by C.M. Kars
Ayden (Stone) looks at me and holds the stare for a beat or two. I had read somewhere that when someone makes eye contact with you for several seconds, it can mean one of two things: that person is attracted to you, or that person wants to kill you. I’m not sure, at this point, which one is scarier.
What the hell am I supposed to do if the guy who plays Chrisander Gage is attracted to me? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
Calm yourself down, Aria. You’re jumping to conclusions again.
It’s not my fault if I don’t understand the intricacies of flirting. Why can’t people just say what they mean? So much time could be saved, so much!
“I would like that very much.” Ayden’s words are clipped, different than when he puts on the American accent for the show and for Chrisander’s character. I know he’s from South London, England (not Canada), but his accent has either been changed if he grew up stateside or he’s trying to grind it to the ground for some odd reason, or maybe he’s even one of those people whose accent changes depending on the accent of the person they’re talking with.
When I get back with another meal and place it in the now empty space in front of him on the table, he smiles in gratitude and starts digging in. “I’m sorry about my manners,” he says after swallowing a bite of his burger. “I’ve got another panel in another hour or so and I wanted to explore a little bit before getting back.”
I nod, unsure of why he’s telling me all this. I’m trying to figure out when is my cue to leave this odd interlude between my favourite fictional character and the actor who plays him. If there was a cue, I’m pretty sure I’ve missed it. So I sit here, in this odd sort of limbo, trying to make casual conversation when I know who he is and what he does, and he knows not one thing about me.
Power trip. I’m having a little bit of a power trip.
“This is weird,” I finally say, adding my two cents to this non-conversation. I don’t think I helped it any.
Ayden Stone is blushing. In front of me. Wow.
He nods as his chinks get pinker and pinker, and I’m charmed and smiling before even realizing it.
I won’t pass out at seeing the face of Chrisander Gage blushing. I won’t do it. I’m a professional fangirl—I keep all my screaming on the inside and look like a normal person on the outside.
“Life’s weird, though, I guess. It’s my first time in California, and I wanted to come all the way out here and meet you, well, your character, take a picture, and lay down some serious cash that’ll dent my savings account to buy stuff. And it felt like it was all worth it, you know?” I’m blabbing now, why am I blabbing to Ayden freaking Stone? And I wanted that love at first sight moment like a total idiot.
It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again, right? Maybe if I’m interesting enough, he’ll remember our interaction for more than a second, like, ten years from now.
“Until it wasn’t,” Ayden finishes for me, taking a sip of his soda through the straw, looking at me like he gets it. Is it possible that I can find watching him eat and drink attractive?
That’s it, I need some therapy and a hospital visit because my temperature is going up, up, up.
“I know it’s my fault, was having an off day. Thought I was keeping it to myself, but I guess not.” Ayden looks earnest, but his features are made up in a way that I don’t recognize on the face of Chrisander Gage. It’s like I’m staring at a twin version of the fictional character I’ve gone and done the stupid thing and fallen in love with, and this guy’s doing all the faces all wrong. I don’t know Ayden Stone at all.
I blanch. It’s really not his fault, it’s a me problem. I shake my head frantically. “No, no. I think I just expected too much, too fast. I had this thing in my head,” I say vaguely, waving my hands around, “that when I got to meet you, it would be like meeting your character, being his friend.” I cringe at myself because I do sound a little off-putting. “I just built it up through the stratosphere and now I’m kind of bummed it’s all over and done with, and you’re just you and I’m just me, and it sort of…sucks.” I shake my head, trying to get my thoughts together, pissed off at myself for being rude, too.
It’s not the guy’s fault he’s not a fictional character. I know I’m talking to a relative stranger, I know that, but I feel like I know Chrisander Gage, his hurts and wants, like he could be my friend, and I guess that’s why I feel comfortable saying the things that I’m saying, like a total weirdo.
Yup, should’ve just kept it to myself.
“I’m not the one living up to expectations, looks like.”
I flush, wave both hands at him, back-pedaling. “Look, that’s not what I was saying. I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything. The con was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and you were part of that experience. I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.” I place a hand over my heart, because seriously, I’ll remember this forever. Even this weird moment, too.
Ayden nods again, taking another bite and swallowing his food. “And you’ll remember being disappointed,” he sighs, putting down his burger and wiping at his mouth with a napkin.
I shift in my seat. Why did I have to go and open my big mouth? Why couldn’t I just be content in staring at the beautiful famous person and asking them to autograph my tits or something? Would that be more of a normal response?
I’m not cut out for this stuff, whatever it is.
I capitulate with a sigh. No sense fighting it. “I’m having a good time talking with you,” I hedge, because let’s face it, this isn’t the most pleasant of conversations. “I just want to know why you sought me out in here?” Did he even search me out?
Ayden shrugs, using his food as a way to mull things over before he opens his mouth to say something. “You were looking at the picture of us like it made you upset, not a reaction I get often.” He stares at me for a beat too long, and I swear to God my heart’s gonna burst. “I wanted to try again, to make it better for you.” He looks over my clothes, a corner of his mouth lifting, like he might recognize what I’m wearing, and the heat in my face could spark an inferno, I’m sure of it.
