Fangirling Over You: A Fangirl Romance

by C.M. Kars

  I’m paying too much attention to the tablecloth, its crisp white linen draped over the table. There are some coffee stains or something left behind that kind of ruin all that immaculate white. “I’m pretty sure I want you to be someone you’re not, and I’m sorry.” I have the lady balls to admit it, even if it hurts, even if it’ll hurt him. My heart pines for someone that doesn’t exist—how sad is that?

  Number one fangirl problem—fictional characters just aren’t real.

  “Why do you love him so much?” Ayden asks, quiet, and I wonder what people listening to us are thinking about this particular line of conversation. They all probably think I’m a cheating bitch.

  I don’t ask “who do I love?” We both know the answer already.

  I shrug my shoulders, looking anywhere but at him. What do I say now? How do I explain? “I…uh,” I sigh, looking up at the ceiling, as if the very answers I’m looking for are written there, then look back into Ayden’s eyes. “I love his tenacity, his stubborn streak that keeps him focused. I never had that growing up; my mom was a bit of a flake. I mean, I don’t think I ever got to a soccer practice or dance recital on time—not once.” I pretend to mull it over, like I don’t have my answers memorized.

  “Chrisander’s focused on his goals, on who he wants to be, on how he wants to do it. He’s got his eye on the prize, and nothing, not even meeting with his soul mate, regardless of gender, will sway him from it. That’s determination and the drive to succeed. I admire that about him. He’s kind, and a little arrogant, but where else is there to go but down when someone knocks you down a few pegs?” Now I’m on a roll. “I love him because he works hard, and he puts others first, regardless of his background, of his upbringing, how he was made to perceive the world around him. Despite always being told he was better than everyone else all his life, he kind of knew from the beginning that it wasn’t the case. Oh, his ego was bruised, definitely, but it didn’t make him whiny or even more of an asshole—he takes everything in stride. A lot of people don’t know how to do that, you know.” I sigh. “He doesn’t see himself in the way others see him, even when he tries so hard, his best. It’s the hardest lesson for him to learn, that even his best might not be good enough.” I clear my throat again. “There was this one scene that changed everything for me—it was when you, uh, Chrisander cried, really cried. When he had to kill the dog. And I just kind of went…oh. Ooh. And then I decided that Chrisander Gage was the most interesting person on the ship, but Amy is right up there, too. I mean, I don’t know if I’m explaining myself properly. And I also get excited over stupid things.” I shake my head at my rambling. This is usually the part where my first dates go to shit.

  He’s looking at me with Chrisander’s gray eyes and it’s a lot. “Don’t apologize for loving things. I wish I was as passionate about my work just as you were in those few minutes when you explained it all to me.”

  I frown, feeling my nose sting as a precursor to tears. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

  “I don’t know what to do with you, either.”

  My heart thumps, belly swooping. “I feel like I should know you, but I don’t. And it’s weird, and you’re you.”

  “Then we’re on even footing then.” Ayden smiles at me and leans back so our waitress can plop our desserts on the table. I take a few seconds to try to eat the calzone with knife and fork but then give up. Life is meant to be taken with both hands on the wheel and I’ve decided to play it that way.

  “I’m kinda sad that you don’t have that kind of passion for your work. Like, how could I have fallen in love with your character if you keep him at arm’s length?”

  Ayden scoops up the perfect ratio of apple pie to vanilla ice cream with his fork and eats it, eyes fluttering closed at the taste, taking his time to savour it before speaking. I didn’t know that watching Ayden Stone would be something I was into, but man, what an experience.

  “We all play roles, we’re all different people at one time or another. You know it’s true. You’re someone different in front of your parents, your family, than who you are with your closest friends.” I nod, because okay, yeah, it’s true. “I just go deeper and do it for a living.”

  “But it sounds like you don’t even like it that much, not really. That sucks.”

