All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1) (10 page)

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, mostly 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.

I hold my glass out until it clinks against Lucy’s. “Cheers!”

***

“Man, don’t you ever get tired?” I hand Niles a towel to mop up the sweat that covers every visible inch of him. He worked his ass off on stage once again, this performance as powerful, or even more so, than any other I’ve seen. It’s his home crowd, and he brought it. How he doesn’t collapse the minute he leaves the stage, I’ll never know.

I’ve never seen him so soon after a show, but Zeke snuck me back and I even got to watch the last song of the encore from back here. Once again, I’m floored by the fact that one-third of the trio that captivated a venue full of people is standing just inches away from me. And I get to spend the rest of the night with him.

“I stayed motivated because I knew I’d get to see
you
afterwards.” He leans in for a quick kiss. “I’ve missed the hell out of you.”

The original plan was for him to meet me at the airport last night, but they ended up doing a radio show interview super early this morning, then had sound check in the afternoon. We decided to just meet up after the show, which totally sucked because even though it’s been only a day, it seems like we’ve been apart forever. But now that we’re inches away from each other, all seems right with the world again.

“I’m gross,” he says. “Come on.” He leads me through a hallway to a dressing room. There are clothes and accessories everywhere. (How many guitar straps does one band need?) It’s kind of understood that I shouldn’t follow him in, so I just lurk in the hallway, waiting for him to clean up. A few random people walk past, but then I’m alone.

I lean against the cool wall, the enormity of this day taking over my mind. Any conflict I had in the car with Sara yesterday has at least temporarily melted away. There’s something about New York City magic—oh, and a rock star love interest and a possible movie deal—to break a girl from her bout of self-doubt and confusion.

Until my phone vibrates, that is.

Because there they are, in all their glory. Seven texts from Brad, each one incorporating more four-letter words than its predecessor. Phrases like, “What the *bleep*?” “How could you betray your family by bringing that *bleep* to town?” and, “You should be *bleeping* ashamed of yourself!” assault my eyes. Guess Sara was right. Brad is definitely in the know.

I look at the ceiling, imagining all the choice words I could fire back at him. “Mind your own business, dickhead,” comes to mind first. I seriously have no idea how I’m going to address this, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned since our separation, it’s to not respond to him right away. Let him fester. Engaging him when he’s in the throes of pissed-offness leads to nowhere but more pissed-offness, so it’s best to let him hang for a bit. Besides, I need a plan. Somehow I need to temper this down before his head explodes or the world bursts into flames or whatever.

“Oh, hey,” someone says. I hear the words and feel someone walk up, but I’m so lost in thought, I’m nearly startled out of my skin. Once I get a grip, I focus on the person standing in front of me. She’s a couple inches taller than me, with light brown hair, gorgeous skin, and a tell-tale long, straight nose.

Oh. My. God. It’s Robbyn.

I try to respond but nothing comes out. I continue staring at her. She really is pretty, and yes, though she may have put on a few pounds, she’s still quite small and her full lips are pink and shiny. I can’t help it. My mind immediately acknowledges that those lips have been on Niles’s. Many times over.

She’s wearing a loose pink tank top and a funky boho skirt. I notice how flat her chest seems and silently applaud myself for one-upping her in that department. But she totally has me when it comes to skin. For someone who is supposedly so heartbroken and unstable, her skin is seriously not tattling on her. Yeah, I’m jealous.

“I’m guessing you’re Kallie Reagan, famous author.” Her voice is flat.

“I’m guessing you’re Robbyn, Jase’s sister.” I work hard to make my voice equally as flat.

“Yes, and
Niles’s
girlfriend
.”

“Ex-girlfriend.”

“Right. Okay.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Naïve people make me smile.”

“Whoa, hey, ladies,” Niles says, bursting through the bathroom door. It’s hard not to notice the look of horror on his face as he races toward us.

“Kallie and I were just getting to know each other,” Robbyn says. She moves away from Niles as though she’s afraid to touch him.

“I bet you were.” I’ve never heard Niles be rude to anyone, but that comment, and the way he said it, most definitely qualifies as rude. “Probably best we keep some space, Rob. Kallie’s here all weekend. Things don’t need to be . . . awkward. Right?” He moves in front of me, acting as a shield. I wish I could see the look on his face.

“Nothing awkward about getting to know the girl who wrote a book about your boyfriend,” she deadpans. “This kind of thing happens every day.”

“Right, well, Kallie and I need to get going. Later.”

“No after-party tonight? The three of us can hang out.” She shoots him a sugar-sweet fake smile.

“Sounds like a blast, but we’ll pass.” Niles scooches past her to grab the rest of his stuff from the dressing room. While his back is turned, Robbyn glares at me. And I mean
glares
. I know somewhere in there must be a decent girl or Niles wouldn’t have stayed with her as long as he did, but if this chick could kill with her icy gaze, I’d be a dead woman right now.