Did he actually just say that to me? Gah, I might throw up with the butterflies in my stomach, or maybe they’ll start throwing up on themselves. “I…I don’t know what you mean?” Here we go again, people being cryptic.
“Is there any way I can meet you after my last panel today? I’d like to take you to dinner,” Ayden asks, wiping his hands on his napkin, looking completely and utterly serious, like this isn’t a joke, like we’re not being filmed for a reality show pulling pranks on us mere mortals by our favourite celebrities. I want to look around, try to find the hidden camera crew, but that would mean I’d have to look away from him, and I really really don’t want to do that.
Holy shit. Stick a fork in me. I’m done, done, done.
Whatever you do, Aria, don’t pass out.
Don’t pass out!
THREE
“Uh…I’m sorry, what? I thought I heard you ask me to go to dinner. With you. Both of us, eating dinner, together. Did I hear that right?” I use my hands to indicate the both of us, in case my words don’t come across accurately, pulling in deep, slow breaths.
Ayden nods slowly, a little twist to his lips that looks so much like Chrisander Gage that I feel my cheeks burning, burning, burning, and I have to bite my lip to keep my squeak of excitement locked in my throat. “I would very much like that. And since we both don’t know the city well, maybe we can go for a walk afterward.”
“A walk.” A walk with Ayden Stone? Sign me the hell up.
“Do you not go for walks?”
I shake my head, pretty sure I’m being messed with, and whatever electric impulses are going on in my brain aren’t doing so hot. “I go for walks. I just didn’t think people like you go for walks. And that they would have dinner with a person like me. This is so weird, but pretty awesome at the same time.” I snort to myself, shake my head, and let myself have the first
smile since my disappointment-fest after the photo op.
How does life turn around so quickly like that? It’s enough to make me have a nervous breakdown. But shit, I’d be crazy not to say yes. I mean, this is the guy wearing Chrisander Gage’s face, and sharing a meal looking at a face like that isn’t going to be a hardship.
“How will I contact you to meet up afterward?” Look at me, trying to nail down specifics. Giving him an out, if he wants one.
“Are you not going back to the con then?” he asks, wiping at his mouth, staring at me intently.
I shrug, trying to think if I want to spend the rest of the night by myself at the hotel. On the one hand, I get to sit in my pajamas and I’m sure some channel is playing old re-runs of Law & Order: SVU that I could binge until I fall asleep, but on the other hand, I could have dinner with a really attractive guy, and even though this totally isn’t going anywhere, I could ask a whole bunch of questions about the show, get the inside scoop.
Oh my God, I could maybe even try to get an introduction to the writers and maybe pump them for some info on season four and what’ll happen to my favourite characters.
I’m decided and pumped.
“Yeah, I’ll go back. Should we go?” I jerk my head towards the doors and start to slide out of the booth, wincing as my exposed leg skin starts to practically rip off from all the heat. “Or do you want to go first, and I meet you there? I’m not sure how to proceed here.”
Ayden smiles at me, the kind of smile an attractive guy gives a girl when they’ve got chemistry—I’ve seen it in the movies tons of times and had it bestowed on me a fewer number of times. My heart’s jumping in my chest, and my smile gets a little bigger. “You’re sweet to think of that. I’ll head out now and meet you there. If you don’t mind staying behind for another half hour after the panel’s done, I can come and get you.”
My suspicions come to the forefront and are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Look, I’m pretty sure I’m looking at you with stars in my eyes, but I don’t want to be jerked around. If you really don’t want to take me to dinner, then that’s fine, so just let me know, tell me right now.”
Ayden’s eyebrows scrunch together, lock right above his gunmetal gray eyes. “I don’t make a habit of asking women I meet at cons to dinner. If you would like me to retract the invitation, I can.”
I bring a hand up to my head, trying to check for the non-existent fever, totally affected by his accent, by his everything. The California heat’s gotten to me, for sure, for sure. That’s the reason I can’t think clearly, not because one of the most handsomest men I’ve ever had the opportunity to be this close to is asking me out to dinner. Which will only mean we’re sharing a meal, duh, we’re sharing a meal, and I’m going to sit across a beautiful guy, and it’s going to be great.
What does it matter if there’s nothing that happens next?
“No, no, I would love to go to dinner with you. I just don’t want this to be some prank or anything.” I pull in a deep breath, holding it in, waiting.
Ayden nods, a tiny dip of his chin. Guess I’ve offended him or something. Shit. “I’ve given you no reason to trust me, but I’m asking you to meet me after the panel, right outside the doors, and I’ll come get you after it’s all done, and we’ll go eat and do a bit of exploring. All right?”
I swallow hard, throat too tight to say anything so I settle for a frantic sort of nod.
Ayden’s standing close to me now that we’ve both left the booth behind, his gray eyes darker now, and for a second, his eyes flicker to my lips and then back to meet my eyes.
Oh, boy, here goes, I will achieve my final form as a fangirl puddle that couldn’t even.
I feel like I’m on fire, and my panties—yes, just from that quick look from the guy I’ve been swooning over for the past three years—are drenched. I need a glass of ice water, ASAP.