  Ayden frowns, scooping up another piece of his apple pie and chewing it slowly, dissecting flavour and maybe crust texture. “Not bad at all,” he comments then focuses back on me. “Look, I love my job, I love learning about all the different characters, about humans in general, and what it all means, what it all could mean. I love that part of it, I just don’t love this part—the panels, the photo ops. I don’t do too well with too many people around. I like spending time on my own, to recuperate.”

  “Hi, I’m Aria, and I’m also an introvert.” I wave at him from across the table. “That bums me out. Couldn’t you have chosen another career path? Wow, you must be exhausted all the time! Do you want to leave?” I’m gonna put the rest of this calzone in my mouth if that’s what it takes. Every introvert knows there’s just a certain time in the middle of a given event where you want to go home, be by yourself, put on some pajamas and fuzzy socks and sigh deeply once you crawl into bed. It’s no biggie, just a fact of life. I’m not offended.

  Ayden laughs, finally setting down his fork and looking at me with something like…affection?

  Please be affection.

  You wish.

  Absolutely!

  “You’re very considerate, thank you. But I’d rather spend the rest of the night with you, if that’s all right.”

  I’m struck dumb for a couple of seconds, sure I didn’t hear right. Since getting our desserts, the place got a little more packed, a little more crowded, and the bar that’s close to us is being bombarded with people hollering for drinks and looking up at the screens showing some baseball game, getting louder and louder. I don’t understand why.

  “Hold on, isn’t this the worst first date you’ve ever had? Especially since I’ve been torturing you with all my questions.” I grin sheepishly. Oh no, please don’t say this wasn’t a date. I might end up kicking you or punching you, Ayden.

  Ayden smiles, teeth shining in the dimmed light. I can’t seem to think at the sight of his mega-watt smile. “It was lovely; you’re lovely.”

  Yup, totally going to pass out now. Totally gonna lose consciousness.

  “And I’d like to spend more time with you. Even if it’s only for tonight.”

  Oh, yeah. Totally forgot about that deadline thing and going back home tomorrow. Is now a bad time to bring up the fact that Leviathan films in my hometown where I’ve lived my whole life?

  “Actually…the show’s gonna start filming in Toronto. I happen to live in Toronto.” I grin, all nervous and wobbly.

  If there were awards for smiles, then Ayden Stone would win all of them, sweep them, across the board. “So I guess there’s more to this than what I expected.”

  I nod, trying to be nonchalant, trying to breathe through my internal fangirling. “If you want there to be. I’m willing to see how this plays out.”

  Ayden dips his chin, and leans towards me, close enough that if I were to mirror him, we’d meet for a kiss in the middle of the table. My heart squeezes in my chest at the thought.

  This is real. This is totally real. Real, real, real.

  “Never doubt that I want there to be, even if you’re settling for second best.”

  I stifle a groan, just stopping myself from rolling my eyes. I smile at him when I look straight at him. “Look, you asked a question and I answered.”

  His eyes crinkle on the sides when he smiles. I find my throat getting tight at the thought that maybe one day in the future, I’ll get close enough to plant a soft kiss there. Wow. That day’s gonna be awesome. “I did ask the question, yeah. And now I’ve got to battle…well, myself to win your affection. I’m willing to play that game. I’m bound to win.”

  I almost burst out laughing,
the butterflies in my stomach taking a roller-coaster drop from hell at the prospect.

  God, is this happening?

  Is this actually happening?

  We ended up walking for hours, and we even watched the sunset from a few blocks down from where we ate and got a good glimpse of the horizon.

  It was the best first date I ever had and exceeded even my expectations.

  Weird how that happens sometimes.

  We walked so much, my feet started smarting and hurting, even though my custom sneakers are the height of comfort, I kept looking down at my feet and wished that I could last a little longer, not wanting to cut the night short before I start hobbling.

  And then somewhere, in the beginning of our walk, in the middle of it, at the end, our hands brushed a few (maybe ten?) times, making my heart do acrobatics in my rib cage, thumping hard enough to steal my breath, and Ayden gave me a total of fifteen full-tooth smiles that made me feel like I could soar above the clouds whenever it happened.