“I read your little book,” she says quietly. “Someday I’ll tell you about the real Niles. He’s pretty much the exact opposite of Nash. You’d be shocked.”

“Oh, thanks, but I think I’ll figure that out for myself.” I tilt my head and toss her a wink because, dammit, I am so not interested in getting into a pissing match with this girl right now. Or ever. Yes, they have a history, but Niles isn’t hers anymore. And, frankly, this conversation has already lasted long enough.

“Ready?” Niles emerges from the dressing room and takes my hand. He’s not one bit tentative. It’s like Robbyn isn’t even there. I’m impressed by his calmness and wish I could mimic it. But I can’t.

When I’m sure Niles is at an angle where he can’t see me, I issue Robbyn an icy glare of my own. She looks hurt, and though I feel a quick flash of sympathy, I also feel totally and completely satisfied. Like, hopefully our handholding is clue enough that there’s no need for further interactions between her and me. Let’s see if she takes the hint.

With that drama out of the way, Niles leads us down a hallway and out to a car.
Is
there an after-party tonight? If there is and we’re not going to it, where are we going?

We slide into the back seat and Niles pulls me close to him. “I should have seen that coming a mile away. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone out there.”

“It’s fine. I can handle her.” I squeeze his hand as if to reinforce my half-truth. I mean, I
can
handle her. I’d just sure as hell prefer not to.

“So . . . um.” I take a deep breath and turn toward him. I know I probably shouldn’t do this right now, but really, when
is
a good time? “Why
did
you guys break up, anyway? Was it me? ‘Cause if it was, I’m sorry. But not really.” I try to lighten the moment by jabbing his leg with my knee. Niles responds with a half-laugh, but he seems so far away.

“Complicated,” he says. “Was then, is now, probably always will be. I really don’t know what else to say. Our dynamic is just pretty fuckin’ weird.”

I bristle.
Probably always will be
is not something I want to hear. Does this mean she’ll be in the picture forever? Because that will get old really fast.

“How long?” I ask.

“How long, what?”

“How long have you been broken up? And how long before your ties are broken, like, forever?”

“Will they ever be? I don’t know. She travels with us. We see each other almost every day. She’s Jase’s sister and he’s integral to our success—and in a weird way, she is, too. So, it’s not like I can just make them go away. We just balance it out the best we can.”

He’s quiet as he stares out the window for at least a minute, then he sighs and angles himself to look at me. “This right here, Kallie? This is exactly why I hold so tight to my ‘no promises, no regrets’ mantra. Because the one time I let that slip, I created a monster. And now I’m full of some serious regrets.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Night Moves

We burst through the door of Niles’s apartment, arms laden with takeout food, beer, bottled water, and some of my luggage. When we stopped at my hotel, I grabbed enough stuff to stay here for one night, mostly as a way to give us both an out in case this doesn’t turn out as awesome as we hope. Ever since Niles’s confession about being under pressure for the new album, I’ve become acutely aware that my presence could be impeding whatever it is he needs to accomplish. So I’m trying to give him some space, but, damn, I hope he doesn’t kick me out. I really want to stay here all three nights.

I also want to further explore the Robbyn situation, since we pretty much let things drop in the car. It was not my idea; I would have kept talking. But after Niles’s statement about creating a monster, he pulled out his phone and started pecking away. He almost never does that around me, so I took it as a sign the conversation was over . . . for the time being. This is obviously a touchy topic for him, but it’s also one I’m not crazy excited about sweeping away. I feel like there’s more to the story than just a random old breakup and I really want to get to the bottom of it. Maybe the timing just needs to be right. Or maybe I’ll never know.

I set my armload of goodies on a nearby counter, push all the Robbyn thoughts out of my mind, and look around. This is Niles’s home. Where he lives on breaks and when he’s off tour. Where he walks around in his comfiest clothes and messed-up hair, not needing to impress a single soul. The fact that he invited me here, into such a personal place, is pretty astounding. I don’t mean for them to, but my eyes immediately get foggy, which, of course, does not go unnoticed.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, setting down his bags. “If it’s Robbyn . . .”

“It’s not. I’m just . . . I’m just kind of floored I’m here.”

Niles relaxes and a smile spreads across his face. He looks so endearing, so normal. Just a really cute guy hanging out in his NYC apartment on a random Friday night.

“It’s a big deal for me, too.” He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me into him. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“This is so crazy, Niles. Being here with you. I mean, what the hell?”

“It’s what you wanted, right? Like, Emily really wanted Nash to invite her over. It was a big deal to her.” He backs up so he’s looking into my eyes.

“I can’t imagine anything I’d want more right now. Well, maybe
one
thing.” I playfully bump my hip into his.