For a second, an odd flicker of something passes over Ayden’s face, and I have a horrible sinking feeling that he knows what just happened. Of course that’s impossible, he’s not a German shepherd, but shit, my cheeks are burning, and I want to start running for my life but stay rooted to the spot.
Being a fangirl means your emotions are pretty much out of control eighty percent of the time, while the rest of the time you’re sleeping. I start nervously laughing, snorts and all, as Ayden watches me with a smile on his face, and then starts laughing himself because laughing is contagious. I laugh so much I’m a tear away from bawling my eyes out from this high-stress situation so I wave him off after choking out that I will meet him after the panel, and head to the restroom to take care of my makeup and just let myself have a fangirl moment in a relatively quiet place.
My waterproof mascara stood up to its name when I take a look in the mirror, but my lip gloss is all gone because of the whole eating thing. I absentmindedly put on some more, pouting my lips so they look extra juicy because I might just be getting kissed tonight if that look was any indication.
I just have to remember who I’m really talking to and not slip up and say Chrisander instead of Ayden.
Another fangirl problem, one I didn’t think I would be having, like ever.
Ever ever.
The panel is nothing more than a glorified Q&A, which I’ve come to learn are my favourite kind of panels. It’s a time where the fans can express their love for the actors and/or characters and ask the kind of questions that were only hinted at in the show, expressly left as subtext, or ask about their own fan theories with the people who know the characters best.
What more could a fangirl want?
Maybe dinner with the fictional character of her dreams, perhaps?
I feel a little like an idiot, waiting here, while the rest of those in the fandom that got tickets to the panel are leaving the hall, bustling out, talking in excited screeches to one another. And for a second, I’m so, so happy that serendipity made it so Candace couldn’t make it, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, waiting for freaking Ayden Stone.
Yup, here I am, just looking a little suspicious, as if I’m waiting for someone. Hi, how are you? Yup, still waiting.
I half-nod and smile at random strangers when I make direct eye contact with fangirls and fanboys, trying to project an air of nothing to see here, move along, move along!
I half-convince myself that I dreamed the whole sharing a meal with Ayden Stone thing, because really, in what sort of hallucination does the man (character, Aria!) of my dreams ask me out to dinner without me fantasizing about it? Oh man, oh man, can this actually be real?
I check my phone for the time and decide to give Ayden another ten minutes, because ten minutes lost isn’t the absolute worst, but anything more and I’m gone. I don’t want to be the butt of someone’s joke either and have this somehow blown up all over Twitter. Thanks, but no thanks.
I’m fidgeting, practically dancing on the spot as the minutes tick by.
Five minutes left. Countdown starts now…
There’s a security guy that keeps giving me the side-eye, and it’s starting to make me nervous, to make me start smiling a little bit too reassuringly. Yes, I’m not a security risk, and I don’t mean any harm. I mean, just look at me!
I tamp down on the butterflies eating my stomach lining, and the way I can’t sit still when Ayden (Stone) makes an appearance from the now-empty hall, and he smiles at me with that Chrisander Gage smile and my knees almost start to buckle before I have the wherewithal to lock them in place once I get myself vertical.
I will not pass out because an attractive guy smiled at me, I will not. Even if I really want to and that smile is a dirty magic trick.
I feel my face begin to tell-tale burn, and I can only smile in return. My brain is on vacation and there are no words drifting through my mind and being shuttled down to my mouth so I can say something clever. I mumble a “hi” and have to pat myself on the back for doing that much.
“I’m glad you waited,” Ayden says, coming to stand close to me, almost
at touching distance. I like that, I like that he’s not invading my space when my brain has checked out. “Are you ready?”
I nod, afraid to open my mouth in case something inappropriate comes out, like: Will you marry me? Pretty please with a cherry on top? Can I have your babies?
Ayden clears his throat as he motions me towards the now-closed doors, nodding to the security guy who probably thinks I’m a leech or something. Then again, maybe he doesn’t think that, but he’s just naturally suspicious because it’s sort of in his job description. Ayden opens the door for me and waits for me to go first, and I know like every woman has ever known in the history of the world that he’s checking out my ass in my banging jeans that I know do wonders for my legs.
I grin to myself, trying to hide it when he comes up beside me and starts to ask me where I’d like to go.
I’d go anywhere with you.
I clamp my lips shut just in time from letting that particular thought escape, but I make the suggestion to just do some walking around until we find a place we’d like to eat at. Walking never killed anybody, unless of course, you’re a famous person and fangirls (and fanboys) stalk your every move. I can’t say anything bad about them because they are my people—no one understands fangirls the way other fangirls do—but there’s always that toxic portion of any fandom that wigs most of us out.
Leviathan hasn’t won an Emmy (yet), and that means that you’d only recognize him if you were a die-hard fan, and the entire convention center is filled with die-hard fans from what feels like every fandom in existence. I don’t feel like he’ll be recognized to the point of being mobbed, but it’s still good to be vigilant.
“What’s your favourite thing to eat?” Ayden asks, turning towards me. I forgot how tall he is as I’m only in my sneakers, so I have to crane my neck back a little to keep eye contact. And wow, what a view.
