was them trying to call, I’d have picked up.”

              “Yeah. Well, here they are.” He ignores my apology and, of course, offers none of his own.

              Alana gets on first and The Black Cloud of Brad instantly dissipates. It’s so good to hear my baby girl’s voice. We talk about everything they’ve done in the mountains since Friday and all they hope to accomplish yet today. She tells me she’s turning nice and tan but that Jilly’s sunburned and I curse Brad out in my head for not SPFing them up enough. We talk about how much we miss each other and I tear up thinking we still have eight weeks before we’ll see each other again. I must have been crazy to agree to this setup, but at the time, it seemed like a good idea to let them enjoy a summer without flopping back and forth between Brad’s house and mine. Now I’m not so sure.

I’ve considered flying down there midsummer for a few days, and now more than ever, I feel like that might be an excellent plan. After I talk to Jillian, I can hardly regroup. What mother allows her children to go away for ten weeks at a time without it being a necessity? I consider telling Brad to bring them back early, but I don’t want to start a fight. I need to create a nice, solid case for why and when before I broach the subject with him, otherwise the battle will be lost before it begins. I hold in my emotions as I tell the girls to have fun, be safe, and call me on Monday night. They agree and we hang up. Free from upsetting their little ears, I let the tears flow.

I allow myself my second good cry of the last thirty-six hours, then haul my gross self off the couch and into the shower. When I emerge, I hear a knock at my door, which I am tempted to ignore but find way too intriguing not to check out. It’s Sunday, early afternoon. Who could it possibly be? Thankfully, my apartment door has a peephole, and I am quiet enough on my feet to slink over and peer out without being detected.

When I look out, I do a double take. There is a handsome young man standing outside my door with a gigantic bouquet of flowers and a large envelope. I fling the door open, scaring the life out of the poor guy.

“Ms. Reagan?” He blinks.

“Yes?”

“These are for you.” He holds them out and I try to grab the vase, but it’s awkward and heavy and we do a really weird fumble dance.

“Here, I got it.” He laughs. “Where would you like them?”

I lead him over to my table, where he sets them down with a
thunk
. He smiles and holds out the envelope. “This is for you, too. Came by courier. Today is Sunday, so someone went through a lot of trouble to get this stuff to you.” He winks.

Someone?

Oh,
someone.

I peel open the envelope and find a travel itinerary, a concert ticket, and a VIP pass. A smile worthy of the Cheshire Cat spreads across my face. Yep, it’s from
that
someone, all right.

I want so badly to tell the delivery guy who exactly “went through all this trouble,” what it is, and how he just made my entire day. But Niles would probably want to keep this type of thing on the down low, and plus, I’m standing here in my robe with wet hair and no makeup. This harsh reality (bad hair! no makeup!) snaps me back and I reach for my purse.

“No, ma’am,” Delivery Guy says. “The sender tipped us handsomely for this. You’ve got quite an admirer it seems.” He winks again, and I’m thinking he’s taking notes in order to impress some lucky lassie of his own someday.

“These are unbelievable.” I motion toward the flowers. “The colors! The scent! They’re just gorgeous.”

Oh my God, why am I making small talk with this guy? I need to shoo him out so I can drool over this incredible moment in private.

“Uh, sorry to keep you. Thank you so much for coming on a Sunday.” I jerk my head toward the door.

“It’s my pleasure. I hope you enjoy your goodies.” After a third wink, I start to question if maybe he has a nervous condition, but it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me. I just need him gone. I usher him out and as he wishes me well, I close the door in his face and make a beeline for my arrangement.

It doesn’t take long for me to make one very distinct realization: This is the exact arrangement—right down to the fillers—that Nash sent to Emily after their first date. And I know this is the exact arrangement because I spent a whole Saturday at a few different flower shops, creating my dream arrangement so I could accurately portray it in my book.

I dig between the blooms to unearth the card.

Who says dreams can’t become realities? -NR

I go weak.

When I finally collect myself, I paw through the envelope and see that Niles wasn’t kidding when he said to be flexible and be ready . . . because I am flying into Philadelphia tomorrow morning for a show that very same evening!

I honestly don’t know what to do next. Do I pack? Do I call Sara? Do I text Niles? Do I scream?

Yes. Yes, I scream!

This cannot be real. I cannot possibly have just received an enormous floral arrangement from my rock star crush, who is now my friend, who I almost kissed, who is flying me to one of his concerts, plunking me down in the front row, and giving me a VIP pass so I can see him after the show. This is the most surreal thing I’ve ever experienced.

This is my book coming to life.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It’s Go Time!

Sara nearly swerves off the road as she makes her way toward the airport.

“Quit texting and driving, Sar. I’d kind of like to actually
get
to the airport, you know?” I shoot her an annoyed look, to which she responds with an equally annoyed look.

