Fangirling Over You: A Fangirl Romance

by C.M. Kars

  People are starting to look at me, regular pedestrians craning their necks to get a look at the new zoo exhibit in the form of little ol’ me, and I start blushing like a maniac, hustling it to where the security guy said the trailers would be, cordoned off and barricaded, too. There are a bunch of trailers, like a little trailer village, with people’s names on them, or names like ‘makeup’ and ‘wardrobe’, and I have to walk around for a couple of minutes to find the one that belongs to Ayden, his pseudo-home away from home.

  I knock, a one-two-three combo, trying to be cool, but I just end up shaking my head at myself, tapping against my forehead for being like this. As I wait for him to open the door, I fidget, wishing I had a mirror just to make sure my makeup stayed exactly where I put it since the whole walk over here.

  Ayden opens the door, half-in, half-out of the trailer as he’s standing on the top step. Like he wasn’t tall enough, I’ve got to crank my head practically way back to get all of him in one visual piece. And man, what a visual slice it is. He’s got dark jeans on, Vans, and a plain long-sleeved shirt in the fading late summer heat that’s rolled up to the elbows, like he knows my particular weakness for manly forearms and the veins that snake underneath the skin. Jesus Christ. All this combined with those forearms belonging to Ayden Stone? I’m in trouble, big time.

  I’m hyperventilating at the sight of his forearms. That’s just great.

  “Hi,” Ayden says, startling me, effectively distracting me from his forearms to notice the big smile on his face, his eyes practically shining with excitement. Damn, damn, double damn, that should not be as sexy as it is.

  “Hi,” I mumble, having a hard time getting the word out. I don’t know what to do with my hands—do I wave? Would it be weird for me to wave when we’re this close already? I’m pretty sure my cheeks are burning, and I think my nipples might be tight and hard enough to be seen through my bra and shirt. I guess I should have worn bubble wrap or something. Shit.

  “Come on in,” Ayden holds the door open for me, ushering me inside. We have a dangerous, electrifying almost body-slide as the two of us move past one another on the narrow staircase, and now I’m in his trailer, in his space and it’s everything and nothing all at once.

  Well, what were you expecting?

  Once again, my expectations were set too high, and I definitely wasn’t expecting this.

  The trailer’s only really wide enough for one person to do the walking comfortably in the mini hall unless you’re okay with playing human bumper cars. There’s a little table that’s set in a booth right next to a wide window that looks out onto a small courtyard that’s nothing but pavement and a couple of picnic tables and chairs where I guess the crew and cast eat together when they feel like it, or have the time. At the far end of the hall, directly in front me at the very back of the trailer, I can catch a glimpse of a perfectly made bed, and a bathroom off to the side that has an accordion sliding door.

  There’s not much else, though, not much at all.

  “Aria? Is something wrong? You’ve gone really quiet.” Man, he doesn’t even know how much I’m feeling right now.

  I bite my lip, trying to relax. I want to be here with Ayden, obviously, I just wanted more, so much more, and this, this just seems a little sad to me. It doesn’t feel like home at all.

  “Where are all your things?” I ask without turning around to see the expression on his face, or so he won’t see the expression on mine. I’m the worst poker player in the history of the world, and he already knows how my face says everything for me, judging by the time he sought me after the photo ops where we met, a whole month ago.

  “Oh, that. It’s all in storage right now, with the move and everything. Not like I have much room here, do I?”

  I shake my head, taking in the lack of Ayden’s personality in every little part of the trailer. “No, no you don’t. I just thought I’d be able to spy on your library, see what kind of books you like to read, or if you collect the caps off beer bottles, or sports memorabilia, or something…” I turn around to look at him, watching him as he looks at everything but me. Maybe he’s seeing his trailer as a stranger sees it for the first time, too, and maybe he’s just as nervous as I am.

  Maybe I made him feel like I’m disappointed when I’m not…I’m not.

  “I’ve got my Kindle, takes up a lot less space than all those books together, and I have my music on my phone,” he says, shrugging while he rubs the back of his neck.

