All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1)

by Liberty Kontranowski

  “As you can see,” he says, rolling off me and onto his back, “I’m ready for a whole lot more.” He takes my hand and puts it there, and yep, he is indeed ready for show time (which I already knew because it was pretty evident while he was on me). “But . . .”

  I already know where this is going. “Not yet.”

  “Do you agree?” He looks at me with sincerity, but honestly, I don’t know if I agree. Are we still at “not yet” because we’re in a park and this is not the right place to do it? Or is it because we’re not far enough into our relationship? That doesn’t seem right. People have one-night stands all the time. And though I’m not one of those people, it seems kind of safe to assume that we’re already well beyond one-night-stand status.

  I roll my head to the side so I’m looking away from him. There’s really no good way to answer this without flat-out lying, so I take a deep breath and let ‘er rip.

  “No, actually I don’t agree. Not one bit.” I think about my outfit tonight. The hair. The makeup. Every bit of that was carefully planned to give me a sense of confidence I don’t always have.

  So, I swallow my nerves and run with it.

  “I want you so bad, Niles. I want to be as close to you as I possibly can. I want you on top of me, inside me, under me, whatever. I want to experience every bit of you, without abandon. I want that right now, and we’ve clearly got something special going here, so I don’t know what’s with the wait. Sorry if I sound brazen, but you asked. And that’s the God’s honest truth.”

  I drag my head back so I can see his face. His eyes are huge and his smile matches.

  “I want that, too,” he whispers, running his fingers along my collarbone.

  “Then why aren’t we running toward the car right now?”

  “Because,” he says slowly. “I don’t want to hurt you. And if we go there, I’m afraid that’s exactly what will happen.”

  I drop my head back on the blanket and focus on the millions of stars above us. The stars that are bearing witness to a boner-sporting, red-blooded man shooting down a very willing sexy-times participant. I’m sorry you have to see this, stars. I don’t get it either.

  “Niles,” I sigh, turning back to him, “I appreciate how gentlemanly you’re being right now, but let’s not forget that I’m a divorced mom of two who is, you know, completely conscious of her big-girl decisions. You don’t need to protect me from whatever pain you think you’ll cause. I can handle you.” I punch him lightly in the arm just to lighten things up.

  He doesn’t smile and he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he sighs before he picks a fuzz off the blanket and drops it onto the grass behind him.

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but here’s the deal.” He looks at me quickly before dropping his eyes to search for another fuzz. “For many years, I’ve told myself, ‘No promises, no regrets.’ As in, if you don’t promise anyone anything, you can’t regret it when you don’t fulfill those promises.” He sits up straight and pulls me up with him, nestling close enough so I can drop my head onto his shoulder.

  “I am in a dangerous place with you, Kallie Reagan. I feel like I want to make all kinds of promises to you, but I know I can’t. And I shouldn’t. I did the same thing to poor Robbyn and look at her now. I can’t do that to you, too.”

  “I’m not Robbyn.” I have no idea what point I’m trying to make with that statement, but I feel like I need to counter him somehow.

  “So true. You are far from Robbyn. Night and day. But you’re both good people and I know what I’m capable of and I don’t want that for you.” He positions himself so he can look right at me. “Listen, I totally get it if you want to tell me to take a hike. But I hope you don’t. I’m already more into you than I’ve ever been with any other girl—Robbyn included—which is super, super weird for me. I hate it kind of, but I love it, too. You’re bringing out some weird shit in me. Part of me wants to go all-in, but the other part of me—the part that knows myself too well—says to hang tight. So, I hope you can hang tight a little longer, too.”

  “Till when?” I’m sure this sounds childish, but seriously, is this something he’ll ever overcome? Or will he always hold me at arm’s length? If it’s going to take some act of God to get him to open his heart—or at least his zipper—then what’s the point of all this?

  “I think we’ll both know. Until then, can we just keep having fun? I mean . . . for fuck’s sake, I have something big to ask you. This really is big for me, so maybe this is a sign, I don’t know.”

