Your Biggest Fan

by Sydney Aaliyah Michelle

  "Good morning." She sang.

  "Morning." My heart thumped in my chest as a goofy grin spread across her face. "What time is it?"

  "Umm, three am."

  "What are you doing up?" I rubbed my face.

  "I got hungry."

  "Why didn't you just eat the chili?"

  "Okay, this may be TMI, but I always have a craving for bacon, you know, after."

  I laughed.

  She blushed and laughed, too.

  God I loved that.

  "I'll be right down." I rolled over.

  "No, stay." She looked around her kitchen. "I'm making you breakfast in bed."

  I nodded.

  "Cool. Okay, I'll be up in eight minutes."

  She reached to hang up.

  "Callie?"

  "Yeah."

  "Last night was good, right?" I held my breath. We connected, yet my confidence when it came to women was shot.

  Callie held the phone in front of her face.

  My insides were doing flip-flops.

  A sexy smile crept up at the corner of her mouth and she placed her hand over her mouth and then removed it.

  The gesture floored me.

  So damn cute.

  "So good." She blew me a kiss and hung up.

  I fell back on the bed and breathed a sigh of relief.

  I sat back up.

  The Super Bowl.

  I had to know who won the game. My best friends from college had played. If he won, and I didn't text him he'd come looking for me.

  He had already been on my ass because I didn't go to the game. It was better I didn't go. I wasn't in the mood to answer questions. If my off the field shit made it to the pre-game show, than it hadn't died down enough for me to re-enter the world. Besides, I was enjoying my escape from reality.

  I pulled the computer on my chest and opened the web browser. I typed in ESPN.com.

  The Forty-Niners had won.

  Nice.

  I checked the nightstand. No phone.

  I clicked on Hotmail on her favorites bar, and it opened signed into her email account. I started to sign out, but one of the emails subjects caught my eye.

  What are you and Noah up to this week?

  I narrowed my eyes. I should close it down, but curiosity got the better of me. Who would email her about us? We hadn't been an us for long; I didn't think she had told anybody, yet.

  I clicked on the email, and it opened.

  To: 89sgirl@hotmail.com

  From: mavery@hotmail.com

  Subject: What are you and Noah up to this week?

  I read the To line again.

  89sgirl@hotmail.com

  That's weird, right? I mean I know she liked the number because of her tattoo and what she told me about her parents, but 89sgirl?

  I read the rest of the email.

  Hi Carrie,

  I'm so bummed. I haven't seen an update for you and Noah Patrick for a few weeks now. I hope you're okay. I love the winter stroll across the Brooklyn Bridge. That story was so sweet. I almost booked a flight to find my own Noah Patrick and take the same walk. Oh, that's a cool idea. You can do Carrie & Noah reality tours.

  Anyway, I hope you will post your next adventure soon.

  The biggest lifewith89.com fan,

  Mary

  Carrie and Noah?

  I clicked on the link to the website. I cringed. My head pounded as my face appeared in the web browser. The page banner had two pictures of me at the top. One side had me in a suit with no shirt on flashing a cocky grin. It was my douchebag look. I hated that photo. The other photo was of me laying out for a catch. I couldn't tell the opponent.

  The menu under the header had the following labels: Home, About 89, My Bucket list w/89, Little Noah.

  Did we have a kid already?

  I clicked on Little Noah and photos of Noel peppered the screen. At the bottom, it showed a video with Noel or Noah, the dog, sitting in front of the television, one of my games on pause. I heard Callie's voice off camera.

  "Hey Nip, bark when you see our favorite player."

  She pressed play, and I ran across the screen. Noah barked.

  Callie's laugh filled the room from the screen ... followed by the crash of dishes in real life.

  My head whipped toward the door.

  Callie stood in the doorway, her mouth open.

  I groaned and swung my legs off the bed.

  I pulled my pants on and found my shirt.

  "Noah."