  I learn more about him, the two of us getting lost in the crowds, and I’m happy I didn’t go full-out in costume or anything, even though there’s people in full cosplay walking about and no one’s paying them any attention. It’s nice, just getting the chance to walk alongside him and talk about anything.

  We circle back to Ayden seeking me out before, earlier in the day— was it only today? —how he’s been trying to get over how uncomfortable he is at panels, trying not to project that to the fans, who support the show so ardently. How, if he were able, he’d try to make it the best experience for them, but today didn’t turn out quite the way he expected it, and that he remembered me—me—from the photo op, looking like all my dreams had been crushed.

  Which, they kinda had, not gonna lie.

  We steer clear of talking about the show, and it sucks, since loving Leviathan makes up eighty-five percent of my personality, and I strain to find interesting things to talk about that don’t have to do with the show, or spaceships, or space when we can barely see the stars above us. We don’t talk about if he’s done this before—picked up a fangirl at another con, if I’m just a chump like all the other ones, but there’s a reason why that Pennywise meme exists, beckoning whomever down the sewers to get what they want.

  I’m getting what I want with Ayden Stone, time with him, one-on-one even if it’s not the way I expect.

  At the end of the evening, it still feels a little like a fairy tale—and there I go again, rocketing up my expectations so no one can ever reach them.

  “Thank you for an awesome evening. I had a lot of fun,” I say when we get to my hotel lobby, the floor so bright and polished I can see our combined reflection. I make no moves to indicate that I want him to come up to my hotel room, this is not that kind of party, and I’m not ready for that with a guy I barely know (even if he has Chrisander Gage’s face).

  Ayden smiles, lips curving up at the corners. I feel cheated since it’s not one of his toothy ones. Does he feel the shimmery magic of the time we spent together fading away, too? Or did I make all this up? “I had a lovely time as well. I’m hoping I can see you tomorrow.”

  There it is. The beginning of the end.

  I clear my throat, heart heavy like concrete. It was a dream, getting this opportunity, seeing him like this, getting to talk to him, flirt with him in my own kinda way. And some of us only get to brush our fingertips against a dream, never really able to fully immerse ourselves in it, and I just did. How lucky am I? It still sucks, though, that the night is over, that reality has come back again to bite me in the ass.

  “I fly back home tomorrow, then I have to get back to work.” My throat threatens to close up, but it doesn’t matter even if I have to squeak out words from now on. I know I’ll cherish this moment forever and ever.

  Ayden nods, plucking his wallet from his back pocket and going through it with enough concentration that I don’t know if he’s even heard me. “Are you still open to meeting in Toronto?” I nod so hard I think my head might pop off my neck. “Here’s an old loyalty card. You got a pen? I’ll give you my number and you can call me when you feel like it. I might be doing some re-shoots that day, depending on the day of the week, but I’ll have my phone on me and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  Is this happening? For real?

  I nod a little too fast, thrusting out a pen I fished from my purse at him, like he’s going to change his mind any second now. I watch him write down his number, then hand the card and pen back to me like it’s something precious. I hold the slip of paper like it might bite me or cause some other kind of harm. I feel like I might have been handed an unpinned grenade and we all have to watch and see if it’s a dummy or not. Swallowing hard, I stow it carefully, gently in my purse, then look back up at him.

  “Did I make this too real for you?” he asks, arrowing right down to the truth of it, making me freeze.

  I nod, trying to find the right words, trying to explain that I think I’m going to wake up any second now from this fangirl dream. “This doesn’t seem real. At all.” I hike my purse higher onto my shoulder, watch as hotel guests move in and out from the lobby. “I just…I don’t know what’s going to happen back home. I’m different there. I’m more me, if that makes any sense. Here, I can be someone else, and honestly, I didn’t think this would go any further than just meeting you this one time, having a conversation with you.”

  “Really?” he asks like he doesn’t believe it, can’t believe me.

