Fangirling Over You: A Fangirl Romance

by C.M. Kars

  This feels a lot like that - like any minute now, I’m going to have to force myself to keep my eyes closed and replay snippets of my dream to get the movie in my head started up again.

  But for now, this is better than a dream, and it’s freaking real.

  “I just wanted to make sure you know where I stand. I want to see you when you get back home. Please,” Ayden says, palming either side of my face. I’ve always loved it in movies when the guy cradled the face of the person he was kissing, as if that person was precious. It melts my heart, feeling his warm hands on my face as he leans down to plant a soft kiss on my lips.

  Famous, beautiful Ayden Stone knows how to say please.

  Everything about this is magical and I never want to wake up.

  “You said that you have an early flight. Have a safe trip, Aria. I’ll call you when I get back.” With another chaste kiss, Ayden Stone (not Chrisander Gage) leaves me behind, a little dazed as I walk backwards into the now open elevator, and I have to really concentrate to remember which floor I’m on before I press the correct button.

  I’m sad to be leaving California, but man, I can’t wait to get back home.

  FIVE

  Three weeks later…

  I should’ve kept his number, I really should have kept his number. It’s not like I can find Ayden freaking Stone on Tinder or Bumble or Hinge or something, because I already tried those, and he’s not on any of those dating apps. Boo. I also don’t want to seem like a stalker and show up on set, finding out that they’re shooting scenes of Leviathan on Baker Street this week, and I’ve got half a mind to march over there and start yelling. Which I don’t want to do; I will not be that person.

  Destiny has a way of bringing people together, doesn’t it?

  Yeah, well, she’s taking her sweet time about it.

  Then you have your answer already. It’s already been three weeks.

  Yeah, I do. And it sucks.

  I just have to write this off—it’s not like I’m the first girl to be let down by a guy, and I certainly won’t the last. I just have to get over it.

  Yeah, yeah. Just have to forget it ever happened and cherish the memory for what it was—a fangirl fairy tale that’ll stick with me forever.

  Sighing for the eight hundredth time today, I make the walk home from work in the summer heat, sweating like a sinner in church and listening to boy band music on my phone. Soon, the world will be right again, and I can half-convince myself that what happened was just another paragraph in the story of my life—it happened, but there’s another paragraph, another page, another chapter to follow.

  My phone buzzes in the ass pocket of my slacks, and I thumb the knob on my earphones to answer the call. “Hello?”

  “Aria?” Ayden’s voice comes through my earphones, a little too close for comfort, almost as if he’s whispering in my ear. I become that person that everybody hates—standing stock still in the middle of the sidewalk, interrupting foot traffic flow as I stand there, my brain short-circuiting, the rest of me shivering despite the August heat. Wow. If his voice alone can do that to me, what the hell am I in for?

  I cough a little, trying to sound like I wasn’t just pissed off at him, and resume walking, like a normal human being. “Yeah, it’s me, Ayden. How are you?” The words sound like they’re being said by an automaton, flat and lifeless. But shit, how am I supposed to act when it feels like I conjured this phone call from the realm of fantasy into real life?

  “I’m good. I’m sorry about getting back to you so late. Is it possible to see you tonight, or tomorrow night, whenever you’re free?”

  Huh. Mr. Famous wants to know when I’m free, not like he doesn’t have a hectic schedule or anything, while I’m trudging home to get some Netflix on—about to re-watch Stranger Things for the seventeenth time.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess I can meet you tonight.” I’m a little confused, jarred by the suddenness of it, excited that he finally called. I do want to see him, even if this (whatever this is between Ayden and me) isn’t going anywhere. We sometimes have to take our little slivers of happiness, if only to cut ourselves on them in the future along with our regrets. “I can meet you tonight, if you want. I’m just on my way home. Do you know the Bitter bar?” With plans to meet him there, I text him the address now that I have his phone number—I have Ayden Stone’s phone number!!!—and promptly start to panic.

  I walk a little faster now, lengthening my strides, ignoring the dirty looks from people I jostle to get out of my way, wanting to pause to shake and yell at them that I am going to see Ayden Stone this very evening, and I’m nervous.