  I stared down at the web page as I pulled my shirt over my head. I couldn't speak. I didn't know what to say … didn't know what I was looking at.

  Had she been keeping a diary about us and posting it online? No, that can't be it. The blog had archives for … three years.

  The email mentioned she hadn't posted in a few weeks. We've only known each other for a few weeks.

  "Noah." She pleaded.

  I pulled my shoes on. I pushed past her, and bumped her shoulder.

  She reached out for me.

  I slipped through her grasp.

  She grabbed the railing to avoid falling.

  I glanced back.

  Tears flowed down her face.

  I ran down the steps.

  Her footsteps in that clunky boot followed behind me.

  I turned on her. My face hot and my chest hurt. She stopped in her tracks and took a step back. Her hand flew to her chest as I narrowed my eyes.

  Noah, the dog, yelped and ran past me to stand on the step in front of her. He growled; the little dog attempted to protect his mother.

  It would have been cute if the situation weren’t so wrong.

  "You've been lying to me all this time?" I asked, knowing the answer.

  "I'm sorry." She held her hands up. "I just didn't know how to tell you."

  "Tell me what exactly, that you have been spying on me, sharing our time together with the world."

  She shook her head.

  I had it wrong, but my mind swirled in the chaos of trying to figure out what the blog meant.

  "No, it's not like that." She stood back up and walked toward me. She reached for me.

  I backed away from her.

  "You lied to me."

  "I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to." She shook her head. "You said you were tired of women only wanting you for your fame and money." She reached out for me again and placed her hands on my waist.

  I didn't back away.

  She squinted up at me.

  I saw it in her eyes, I saw into her soul.

  "You wanted a girl who didn't know who you were, and I tried to be that. I tried to be what you needed … even though I am your biggest fan."

  I cringed when she said the word fan. I had fallen in love. So why was I so sick to my stomach?

  Now I remembered.

  "I'm sorry, Callie. I don't date fans."

  Seventeen

  Callie

  I turned away from the disgust on his face.

  He left, slammed the door.

  I jumped and grabbed my head. The front door slammed seconds later. The deafening quiet made my heart ache.

  I slumped down with my back to the door and waited. I closed my eyes and leaned my head up against the solid wood. The house was too quiet.

  Nip's nails tapping on the floor.

  I opened my eyes.

  He stood in the center of the living room and watched me. He hadn't seen me like this before. He didn't like my vibe, and I didn't blame him. I didn't like it much either.

  "It's okay, Nip. Come here." I patted my leg.

  Nip ran over and jumped on my lap. He whimpered. I brought him up to my lips and kissed his little nose. He whimpered again and glanced at the door.

  "Yeah, sweetie. He's gone."

  He groaned and settled in my arms.

  I sat on the hardwood until my butt went numb. I put Nip down, and he ran to the back door. I limped over and cracked it for him to walk out. I peeked over at the porch half hop
ing Noah would be out there. Nip finished his business and ran up the other set of stairs and barked at Noah's door.

  "Noah, he's not there." Nip stared at me as if to ask why. My chest tightened, and my stomach flipped. "I don't think he's coming back."

  He got the message from the pain in my tone. He walked back down the stairs and back into the house. I took my time putting away the party decorations, which we didn't even get to enjoy. I set them in a bag in front of Noah's door. I cleaned up the spilled breakfast at the top of the stairs; even Nip didn't try to eat the evidence of the implosion of my relationship. I lie down, but the smell of Noah and me permeated the sheets, and I couldn't sleep on them.

  I changed the sheets, took a shower, got dressed.

  I packed Nip up in his carrier, gathered my computer, and ordered a car. I waited outside, anxious to get to my parents’ house.

  Brooklyn was no longer my sanctuary.

  It took me a couple of days to get settled in my parents’ place in Manhattan. It was nice and safe but too big and the noises took me a while to get used to. I didn't sleep much. I had a chance to watch the game. The Forty-Niners spanked the Ravens. The quarterback for San Francisco played with Noah in college.