Even though I’m speaking the truth, that comment lightens the moment and we break apart, sifting through the food and drinks until we claim what we want. As we settle onto his couch to eat, I take it all in. Either he’s a super tidy guy, or it’s simply because he’s mostly gone, but the apartment is very clean and orderly. It’s pretty minimalist—not much in the way of knickknacks or artwork—but his color palette rocks (gray tones with deep blue accents) and his furniture is ultra sleek. There’s an exposed brick wall that screams quintessential NYC charm, and gleaming hardwood floors that look like they’ve recently been redone. I can dig it.

I spot his TV and, next to it, multiple gaming systems and components. I wonder how often he plays. He’s mentioned in interviews that he’s a die-hard gamer, but I suspect his schedule doesn’t allow for that much now. Maybe I should challenge him to a game later. That could be fun. Unless he’s super intense and competitive, of course. Then maybe not so much.

“Not a bad pile of bricks, right?” He shovels a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Not at all. But where’s the bedroom?”

“Easy, girl. I’ll show you later.”

I die right there on the spot. “Oh my God, I seriously didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I was just taking a mental tour of the place and that was something I didn’t see, so . . .” I give up, knowing I’m only digging my hole deeper—a hole I can heave my dead self into to hide my outrageous embarrassment. He must think I’m the horniest son of a bitch this side of the Great Lakes.

“Kallie, it’s fine. I’m just joking.” He sets down his fork and reaches for my hand. “No need to get embarrassed. Okay?” I shake my head because I really don’t know what else to do. He pulls my chin until I’m looking at him. Into those gorgeous, crazy eyes of his.

“The other night in the park? That was totally badass. You told me what you wanted and you did not make one single excuse for yourself. It was the real you coming through, unfiltered. And it was terribly hot.”

“Thank you.”

Thank you? Did I really just say
thank you
? What kind of ridiculous response was that? But still, hearing those words come out of my mouth reminds me of something just a little bit huge. Amidst Brad tearing me up one side and down the other over text and the whole Robbyn drama from earlier—and now my awe of sitting in Niles Russell’s apartment—I forgot to tell him my big news!

“Oh my God, Niles! Speaking of thanking people . . . I have the most amazing news!” I set my food down on the coffee table and bounce and clap my hands like a little kid.

“What?”

“When I met with Lucy earlier, she told me . . .” I pause because I can hardly catch my breath.

“She told you what?” Niles is on the very edge of the couch, his takeout container barely balancing on his knee. I envision it crashing to the floor and staining the super cool area rug that’s right beneath us. He waves his hand in front of me, pulling me back to the present.

“She told me that interest in my book—for movie rights—is getting hot. Movie rights, Niles! My book—the one you inspired—is probably going to become a movie!”

Although it’s generally inappropriate to squee around a guy, I totally let ‘er rip. I’m smiling so big, my cheeks hurt and my teeth are dry. I think there is more bouncing, but I’m not completely sure, because the next thing I know, I’m moving the takeout box from Niles’s lap to the coffee table and tackling him in a horizontal bear hug that flattens us both out on the couch.

As I balance on top of him, I look him in the eye again and prepare to say what my heart really wants to say, what it’s wanted to say for ages now. If he gets off on Unfiltered Kallie, that’s good. Because he’s about to get a whole lot of it.

“Thank you, Niles,” I breathe. “Thank you so much for being my muse and for leading my heart. Because of you, some of my wildest dreams are coming true.” I smooth the hair off his forehead, then lean down and kiss him gently. He tastes like chicken tikka masala. I lower my mouth near his ear and whisper, “I owe this all to you.”

Instead of kissing me back, Niles gently rolls me off to the side and sits up. “That’s amazing, Kallie. But I didn’t do any of this.” His words are soft and laced with sadness. “You did this all yourself. It’s your talent, your dedication, and your hard work. Not me. I’m just a schmuck.”

A schmuck? Really? Man, what is it with this guy? Why can’t he just accept his awesomeness? Seriously, he must have missed the memo proclaiming all rock stars to be egomaniacs. Or if he did get it, he didn’t read through the whole thing. Because he is the complete damn opposite. And it’s kind of infuriating.

“Niles,” I sigh, “do you not remember what I told you the very first day we met? When you blew my mind with your whole ‘why me’ question? What I said was true. Was then and is now. You inspire the hell out of me. Whether you want to believe it or not.”

“Well, Kallie,” he looks me dead in the eye, “I hope you know the feeling is mutual.”

Thud.

Did he just say I inspire him, too? Little old small-town-girl me?

Honestly, it’s been so hard for me to envision myself as anything other than a lovesick fangirl that he’s just indulging and maybe having a little fun with that it never occurred to me I could have an impact on him, too. We artists . . . sometimes so full of ourselves, but most of the time, so very, very humble. And blind.