  I’ve gotta get home, do some girl stuff to my body, sweep on some black eyeliner with wings sharp enough to kill a man and red lipstick to seal the deal, along with a cute polka-dotted summer dress. Yup, I’m half-excited and half-dreading what’s going to come next.

  Isn’t that how it always goes, though?

  One wing of my eyeliner is sharper than the other, as they’re sisters not twins, but I doubt Ayden’s gonna catch that, but I know it’s there, and it’s something to tick me off, flustered as I am. I’ve got my sunnies on, and I’m walking to the pub, dreaming about the delicious food I’m going to eat, hunger rumbling through my stomach. I’m thinking I’ll get fries with gravy, with a side of hamburger topped with jalapeños. I can already feel the drool collecting in my mouth, and it helps to keep my focus on food rather than seeing Ayden again, after all this time.

  Repeat that—I’m seeing Ayden Stone. Again!

  Will we both look different to each other, back here in Toronto where real life happens and we both work and have our regular routines?

  I get to Bitter Bar & Grill, the boppin’ place in my neighbourhood, packed with enough people to make conversation a little difficult but not stressful. There’s a little raised platform toward the back where karaoke will start in a couple of hours, and it depends on how much liquid courage I down if I’m going to brave anything in front of Ayden.

  Heh, maybe Mr. Famous will want to join in.

  Despite my earlier reservations, I let myself get excited to see him, but I’m going to lay down the law, I’m going to—

  “Aria!” Ayden practically yells, his voice rising up and over the raised conversations all around us, waving unnecessarily from a table he’s commandeered, a half-empty giant mug of some sort of alcohol being cradled by his other hand. He’s all smiles, teeth flashing, cheeks flushed. There’s no way he’s buzzed after so little alcohol, no way.

  “Come over here!” he yells, waving me over, and I take my seat across from him, putting my sunnies on top of my head and watching him with more than a little bit of trepidation.

  Regular Ayden Stone I’m not sure of, and Buzzed Ayden is somebody completely new. He’s smiling at me, all toothy and sweet, like I’m the first person he’s got exciting news to tell to. I kinda hate that it’s kind of all I’ve ever wanted, to be someone’s first in that way.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, taking my seat across from him, watching his already flushed face, the way his features aren’t pulled so tightly together anymore, as if he’s waiting for a camera, for his picture to be taken. “Feeling tipsy?”

  Ayden shakes his head, frowning, putting his hands to his flushed cheeks, my brain repeats the following error message: cute, cute, cute! “I’m starved, haven’t really eaten very much all day, and mad thirsty, so I got this, and chugged, and now we’re here.” He holds up his mug for inspection. Yeah, it could have hit him fast, but I’ve never known a guy to get buzzed by such a little amount. Isn’t that an unwritten rule in the bro code or something? That you have to be totally sober until about six beers in?

  “That’s a bit of a problem.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from smiling, and glance around to look for a waiter, then call him over with a wave of my hand. After I place an order for nachos with all the works to share (since he needs to eat something) and a Guinness for myself, I look back at Ayden to find a sappy smi
le on his face that makes my heart attempt to do some Latin ballroom dancing against my ribcage. God, he’s so freaking cute, and he’s looking at me that way. Cheers to that.

  “I could have ordered,” he reminds me, leaning in close so we can hear each other over the music and semi-shouted conversation.

  I shrug. “Well, I did it for us. How are you, how have you been?”

  “I’m glad that you’re here,” he says, grinning at me, then blinking slowly. He puts his head in the palm of his hand, leaning heavily on it. “I’ve drunk too much, too fast. And I don’t drink too much to begin with, so I know I’m giving you a bad impression, but I was nervous, and I’m trying too hard.” Ayden shrugs, then crosses his arms on the table, making a show of settling back in his chair. I guess the ball’s in my court, but I’ve never played tennis in my life and I’m sure as hell not going to start now.

  Well, shit.