  I spent hours reading in the library, staying away from the romances and sticking to fantasy, anything to distract me from my broken heart.

  A few days later, my mom found me sprawled out on the overstuffed chair asleep with a copy of Lord of the Rings across my chest.

  "Oh, Callie."

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I flung myself into her arms and cried.

  She held me.

  "Oh, sweetie. I knew you needed me.” She rubbed my back. “Your father said I was crazy, but I knew you needed your mother."

  I hugged her tighter.

  When my sobs subsided, she handed me a tissue. "What happened?"

  "I messed up." I wiped my nose.

  "What did you do?" She asked.

  "I fell in love with Noah Patrick." I answered.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  "The real Noah Patrick." I was so tired of people in my own family not believing me. "Mom. He rented the other apartment in the brownstone."

  "Did your father know about this?" Mom pulled out her phone.

  "I don't think so."

  "Ok." She put her phone down. "So what happened?"

  "I'm in love with him."

  "I got that part."

  "No, mom, for real. Like real life." I looked away. "I think he loves me, too." I choked on my own saliva and coughed, "and then he found out I was already in love with him and ... he found out on his own and left."

  My mom placed her hands on my face and kissed my cheek and then leaned back and shook her head.

  "You aren't making any kind of sense, but I hate to see you hurting."

  "I know." I sighed and sat back. "If I tell you something, promise you won't tell Dad or Dani."

  "I promise." Mom nodded.

  "I started this blog called Lifewith89.com. And I posted all these made-up stories about adventures I went on with Noah. They were purely fiction. I never in a million years thought I would ever have the opportunity to meet him." Mom nodded as if she understood. "So you can imagine my surprise when we end up snowed in together for a week. Plus, after what happened with his last girlfriend, he didn't want some fan girl pursuing him."

  "But why not?" My mom scrunched her face,

  "What do you mean?" I push my hair out of my face.

  "I mean what’s wrong with you being a fan? I'm your father's biggest fan."

  "He's been burned before." I shook my head. "So it's safer for him not to date anyone who knows about him."

  "Well, I know nothing about football and even I know who Noah Patrick is.” Mom waved her hand. “His requirements are unrealistic."

  I grinned. Her logic made sense.

  "If he is going to limit his future love interest to people who don't know him, well, then I think he's going to be a lonely man." She hugged me to her. "And it's such a shame because he is missing out on experiencing the love of an amazing woman." I leaned back. "I mean you."

  "Oh, Mom.” I rolled my eyes.

  "Yeah, well. You're the one pre-writing your relationship with the love of your life.” She patted my hand. “That's pretty sappy if you ask me."

  "Yeah, I guess you're right."

  Mom stood up.

  I followed her through the house. She pulled a bottle of wine out of the mini wine cellar next to the kitchen. She opened it, and I shook my head and smirked.

  "What?"

  "He was impressed with your wine cellar. He thought you had a well-represented collection.” I shrugged. “Whatever that means."

  Mom blushed, and I laughed.

  "So how do we go about getting this young man back in your life?” Mom winked. “I think I am going to like him."

  Eighteen

  Noah

  I returned to the brownstone a few hours later, but Callie was gone. I couldn't blame her. I was an asshole to her. As soon as I left the house, I regretted it.

  She said she had something to tell me.

  She warned me. I assured her that nothing she said would make me stop liking her. The first sign of her secret and I bolt. I wouldn't be surprised if she never wanted to see me again.

  I let myself into my place. I hated the quiet. I missed her. I missed hearing that dog’s little feet on the hard wood floor.

  I collapsed in bed but couldn't sleep. I gave up and powered on my computer. I typed mylifewith89.com in the browser and cringed again when the blog came up. I read a few of the latest posts, including the post that Mary discussed—the walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.