“Thank you,” I reply. And this time
thank you
feels like a completely appropriate response. Because you know what? I’m not going to question or challenge his statement. I’m not going to try to negate it or blow it off or anything else. I’m going to accept it because that is exactly what I would want from him. And it feels good to let myself feel good. Especially with someone from whom that compliment means so very, very much.

“Done eating?” he asks.

I’m not really, but my mind is on everything but food, and I can tell he’s done, so I nod.

“Good, because I have a surprise.” He throws our containers away, cleaning up any rice that’s wiggled its way loose.

“A surprise, you say? Care to elaborate?” I’m generally not a big fan of surprises, but methinks this has potential to be a good ‘un. I shiver with anticipation.

“Oh, you’ll see soon enough, dear girl. But first, this . . .”

He sets down the washrag he’d been wiping the counters with (a guy who cleans up after a meal? Yes, please!) and walks toward me quickly. He wraps his arms around my waist and pushes against me, walking me backward until I’m up against a wall. Once we stop moving, he kisses me hard, and I nearly lose my mind. His hands are all over me, so I let mine explore him, too. I wiggle them up the back of his shirt so they’re touching his smooth skin. They find their way into his hair, back around his waist, and finally onto his bum. I am so breathless I’m not sure how I’m still standing.

His kisses get softer, until his lips leave mine and find their way onto my neck. He unbuttons the shirt I had thrown over my tank top due to the cool night, and kisses my chest. His hand comes to rest on one of my boobs, and after a moment, he pulls away and smiles. “Very nice.”

I laugh, and put his hand back on my chest. “I don’t want to stop.”

“I don’t either, but we need to go.”

Huh?

“Go where?”

He pushes me against the wall again, flattening himself against me so hard he almost knocks my wind out. From what I feel in his, ahem, central region, there is no way we should be going anywhere other than to his bedroom. He kisses me again, then backs away completely, leaving me a jumbled mess against the wall.

“Grab your laptop. Follow me.”

“My laptop? You light me on fire so bad I can’t even function, but you want me to grab my laptop? What are we doing? Making a sex tape?”

He smiles, clearly amused. “No. We’re gonna write.”

***

I’ve always dreamed of seeing New York from a rooftop, and now here I am. Though we’re not a zillion stories high at some swanky condo tower, it’s still ridiculously cool to sit in the summer night on the rooftop deck of Niles’s apartment building.

“It’s been quite a day,” Niles says. “I’m feeling extra inspired because of you. We should put that inspiration to good use.”

“I can think of something else I’d rather put to good use,” I say, playfully grabbing at his business.

He catches my hand as it’s on its way back to my side and puts it back on his groin. “Still half-mast. See what you do to me?”

“But you’d rather come up here and write?” I seriously don’t get this guy. Either he has a passion for running around with blue balls or he has the self-restraint of a saint. I haven’t decided which yet.

“Shhh. I had this all worked out in my head. Don’t distract me.” He smiles a shy smile and points behind me. “See? Look over there.” I turn around to see a tiny table set for two, just like in the movies. There’s a bottle of chilled white wine, two glasses, and the best part . . . dessert! “Please say you like cheesecake. I got three different kinds. They’re chilling in the cooler.”

“I freaking love cheesecake.”

“I thought you might.” He takes my hand and walks me over to the table. “Madame.” He pulls out my chair and kisses my hand as he guides me down. As he settles into the seat across from me, my breath catches over how completely amazing this moment is. “We’ll write after dessert. And wine. You want wine?”

“Is guacamole made from avocados?”

He stops pouring long enough to look up at me. “Beauty, talent, smarts,
and
funny as hell. You’re quite the package, aren’t you?”

“I try.”

“I don’t think you have to.”

I take a sip of my wine, which is delicious, and point to the chocolate cheesecake when Niles opens the cooler and instructs me to choose one. He takes the cherry and we sample a bite from each other’s plates.

“I still can’t believe I’m sharing a fork with you,” he says. “That goes against my every germophobic conviction, you know?”

“I feel privileged.”

“You should. And tongue kisses, too? My God, I’m a wrecked man.”

“Glad I was the one to break you.”
Was I
really the one to break him? Did he seriously date Robbyn for over a year (reportedly) without ever tongue kissing her? I find that truly hard to believe.

“It took a special girl. And if we keep talking about it, I’m going to get all riled up and we’re going to do it all over again.”

“Hmm, well let’s keep talking about it then.”

That’s all it takes. In an instant, Niles is at my side, pulling me up out of my seat, kissing me fiercely. I open my eyes a bit and take in as much as I can. Niles’s face, the stars, the wine, the table, the skyline. I cannot believe this is my life at this moment.