  I feel my cheeks burn, and clear my throat, wanting to give him this, wanting to let him know that he made my day better. “Coming here was a dream come true and going back home has a way of tinging it with super-intense colors and a killer soundtrack. I had fun tonight. Just don’t judge me on the person you’ll meet back home. Because I’m totally going to call you when I get back, and I might even come to the new set and watch for a few minutes and hopefully get a glance of you working. That would be magic. And if you decide that this wasn’t a good idea and you don’t want me to have this”—I vaguely gesture to my purse, where his personal phone number is locked inside— “then I’ll get rid of it. Hell, you even looked queasy giving it to me. I won’t sell it to the highest bidder. Then again, an honest person doesn’t go around telling people they’re honest, so…” I pull a hand through my hair, chew on my lip, fish out the loyalty card and a pend from my purse. “Forget I said anything. You take my number instead, and you call me when you want to meet up.” I hand him back the golden ticket with both of our numbers on it and back away towards the elevators. “If it’s meant to be, you’ll call me, or we’ll find some way to contact each other and we’ll see each other again. Destiny has a way of putting two people in front of each when it’s meant to be.”

  Ayden watches my backward walk, his face a mixture of bemused amusement and something like acceptance. He stands all loose, relaxed in the now deserted lobby, like he’s not afraid to be seen out and about. I wave goodbye and press the button for the elevator. A hand shoots out to snatch it away from the button before I’m whirled around and I’m about to go postal aiming for the crotch, but Ayden’s three steps away from me, a hand rubbing the back of his neck, keeping his hands to himself.

  “That was a bit presumptuous,” he says, pulling in a deep breath. My heart starts to thud against my sternum, counting in threes. “I would like to ask permission for a kiss. May I give you a kiss, Aria?”

  I gulp, reeling, because seriously, on all the dates I’ve been on, no one has actually asked me, not once, and I’m completely charmed by it. God, Ayden’s being adorable, and the feeling is like a giant helium balloon inside of me, threatening to float me to the ceiling. This is more than I bargained for.

  Isn’t that just the ticket? Life goes steadily by in a haze of routine, work, tasks, whatever, and then when you look around, you realize time’s trickling by, and you haven’t done anything important—whatever that means. And now, now I’m standing in front of my celebrity crush and he
’s freaking asking to give me a kiss.

  There’s only one (sane) answer: “Yes, please,” I say, licking my lips.

  He moves forward carefully, as if to atone for his earlier mistake, giving me all the time in the world to say no, to back away, to sucker punch him in the gut, but I’m not going anywhere. It doesn’t matter that we’re in a public place, that hotel guests could see us, that I could potentially be blocking one of the elevators right now; it doesn’t matter that I’m flying back to Toronto tomorrow—none of that matters.

  My heart kicks hard in my chest, and I’m worried, worried how this will feel, if it’s going to ruin an otherwise magical night, or if it’s going to be better than anything I could have ever imagined, anything I could have ever expected, and I’m going to be ruined for all kisses to come.

  Then Ayden’s lips are on mine, gently, a soft melding of our mouths that surprises me and has me winding my arms around his neck to pull him closer to me even though my tiptoes are about to leave the ground. His mouth moves on mine with increasing pressure until his tongue licks along the seam of my mouth and we’re tasting each other and it’s even better in reality than what my dreams were made of.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this!

  I make a sound in my throat, and somehow, I’ve got both hands in his hair, making sure he doesn’t move away because I have to have more of this, of him, and it can’t ever, ever stop.

  Ayden pulls back for air, and we’re both panting, looking at each other in a sort of dazed confusion before a lazy smile’s blooming on Ayden’s lips—lips that I was kissing seconds ago.

  Holy shit!

  “Wow,” I whisper, afraid to break the spell.

  Sometimes when I have a really good dream, I don’t want to wake up—I stay in bed, eyes closed resolutely shut, trying to force and cajole my brain into continuing the pretty images it supplied me with before I woke up for whatever reason. It usually goes that I start another dream and that really, really good one, the one where I felt like everything was right in the world, gets shoved into a back corner of my brain, gathering dust before it dissipates entirely, gone from my memory banks, other than the vaguest sense of being happy.