  I tried to figure out why she wrote these posts. She had us everywhere—in Tokyo, London, Hong Kong, Jamaica. She described the scene with so much detail, I almost felt like I was there with her. She had told me she went to all these places, but only wrote about them. She didn't experience them.

  As I read the posts in order, the sadness seeped into the tone of each story. As if she understood her blog was fantasy and it made her sad. I pictured myself in each scene, but it wasn't me. Not the real me. How could it be? She didn't even know me.

  The more I read, the more I didn't recognize the guy in the posts. The guy in the blog was a hero, like in a movie. He said the right things and did the right things. She always put his needs first. They went on these adventures and most of the time, they got along—an idealized version of a relationship. An ideal no two real people could ever live up to.

  If the blog represented what she wanted, it was better we weren't together. I knew me.

  I would only disappoint her in the end.

  "Hey, buddy. What are you up to?" Randall's calls were never good but early morning calls filled me with dread. Who died?

  "What's up, Randall?" I answered.

  "Oh, nothing much. Nothing much." He sounded jovial, almost human like. He rarely sounded happy unless he was about to get paid.

  "What happened?" I crawled out of bed.

  "So guess who I just got off the phone with?"

  "Randall,” I squeezed my eyes shut. “It's way too early to play guessing games."

  "You're no fun." He chuckled and sighed. "I just finalized the coaching contract for one James Sampson."

  "Coach Sampson, no kidding. Where's he going?" I stood up and stretched.

  "To the Giants, offensive coordinator."

  "Wow."

  "Yeah, well, you know how close he and Davidson are, and he won his championship in Texas, so he's ready to move on."

  "That's great.” I peeked outside. “I need to call him and offer him my congrats."

  The snow melted, but the temperature remained in the forties.

  "Well, why don't you tell him in person? He's on a plane now and will be touching down at LaGuardia in a couple of hours."

  "I don't know. I'm really not in the mood to hang out, but I'll call him." I reached for a sweatshirt.
<
br />   "Well, let's not call it hanging out. How about we call it a meeting?”

  I stared at the phone.

  “Maybe like an interview. An interview that results in a signing?" Randall’s high pitch voice hurt my ears.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Well, Sampson said to expect a call from New York's GM. He wants you in his offensive."

  "You're kidding me?" I sat back down on the bed.

  "Nope. Not at all."

  "New York wants me?"

  "New York wants you."

  I covered the phone receiver with my hand and stood up. "Whoo," I yelled and raised my hands. My heart beat out of my chest. Excitement and relief spread throughout my system. I didn't realize how much the threat of not playing weighed on me until the weight was lifted.

  "Randall, man. Thank you so much."

  "Who's working for you, babe?"

  "You are and don't call me babe. Thank you. I'm excited."

  "Good. So meet me at my office around two. I'll have the offer by then."

  "I'll see you then."

  “Yes!!!” I yelled. I stood up and then sat back down. I scrolled through my phone to find my dad's number, but found Callie's first. I wanted to call her and share my news.

  I missed her. It said something about what we had that she was the first person I wanted to call.

  But, I didn't. I called my dad. He was excited for me.

  I called Preston next.

  "Would it be obnoxious for me to wear both rings on the same hand?" Preston asked. He didn't even say hello.

  "Yes. It would?" I said and chuckled.

  "What is up my friend?" He asked.

  "Oh nothing much." I wandered into the living room. "You know that reoccurring dream you have where I kick your ass in the Super Bowl."

  "I thought it was the other way around." He chuckled.

  "Well, it might never happen." I said.

  "Who you signing with now?"

  "The New York Giants."

  "NFC." Preston yelled. "Damn it." Preston used his super villain voice. "Cursed again."

  "Yeah. Well. Apparently, our old coach is the only one who wants me. He's so new to the NFL, he doesn't know any better."

  "Coach Sampson." Preston chuckled. "In New York."

  "Yeah. Watch out New York."