  Great, you’ve made him nervous. Good job, Aria.

  “Half the fun of seeing someone’s place for the first time is seeing who they really are in the nooks and crannies, in what they own, their taste in furniture,” I say, waving my hand around, trying to explain myself. I have an insatiable need to learn more about him, but this trailer isn’t giving me anything at all.

  Which is fine, totally fine. I still get to spend time with him, get to ask him questions instead of seeing it for myself in the pieces of other places, of other people he keeps putting on shelves or on display.

  I’m with Ayden freaking Stone and I have to start acting like it.

  Now.

  Ayden nods, mouth pressed into a tight line. “This isn’t my home, Aria. This is just where I crash from time to time when we shoot. We don’t even know if the move is permanent here, and I hate moving and packing things, really hate it. I’ve been trying to find an apartment close by, but I’m picky, and I didn’t know Toronto’s real estate market is what it is.”

  I nod because I get it, I do.

  It’s another stark reminder that Ayden could be nothing more than a transient part of my life.

  Leviathan shoots for 10 months at a time—who knows what’ll happen for season four? I mean, there’s always a degree of uncertainty when it comes to networks and whatever, the show could be canceled at any time, the writers could go on strike again, who knows? Not me.

  It feels like I might start something I can’t finish, and it’s Ayden Stone, Ayden Stone, who I’ve been daydreaming about forever and now that he’s real, flesh and blood, apparently wanting to hang out and possibly date me. Hell, I don’t even know what to do first, my brain short-circuiting, stalling at all the worst moments just when I’m about to find a solution.

  Just another reminder of what I’m doing with Ayden is pretty ridiculous. What is the point of even starting something if all of this is going to end in heartbreak?

  Ayden carefully reaches out for my hand, putting us palm to palm. His hand’s warm and steady, strong. Real.

  This is all feels so pointless. Now I know why fictional crushes have to stay in the fictional realm—reality bites so hard.

  But why not start something you can’t finish? When is something like this ever going to happen to me again?

  When?!

  “I have a home in London, of course, where my parents are with my dog. I’d like for you to see it, one day. We could go to my study and sit on the couch and swap books. We’d only have to get up to eat.” Books and Ayden? Yes, please.

  God, it sounds like a promise, like a pledge, and my dumb heart does some form of acrobatics and my belly swoops, and I can’t help but smile at him, hoping it’s not as wobbly as I feel.

  I didn’t expect Ayden Stone to be so sweet. I really didn’t expect any of this, this assurance that I might one day be in a future where both of us are together. And I want that so bad, but I don’t think I’m going to get it. So I lie, meaning every single word. “I would love that.”

  Ayden stares at me, his eyes roving over my face while I let him take in his fill. I watch as his shoulders slump, and a small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, almost like an apology.

  Did I just screw this up with my stupid expectations about impending heartbreak? Did I just do that?

  “How about I give you a tour of the set?” Ayden asks, and I’m swinging back to my old excitement again, wondering what the hell the Leviathan looks like in real life instead of what I see when I watch the show a
t home. “I promise you’ll enjoy it more than this.”

  Ayden tries to tug me along, turning towards the door, and I feel like a total heel. I have to do something.

  “Ayden?” I call, making sure I stay planted in the same spot, not letting him tug me along, even though I want to. He turns around, staring at me with a bemused look on his face, eyebrows pressed down in a frown, mouth quirked up in a questioning smile. I tug him closer to me, let go of his hand, and place both my hands on his chest. Holy shit, he’s like a furnace through the thin material of his shirt, and I feel the steady drumbeat of his heart underneath the slight pressure of my fingers.

  I’m standing here, with the man of my dreams, and I’m ruining it. This isn’t how dreams come true, Aria!

  I look up at him, tongue-tied, burning with the need to say words, to explain myself, to tell him how much all this means to me, but everything gets caught in my throat, and I’m afraid if I try to speak it might just come out as another language that makes no sense at all. Instead, I go up on my tiptoes, and press a light kiss to his mouth, sliding my hands up to either side of his neck and finally, finally into that gorgeous hair, bringing his face closer to me, making sure our mouths stay together.