  “Ohh-kay?”

  “Will you come to New York this weekend? You can fly in Thursday night or Friday morning. Maybe you can make arrangements to meet up with your agent or your people or whatever. Maybe do a last-minute book signing or something. Then, come to the show on Friday. We’ll party hard after. I’ll go home to my apartment that night. You can get a hotel . . . or you can come with me.” He pauses. “I’d love for you to stay with me. But, no promises.” He tilts his head and looks at me sheepishly.

  “Niles, I would freaking love that.” In thirty seconds, he’s just changed my whole tune. He’s describing my every fantasy about going to New York and made it even better by wanting me to stay with him. I decide that I need to let go of any pressure I’m putting on him, me, or our “relationship.” I am living a fucking dream right now. There is no need to mess things up with expectations maybe neither of us can uphold.

  “And also? You got it. From here forth, I vow to just let things be. Let them unfold. Whatever happens, happens. No expectations, no promises. Just two awesome people who dig each other pretty hard having a really great time. That’s it.”

  If I could bottle the energy and sincerity behind his smile right now, I’d be a zillionaire. “You are amazing. Seriously. We don’t shove out again until late Monday night, so bring lots of clothes. Or not. Your choice.” He winks at me and I wink back.

  He draws me close and we kiss again until we lose our breath.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Wagging Tongues and Mad Hornets

  I don’t know how Niles does it. I don’t. It’s Thursday at 11:42 a.m. and I’ve been up since five, preparing for my flight home. Niles and I left the park at one in the morning and went to an all-night diner where we talked and ate grease-heaped plates of terribleness until nearly three. We went back to our hotel, brushed our teeth in our respective rooms, and found our way back into each other’s arms (his room), falling asleep all snuggled up together until my phone screamed my wake-up at five.

  Niles awoke long enough to call the driver back to get me, then with a grateful smile, rolled over and passed out again after I told him to get some rest. The guys don’t have a show tonight, so they don’t need to leave until mid-afternoon.

  I, on the other hand, had to catch my flight home only to shower, pack, and fly back out again tonight. After whipping off an email to Lucy to see if she’s available for lunch tomorrow and a confirmation that she is (timing is great, she says, since she has something she wants to talk to me about), I fly into the Big Apple for only the second time in my life at 9:50 tonight. Ack. I’m exhausted (but exhilarated!) just thinking about it.

  Sara took an early lunch so she could come pick me up. Naturally, she wants every single detail of what went down in Boston, but I am very selective about what I tell her. I’m feeling fiercely protective of Niles’s privacy, and since our relationship status is a confusing jumble of question marks, trying to define or pin things down for her benefit proves difficult.

  “So, you still haven’t had sex with him? Still?”

  “That’s correct.” I knew this was coming, so I’d already decided to save us all some heartache and keep things simple and matter-of-fact. “And we probably won’t for a while, so you can just get it out of your head.”

  “And what exactly is the reason for the delay? I mean, am I missing something? You’ve been around him privately enough times. There are bathroom stalls everywhere.” She clucks her cheek.

 
“I dunno. It just hasn’t happened yet.” Now, leave it alone.

  “But he’s a good kisser?’

  “Ugh. He’s amazing.” I know I sound gushy, but my insides fire up again just thinking about it. It can’t be tomorrow night soon enough.

  “And now you’re going to New York? For the whole damn weekend?”

  “Yes!” This comes out as a squee, which gets Sara even more excited. I throw her another bone: “I’m having lunch with Lucy tomorrow, too!”

  “Stop it! Aw, can I come, Kallie? I promise I’ll just peer out from your purse. You won’t even know I’m there.”

  “I wish.” Of course, this is only half true. It would be a hoot to hit the city with her—Lord knows we fantasized about it enough during our Sex and the City marathon days—but I also love the idea of conquering New York by myself for a weekend. I’m not exactly sure how much time Niles and I will spend together, but if he has rehearsals and sound checks and we’re careful to avoid the public eye, then I may end up on my own quite a bit. And I’m perfectly okay with that. Seems like a Girl Power-type moment. Hear me roar!