  I wasn’t expecting him to come out and say that to me. I mean, where’s the whole famous person vibe, knowing that us mere mortals can barely walk in their shadow? Obviously, I’ve pegged Ayden wrong, way wrong. And now we’re here, and I’m struggling to come up with a suitable topic of conversation like our one night in San Diego together was nothing but a dream within a dream, like it never really happened.

  Maybe he’s acting right now, maybe not.

  I shake my head and lick at my lips after my first sip of Guinness. “You’re not trying too hard. How about you tell me about your day? What scenes did you shoot, or re-shoot? I mean, uh, please don’t spoil it for me or anything, but you can give me a vague direction of where the storyline is headed? You know, if you want.” Like I’m going to miss a chance to ask about the show, pfft.

  Ayden frowns at this, chewing on his lower lip, which of course takes up all my attention. He’s got a very nice mouth, like it’s meant for kissing and kissing some more. Completely not fair when you think about it. How am I supposed to think and make coherent thoughts when I’m in front of the man of my dreams and he’s giving me that kind of look?

  I can’t scream out in public, it’s bad form. Then again, I’m pretty sure no one would hear me over all the music and shouting going on.

  “I don’t want to tell you. God, I’d rather not tell you, but this is going to suck…” He deliberates, staring down into his pint like the bottom of the glass has all the answers. He shrugs off his tension and looks at me. Wow, those eyes at such a close distance are pretty spectacular. “It was the kissing scene today.”

  A bunch of emotions are swirling inside me, all clamouring for my attention.

  My anger heats me from the inside out, flushing my bones to my organs to my skin and sort of leaving behind the blush on my cheeks; surprise in my parted mouth, and then finally a lick of excitement in my belly that makes me smile.

  “Holy shit, with who? Was it with Amy?” I stare at his face, searching for clues, thinking about their precious moment in the season three finale. Trouble is, I don’t know him well enough yet to be able to tell when he’s lying or not. “Say it wasn’t Amy.”

  Ayden’s eyebrows are high on his forehead. “You don’t like Amy? The writers have done extensive research and she’s quite well-loved.”

  I shake my head, drumming my fingers across the tabletop, surreptitiously glancing around for our waiter bringing food over. “Oh, no, I love Amy—she’s awesome and kick-ass, but she cries a lot and isn’t afraid to have feelings. She does stupid things because she’s stubborn and doesn’t want to give in. I admire her very much. But Amy and Chrisander aren’t”—I butt two of my fingers together, pretending the characters are kissing— “my ship.”

  “Ship?” he asks, murmuring the word over to himself. “That’s right, relationship. I got it. I’m just not sure why you don’t see Chrisander with Amy.” Ayden leans in, face open, features relaxed, like he really wants to hear what I have to say, and I swear to the moon and back that I’m trying really hard not to fangirl right now.

  Our waiter places my drink in front of me, smiling before assuring us the food will be out soon before I can launch into my theory. “I’m on the Chrage ship. All the way, any day of the week.” I have a slew of t-shirts dedicated to my ship, too, that no one but a fan of the show would understand. It’s like a secret code between us Leviathan fangirls and fanboys.

  “What?” Poor Ayden looks confused. He’s back to staring at his glass, and nope, the level hasn’t gone down from the half pint he’s already drunk since before I got here. “I know I shouldn’t have had this much. It’s all gone straight to my head.”

  I laugh and take a sip of my beer. “I ship you—uh, Chrisander—and Mage together.”

  “Mage, Chris’s best friend? The guy he grew up with?” Ayden ruminates on it, staring off at a point over my shoulder, then finally nodding at the prospect of the two of them being together. “How come? I don’t know what goes on in the writers’ minds, but I can’t say for sure that it’s an impossibility.”

  I smile so hard, I twinge some sort of muscle in my face. “Really? I just always thought the two of you had more chemistry than Chris and Amy did. And besides, who knows Chris better than his best friend, the guy he grew up with? Oh, that would be such a great love story, like, the greatest.” I clasp my hands together, as if in prayer.