“Dude, I’m using two hours of vacation time to haul your fangirl ass to the airport. You could be a little nicer.”

“Sorry. I’m just crazy nervous.” And I am. I barely slept one second last night. For whatever reason, the anticipation of seeing Niles tonight is even more chest-crushing than the first time. Maybe because this time I know what to expect. I know there will be sexual tension, I know we’ll flirt, I know—I hope—we’ll have a great time. It’s like a second date that’s not really a date. And I’ve always hated second dates. They invite a shit ton more pressure than a first date, by far.

“Kallie, you’ll be fine. Just keep your head together.”

“I don’t know if I can. I’m a mess.”

“Well, you
look
like a mess, too. You do plan to change and spruce up, right?”

Man, you gotta love honest best friends.

“Of course I do.” I sigh. “Give me a break, though, okay? I have seriously not slept since last Wednesday.”

“Well, get out your super-strength makeup and paint that shit on. You need it.” She throws me an apologetic smile. “Will you have time to nap at the hotel before the show?”

My stomach squeezes at the mention of hotel naps. Sara still doesn’t know about Niles’s and my slumber party. I smile inwardly at my juicy little secret.

“Probably not. I have to call Lucy. She emailed and asked me to call her today. ”

Sara waves her hand in dismissal. “Psh, agents. Such nuisances.”

I laugh because I know she is totally joking. Throughout my whole book publishing process, she has been most enthralled with Lucy and the agent/author relationship. She gets an absolute kick out of the fact that I have to “take a call from my agent” and says it sounds so Hollywood. I love that she loves it. Sara can be really hard to impress.

She wheels into the short-term parking space and prepares to hop out.

“You don’t have to come in, Sar. Get back to work. I’ll call you later. And thank you.”

“You sure you have everything? I mean, you did pack condoms, right?”

“What? No!” She is so completely ridiculous sometimes.

“Kallie, good Lord. Do I have to mother you, or what? The responsible thing would be to pack condoms. Though I’m sure Niles has a hefty stash, a proper lady brings her own.”

“Niles and I are not having sex tonight.” I groan. “What are we going to do, bang it out in a bathroom or something?”

Sara’s eyebrows raise, intrigued. That is exactly the type of thing she would do. Frankly, though I’m normally a romantic-love-session-in-a-bed kind of girl, I have to admit that shagging Niles in a bathroom doesn’t sound like a horrible idea.

“I shall not respond to that,” she says, leaning back into her seat. “Okay, you have a great time. If it is indeed ‘your time’ tonight, enjoy yourself, but be smart. Promise?” She turns to look at me and grabs my hand.

“I really don’t think it will be ‘our time,’ but if it is, then yes, I’ll be careful. Promise.” I let go of her hand and slip out of the car. She waves at me as I grab my bags. I salute her back and head toward the airport entrance.

It’s go time, baby!

***

The hotel suite (yes, I said
suite
) is huge. The décor is stunning. The view is even better. And once again, I’m hit with a this-can’t-be-real moment. My eyes flit around the room, taking it all in, and eventually land on an exact duplicate of the arrangement Niles sent me yesterday. I rush over to it and grab the card.

Didn’t want you to miss out on the one at home, so here’s another. -NR

Seriously?

On the bed is a greeting card with scribbly handwriting that can only be Niles’s. I’ve never seen anything he’s written other than his autograph, but the spastic way the letters are linked together almost perfectly reflects his stage style.

Welcome to an awesome summer. Hope you’re up for living the rock star life for a little while. AND, I hope you’re up for some serious napping! Save me a spot tonight—maybe I can sneak in later. After-party first, though. See you there!

If there were anyone in the room with me right now, they would no doubt find hilarity in the expression on my face. Niles Russell wants to hop in bed with me tonight. He wants to sneak in after the after-party. Oh. My. Gawd. Maybe this
will
be “our time.”

If Sara knew this, she’d flip. But I can’t tell her. Not yet. I have to keep my head together and calling her would most definitely
not
be conducive to that.

I should definitely call Lucy, though. But this bed is so soft and the pillows look so cozy. And I am so tired. I flop down.
Just for a minute
, I promise myself. An hour later, my phone alerts me that a driver will be here to pick me up at six. Which means I need to get a move on. Oops.

I wonder why I haven’t heard from Niles. I check my phone to make sure I didn’t miss any of his texts, and indeed, I haven’t. I wonder what he does all day when they get to a new town. Is he here in the hotel? Where and when does he eat? Where does he get ready? How does all this happen away from the watchful eyes of the fans? I make a mental note to ask him some of these things, then head to the bathroom to get myself in order.