  “Okay,” Sara says, her voice turning serious. “This kind of blows, but I have to bring you off your cloud for a sec.”

  “Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”

  “Brad called me.” She says this with a sigh, sending a pang through my stomach like a tidal wave.

  “What? Why?” This is not the first time Brad has called Sara. The calls always start out being about the kids or me, but quickly turn friendly and chatty and could easily be misconstrued as an excuse for him to talk to Sara. I know he thinks she’s hot (he’s told me as much, and really, she is very pretty) so we’re trying to figure out if he’s coming on to her or what exactly his motives are. The idea of those two dating sends Sara and I both into hysterics, but Brad is just full of himself enough to think it could happen.

  “He was sleuthing on you. Truly. There is no way this call could have been an ‘excuse’ for him to talk to me.”

  “Go on.” My cheeks turn hot, which means my blood is pretty much starting to boil. This is not going to be good. I can feel it.

  “Turns out your pal Katherine squawked to a friend or six about what she saw that day on the running trails. Namely, you and Niles about to suck face.”

  Sara hates Katherine. She absolutely cannot understand why I would want anything to do with those yip-yappy, gossipy school moms, and she stays far, far away. I’ve always given them the benefit of the doubt, thinking it would be fun to suck down Momtails at each other’s houses while the kids hang out. Now I can see—and appreciate—the reasoning behind Sara’s aversion.

  “Shiiiit.” I slam my head back against the headrest.

  “You didn’t really believe people would never find out about you and Niles, right? I mean, you’ve had him here in town, and now you’re about to fly to your third city to be with him. Like, are you guys a real thing now? Because tongues are wagging, Kal . . . and not just yours and Niles’s. You’re probably going to need to set the record straight. Espesh with Braddy-boy.”

  “No, we’re not a thing.” This, of course, is a big, fat lie. But we’re not a defined thing, so I guess it’s true. Right?

  “Well, Brad thinks you are and he’s madder than a hornet. You don’t have to defend yourself to him, but maybe you should clue him in. Out of respect for the girls, mostly.”

  Respect? For the girls? So, it’s respectful to admit that I’m flying up and down the East Coast so I can make out with a rock star and drink more than I have since college? What am I missing here?

  “Brad does not need to know what I’m up to, and neither do the girls. As far as they’re concerned, it’s business as usual.” I’m so mad, I can hardly speak. “This is bullshit. Brad could be banging some chick in North Carolina for all I know and I’m not calling his best friend asking about it.”

  “Well, this is maybe a little different, Kal. Niles is a celebrity. And, he just happens to be the celebrity that broke the camel’s back.”

  I look at her in disbelief. “Niles did not ruin my freaking marriage, Sara. It was already dead. You of all people should know that.” I swear if I could punch her without making her crash this car, I so totally would.

  “Sorry, I’m just saying . . .”

  “Just saying what? And what did you tell Brad? Jesus, I can’t trust anyone anymore!”

  “Easy, Kallie,” she says, eyes flashing. “I didn’t confirm or deny anything. That’s your job, not mine. I never did anything to break your trust.” She sighs and grips the steering wheel tighter. “And for the record, you’re the one who chose to share your heart with the whole damn world. What did you think might happen?”

  Oh my God, she’s right. I made the bed I’m now in. This crazy, wacky, seriously awesome, but totally uncomfortable bed.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.” My breath catches. “What am I going to do?”

  “Face the music,” she says, her stature softening. “No pun intended. Well, kinda.” She reaches her hand over and squeezes my knee. “But seriously, what’s the big deal? You and Niles are dating. Hanging out. Whatever. If people find out, so what? It’s your fucking dream coming true. You should be shouting this shit from the rooftops.”