  Ayden shrugs. “I wasn’t kissing Mikey,” Ayden says, referencing the actor who plays Mage. The guy’s also a total cutie, but I took one look at Chrisander Gage and learned a bit more about him as a character and made the wholehearted decision that he was the one I would fall into obsession with. I have never looked back. Except now, when Ayden’s telling me that he wasn’t kissing Mikey.

  My stomach tumbles like I’ve gone bungee jumping, and my heart sinks down to my toes. So he was kissing the beautiful actor who plays the mechanic, Amy Eames, known in real life as Bekah Rudy.

  “Oh,” I manage to say, then proceed to study my own pint of beer. “Oh.”

  I’m jealous? Is that what I am? Yes, yes, that burning sensation in my belly is jealousy because of Ayden or because of Chrisander Gage?

  Which one am I jealous of, or are my fangirl emotions still tangled up when it comes to Ayden and the character he plays on my favourite show?

  “I just want you to know that this is my job. It’s my job to do this, and it’s nothing like you’re imagining right now. It’s all mechanical and timed perfectly. Choreographed. It wasn’t at all how I kissed you two weeks ago. Not at all like that. There’s no magic.” Ayden has leaned in close enough that I can hear him, and I’m so super focused on his words, I don’t hear anything else.

  God, please let what he’s saying be true. Please!

  “Do you think that’s something I can get to see?” I ask, hedging my bets, ignoring the steady thump of my heart, the way my fingers are icy against my cold glass of water. “I want to be there, the next time you have to film that kind of scene. I would very much like to be there.” I blurt it out, words coming out fast and rushed because if I give myself too much time to think about it, I won’t go through with it.

  I want to see exactly what he means when he says it’s all mechanical, kissing your scene partner. How can you kiss someone, especially someone you’re supposed to be kissing them, pretending to want to kiss them (as the character), and not feel something?

  Ayden stares at me, measuring me up. Finally, he gives me a nod and a grin, and I feel like I’ve passed some sort of test. “I can arrange that. But I came here to see you, to talk with you. So tell me, how was your day?”

  I regale him with the mundanities of my life—going to work, explaining to him that I work for a children’s lit publisher in the design department.

  “When I have kids,” he says, taking a small sip from his pint after looking around hopefully for our waiter, “I’m going to read them all the classics. Where the Wild Things Are, Harry Potter, The Rainbow Fish, and The Places You Will Go!” He smiles as his eyes look off into the near future.

  I want to be the mot
her of his babies. Can we make that happen?

  Not tonight, though, don’t want to jump the gun.

  Ayden seems to remember that I’m here, sitting across from him, and he shakes his head and looks away from me, seemingly embarrassed. I think he’s too adorable for words, and all these feelings inside me, this giant, glowing bubble surrounding my heart feels like it’s going to burst in all kinds of cute aggression and tons of cuddly affection.

  “Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight? I wanted to tell you, and now I have.” He smiles at me, all sappy and dimpled, and it’s sweet, so very different to what I’m used to, making me flustered, making my breath rattle in my lungs.

  Finally, the waiter plops a giant plate down of just-out-of-the-oven nachos, layered with veggies, olives and spicy salsa, covered in stringy cheese.

  I think I’m actually in heaven. Who would have thought I would be sharing a plate of nachos with Ayden freaking Stone?

  We dig in, stuffing our faces before Ayden hounds down our waiter and orders another plate for us. I watch him close his eyes after every chip, and when he opens them, he gives me a warm smile that has me flushing all the way up to my roots, more intimate, between friends and strangers.

  After we’ve eaten in silence for a while, Ayden clears his throat and finishes his pint. Licking his lips, he leans in close, using his bigger mass to make the table feel tiny. “You honestly wouldn’t mind coming to set tomorrow? We shoot from seven to seven.”

  I nod so hard, my head might pop off. Get a chance to see some of the sets of Leviathan, and being invited by Ayden Stone himself? What am I gonna do, say no? “I’ll be there after work, I promise.”

  Ayden’s mouth tightens, hunching his body. “I just want you to see how it really is, how it doesn’t matter. I-I think you’re wonderful, Aria, and I don’t want this to ruin anything. I want very badly to see where this goes…”