When I walk in, I almost faint. There, on the mirror, written in red lipstick, is a note that says,
Can’t wait to see you tonight
. It’s a simple message, but it’s poignant nonetheless . . . because it’s the exact same message Nash left for Emily on
her
hotel room bathroom mirror one night.

***

“Are you drunk?” Niles asks. As promised, he snuck into my room after the after-party and is lying on the bed next to me, to my left. Except for in my car, every other time we’ve been next to each other for any length of time, he’s always been on my right. So, I’m enjoying this new viewpoint. It feels like I’m looking at a painting from a different angle.

“No. Maybe a little. You?”

“I don’t know. I should be. We drank a lot. But my head seems kinda straight. I’m not sure I like that.” He puffs out his cheeks and keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“What do you mean?”

“Because it’s a whole lot easier to make a move when you’re messed up.” He turns over on his side to look at me. “We’re in bed together, Kallie. Most people would be doing a lot more than just lying next to each other, right?”

I nod and swallow hard. “So, why aren’t we?”

“I don’t know. I want to. And I’m pretty sure you want to. But, it’s not time yet.” He rolls back over onto his back, takes my left hand with his right, and puts my hand on his chest. “Feel that?” His heart is thumping wildly, as though he’s just gotten off stage.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“That’s not normal for me.” He laces his fingers through mine and extends his arm. My hand is now resting against his right thigh and is dangerously close to
there
. All I would have to do is stretch out my fingers and scoot them over less than six inches and I’d get a handful of awesome.

“Hm. I have a hard time believing someone like little ol’ me could make Niles Russell’s heart go pitty pat. How many girls have you been with? Like millions?”

“Ha. Less than you think.”

“Fewer.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been with
fewer
than I think.” I smile at him when he looks at me.

“Really? You have to correct my grammar during a moment like this?” he laughs. “See? That right there is why my heart is thumping. You’re like no other, Kallie Reagan.”

He turns over again and smooths my hair with his left hand. I allow myself to stare at him and really take him in. He’s not a traditional beefcake handsome guy at all, but he’s incredibly handsome in his own quirky guy-next-door way. We are so close that, if I had any kind of balls, I’d only have to move inches to initiate a kiss. But I don’t. I’m paralyzed and mesmerized. I close my eyes as he continues playing with my hair.

“You falling asleep on me?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Of course not.” But his touch is so gentle and rhythmic and he has me so relaxed, I actually might be.

“You can. I know you’re tired. You worked your ass off writing the other night and now I’m imparting my night owl ways on you.”

“I love your night owl ways. I love pretty much everything about you.”

He freezes.

Oops. Somebody just got spooked.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

“It’s okay,” he says, stroking my hair again. “I love your honesty. And I love when you don’t hold back.” He inhales deeply. “You don’t feel like crying tonight, do you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good. That’s good. Because that really sucked. When I figured out it was you next door and I put the pieces together . . .”

“Shhh.” I let my eyes drift open and discover he’s staring right at me. “Pretend that never happened, okay? It was an emotional day, but it was nothing you did wrong. I promise.”

“Someone sweet like you should never have to cry.”

I don’t mean to, but I shrink back from him a bit. Sure, his words are genuine and kind, but all I can do is think about all the times he’s called me sweet. Or cute. He’s never called me hot or sexy or any of that. What about the other girls—though “fewer than” I think—he’s been with? Were
they
cute? What’s Robbyn like? Is she
sweet
or is she freaky? Does one turn him on more than the other? Probably so. All guys like freaky chicks, don’t they? The sexier the better? I’m just sweet. And cute. I can’t be Niles’s type. Not at all.

I roll away from him and onto my back. I think about stripping down, right here, right now. That’s not something a sweet girl would do. I think about straddling him, pressing my chest against his, covering his mouth with mine. That’s probably what his other “lady friends” would do. That’s probably what he likes, and what he expects.

But I can’t do it.

“Do you think we’ll ever kiss, Niles?” I can hardly believe the words escape my lips, but it’s something I am dying to know, dying to
do
.

“Most definitely. Just not yet.” He pulls me closer, burying my face in his chest. He rubs my back for what seems like a millennium, then kisses the top of my head. “There you go.” He laughs. “Our first kiss. Well, second, really. Because I’ve already kissed your cheek.”

“Hilarious,” I say, nudging his arm. “But seriously, though. Thanks for tonight. This whole life of yours—it’s pretty amazing.”

“Sometimes it’s amazing just to be normal. I feel so normal right now. You do that to me—
for
me. So, thank
you
.”

“My pleasure.” I yawn. “What time is it, anyway? Do you have to go?”

“I should.” My heart sinks. “But I’m not going to. I’ll stay with you. I have until five. Now, sleep.” He nuzzles his chin into my hair, and in an instant, we are asleep.

And an instant later, it’s five o’clock . . . and he’s gone.