  She’s right. My dream is coming true. I should be shouting it from the rooftops. But I can’t. It’s all so complicated. Between not knowing where we stand, knowing the summer will eventually come to an end, and having my baggage of an ex and two children, this all sounds so ridiculous and implausible. So why admit to anything?

  I mean, really, what am I even doing?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Stars in Our Eyes

  “This is amazing. I am so excited to finally meet you.” Not sure how, but Lucy’s in-person voice is even more bubbly and sincere than her phone voice. This is so fun . . . and so cool.

  After a big hug, she settles into the chair across from me and I size her up. She is absolutely precious. A tiny little thing with big, round brown eyes and kinky-curly dark brown hair. Her smile is wide and contagious, just like in the photo on the agency’s website.

  Many—most, even—authors fire off multiple query letters (and by multiple, I mean dozens and sometimes hundreds) in hopes that at least one agent finds their work intriguing enough to request pages or even (gasp!) the full manuscript, which they promptly devour. They then change your life by offering representation and the whirlwind process of publishing commences. (Except it’s not a whirlwind at all. It’s more like one notch above glacier speed.)

  As I prepared to send Nash and Emily out into the big, bad literary world, I vowed to avoid that same hundred-agent process. I wanted to score The One after courting but a few. It only seemed right, given how devoted Emily was to Nash right from the get-go. The instant I saw Lucy’s picture and read her bio, I knew she was my dream agent. She just looked like someone I could be friends with, as well as build a career with. I had to have her. Thankfully, she felt the same about me and my work. And now, here she is, right in front of me.

  “Kallie, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here,” she gushes. “I love meeting my authors, but don’t often get to do so. I’m so glad you made the trip.” She leans in and whispers, “Are you here because of Niles?” I nod a little too enthusiastically as a crazed-fangirl smile breaks across of my face. “Knew it! See, writing a book about someone is the ultimate form of flattery. Maybe I should write one about George Clooney.” She laughs and I fall in love with her a little bit more.

  The waitress comes over to take our order, and as she turns to leave, Lucy says, “Oh, and could you please bring two small glasses of champagne? Before the food?” She tilts her head and flashes me a smile. My eyebrows shoot up in response. I’ve always wondered if publishing people drink during business lunches. I don’t know if this is commonplace or not, but I’m not going to turn down a nice midday glass of champagne. In New York. With my agent. On a Friday.

  We chat a little more, mos
tly about the city and food and shopping, and I can tell she’d love more details about what’s going on with Niles and me, but is behaving too professionally to ask. I contemplate offering a little tease of info, but then the waitress arrives with our champagne and Lucy sits up straight, her white teeth gleaming through her back-again giant smile.

  “So, Kallie, I have some pretty incredible news.” I wonder how the words are even coming out of her mouth, she is smiling so wide. As a reflex more than anything else, I realize I’m smiling now, too.

  “Yes?”

  “We are starting to get a lot of interest in . . . wait for it . . . are you ready . . . ?”

  “Yes!”

  “. . . film rights for your book! Is that not amazing?”

  There is no way she just said what I think she just said. There’s just no way. For the love of God, I dare say every author’s dream, after having their book published, is to have a movie made about said book. A movie! Where your story unfolds right there on the big screen and your characters come to life via some A-list actor or a no-namer who becomes the next big thing because your character takes them there. I am seriously not sure if I am breathing right now.

  “Honestly, I don’t think it will be long before we have a deal. I’m not saying you’re going to be a millionaire next week or anything, but I’d be prepared for some pretty awesome news in the next month or so.” She’s looking right into my eyes and even still, this does not seem real. She holds her glass out. “Cheers?”

  My mind rewinds to when Niles and I first met and he held out his beer, presenting “cheers” as a question, just like Lucy is now. This, all of this, is because of him. My muse. If my book becomes a movie, I owe every bit of it to him. In a Grinch-like fashion, my heart swells about three times its normal size. I cannot wait to tell him, see him, hug him, thank him.