  Holy shit balls, I’m kissing Chrisander Gage! I can die happy now! No regrets.

  Ayden kisses me back, his tongue sweeping along my lips, and when I open my mouth to him, we’re tangling our tongues, the rasp of his on mine distracting me from even breathing. God, God, this is so freaking amazing!

  Ayden pulls back first before I’m done with him, only to stare down at me, his eyes dark, his lips slightly swollen from my kiss, a pinch between his eyebrows that should definitely not be there. “What was that for?”

  I settle back on my feet, slowly extracting my fingers from his hair to run my palm against the curve of his cheek and jaw to settle both my hands on his chest, marveling at the fact that I’m allowed to do so, that he’s letting me touch him in this way. This isn’t just a dream, it’s totally real, and it’s totally happening. “Sometimes reality beats whatever my imagination can come up with.”

  Ayden smiles, his teeth showing so I can see that he’s got pretty sharp incisors, a smile I’ve never seen on the show before. I might even get territorial over that smile, that smile belongs to me now. “I’m happy I could oblige. Come, I’ll show you the rest of the set. Just one more second,” he says, and I’m half-expecting him to turn back the way we came to grab an extra jacket or something, but he’s put both hands on my face, cradling me so he can kiss me with such sweetness my heart starts to ache.

  How the hell did he know that when a guy kisses me while touching my face, my whole body feels like it’s melting? Did I tell him that? Or did he just guess?

  Stop thinking, Aria, you’re going to ruin it.

  I sigh into the kiss, just a gentle meeting of lips on lips. My hands are clutching his shirt at his hips, and damn it, I want more, more, more. I’m aware that his bed is not that far, maybe five steps backwards for me, and I could have all of him, I could have all of him and completely lose it.

  “I’m happy to see you, darling,” he says, pulling back, while I’m sort of stunned to silence, blinking up at him, sure that this is all a dream. Shit, he called me darling again. There goes another piece of my heart—he’s pocketed it with that one word.

  “I think you broke my brain,” I whisper to him, our mouths not far enough to keep me away from temptation. I rock up on my toes to make our lips meet again and again, not wanting this to end. But the Leviathan, Aria! Maybe Ayden will let you sit in the captain’s chair? You’ve gotta put a stop to this, who knows when you’ll be back?

  “Hmmm, I think you broke more than my brain. Let’s go, before I push it too far,” Ayden murmurs against my mouth before kissing me lightly again, and grabs one of my hands, pulling me out of his trailer and locking it up once we’re both outside in the evening air.

  I don’t say, ‘Well maybe I want you to push it too far’, because this is good right now, and my expectations have been the downfall for me in the past. I build up the moment, up and up and up until we’re floating among the stars only to find we both don’t have parachutes and Earth’s hurtling towards us pretty fast. If sex with Ayden Stone absolutely sucks, I’m going to lose my shit and start flipping tables or something. Then maybe cry for a decade. I’ll eventually get over it, I think.

  Maybe.

  Ayden brings me along to the main set, inside a nondescript building I would have walked right on by just half-constructed pieces where furniture sits, and I’m disoriented by everything looking so unfinished and how it translates to what I see on the screen when the show airs. I’m looking at puzzle pieces thrown here and there, but somehow, when it’s all filmed and aired on TV, it makes up the whole. I let go of Ayden’s hand, trying to stay out of people’s way, no recognizable actors on set, just the crew wrapping up for the day. I walk around, afraid to touch anything, wanting to touch everything and take about a million pictures for my eyes only.

  “I wasn’t expecting this,” I say, moving forwards to touch Chrisander Gage’s bookcase at the set for his private quarters that has beat up paperbacks, yellowed with age and have that awesome old-book smell as I rifle through the blank pages. There are props, too, a special journal that is propped to the precise day and time where Chrisander writes his journal entries, a desk lamp that looks like it belongs in the Boston Public Library. Just because everything is now so up close and personal, details I’ve missed while watching the show because I was always so distracted by Chrisander’s—Ayden’s—beauty makes me feel like I’m lucid dreaming, like I’m watching someone else experience this. I’m in a place I know so well, a home away from home and I’m seeing it half-finished, like only three walls of the house have been built. It’s almost perfect, but you still need the imagination to see it completely done.

  I don’t know how to feel about it other than a little confused and queasy at the same time.

  “It’s very different from what you see at home. This is Chris’s room. I had some input on which books to put on the shelf after getting a brief from the writers on what he should be like, and then I went from there,” Ayden tells me, voice soft, as if he’s afraid to break the spell I’m under. I don’t want to look over at him, because he fits here, even if he’s not in costume, but I sure don’t, and it’s all starting to feel more than a little surreal. I’m in the place that I’ve dreamed about, and it’s nothing like I imagined it, not at all.

  I’m still going to get my picture taken in the captain’s chair though, and I don’t care who I have to beg.

  “Oh, yeah? Which ones?” I take another step closer to the shelves and start examining titles and authors, running my fingers over the ones I’ve already read and loved, and the others I didn’t like so much. Man, Chrisander Gage would have been the perfect boyfriend, you know, if he existed and all.

  Ayden points out a few of them, taking them down and offering them to me to hold and touch. I flip through some of them, some snippets of script are actually in the book I’ve been handed, and I look down in awe for a split second before shutting it closed, fumbling it and throwing it at Ayden so I don’t accidentally spoil myself for a future episode.

  Grinning sheepishly, I examine more of Chrisander’s private quarters, the way the bed is not really a bed but hard as freaking rock, the way the chair at his desk squeaks just as infuriatingly in real life as it is in the show.

  I feel like I’ve been given the most amazing gift on Christmas morning. But then, everything kind of goes downhill after you end up opening all of your presents as you sort of inevitably end up breaking your brand-new toy from using it all day long.

  I look up at Ayden, afraid of him, afraid for me, because this is a dream, and I know I’m going to have to wake up soon.

  But hell, couldn’t this go somewhere, if I’m dreaming anyway?

  Dream big or go home, right?

  SEVEN

  Early D
ecember…

  Every time I see Ayden, I learn something new.

  Like the time we went to go eat at a Harry Potter-themed pub and he was smiling so hard when this giant drink with a bunch of candy sticking out of it was plonked right in front of him, and his smile got impossibly bigger when he noticed me smiling back at him.

  Like the time he gave me the first swipe of his ice cream when he noticed I wasn’t so enthusiastic about my first time trying mint chocolate chip (I will never understand why people ruin chocolate by mixing other flavors with it, never ever).

  Like the time he picked me up from my place and drove us out of the city, only to gather me close to him, my back to his front, on the hood of his car while we tried to figure out the constellations and talked about aliens for hours.

  Like the time he confessed to me that he hates roller coasters and anything to do with his feet leaving the ground, including his major fear of flying, or how he thinks it all stems from him falling from his tree house when he was a kid and breaking both of his legs.

  Little bits of himself, little facets that make him up as a person that I find myself admiring and caring for. Little pieces that seem so much bigger than the guy I’m dating, dating, that take up so much space, it’s a wonder he fits into any single room he walks into, eager to tell me more about these little experiences that shaped him to be who he is, right here, right now.

  I’m worried and terrified and then swing right back to worried.

  Because caring inevitably leads to affection and affection leads to love (especially in my case) and being in love with a man like Ayden Stone is a bad, bad idea.

  Do I find practically everything he does to be absolutely adorable, and does the very thought of him smiling at me cause my heart to race? Absolutely.

  Does the thought of him sad bring a lump to my throat and make me want to fight things so he won’t be sad anymore? You bet your ass.

  Does the thought of him kissing me, touching me, being with me make me want to squeak in nervousness? Holy shit, yes.