She wheels into the short-term parking space and prepares to hop out.
“You don’t have to come in, Sar. Get back to work. I’ll call you later. And thank you.”
“You sure you have everything? I mean, you did pack condoms, right?”
“What? No!” She is so completely ridiculous sometimes.
“Kallie, good Lord. Do I have to mother you, or what? The responsible thing would be to pack condoms. Though I’m sure Niles has a hefty stash, a proper lady brings her own.”
“Niles and I are not having sex tonight.” I groan. “What are we going to do, bang it out in a bathroom or something?”
Sara’s eyebrows raise, intrigued. That is exactly the type of thing she would do. Frankly, though I’m normally a romantic-love-session-in-a-bed kind of girl, I have to admit that shagging Niles in a bathroom doesn’t sound like a horrible idea.
“I shall not respond to that,” she says, leaning back into her seat. “Okay, you have a great time. If it is indeed ‘your time’ tonight, enjoy yourself, but be smart. Promise?” She turns to look at me and grabs my hand.
“I really don’t think it will be ‘our time,’ but if it is, then yes, I’ll be careful. Promise.” I let go of her hand and slip out of the car. She waves at me as I grab my bags. I salute her back and head toward the airport entrance.
It’s go time, baby!
***
The hotel suite (yes, I said suite) is huge. The décor is stunning. The view is even better. And once again, I’m hit with a this-can’t-be-real moment. My eyes flit around the room, taking it all in, and eventually land on an exact duplicate of the arrangement Niles sent me yesterday. I rush over to it and grab the card.
Didn’t want you to miss out on the one at home, so here’s another. -NR
Seriously?
On the bed is a greeting card with scribbly handwriting that can only be Niles’s. I’ve never seen anything he’s written other than his autograph, but the spastic way the letters are linked together almost perfectly reflects his stage style.
Welcome to an awesome summer. Hope you’re up for living the rock star life for a little while. AND, I hope you’re up for some serious napping! Save me a spot tonight—maybe I can sneak in later. After-party first, though. See you there!
If there were anyone in the room with me right now, they would no doubt find hilarity in the expression on my face. Niles Russell wants to hop in bed with me tonight. He wants to sneak in after the after-party. Oh. My. Gawd. Maybe this will be “our time.”
If Sara knew this, she’d flip. But I can’t tell her. Not yet. I have to keep my head together and calling her would most definitely not be conducive to that.
I should definitely call Lucy, though. But this bed is so soft and the pillows look so cozy. And I am so tired. I flop down. Just for a minute, I promise myself. An hour later, my phone alerts me that a driver will be here to pick me up at six. Which means I need to get a move on. Oops.
I wonder why I haven’t heard from Niles. I check my phone to make sure I didn’t miss any of his texts, and indeed, I haven’t. I wonder what he does all day when they get to a new town. Is he here in the hotel? Where and when does he eat? Where does he get ready? How does all this happen away from the watchful eyes of the fans? I make a mental note to ask him some of these things, then head to the bathroom to get myself in order.
When I walk in, I almost faint. There, on the mirror, written in red lipstick, is a note that says, Can’t wait to see you tonight. It’s a simple message, but it’s poignant nonetheless . . . because it’s the exact same message Nash left for Emily on her hotel room bathroom mirror one night.
***
“Are you drunk?” Niles asks. As promised, he snuck into my room after the after-party and is lying on the bed next to me, to my left. Except for in my car, every other time we’ve been next to each other for any length of time, he’s always been on my right. So, I’m enjoying this new viewpoint. It feels like I’m looking at a painting from a different angle.
“No. Maybe a little. You?”
“I don’t know. I should be. We drank a lot. But my head seems kinda straight. I’m not sure I like that.” He puffs out his cheeks and keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“What do you mean?”
“Because it’s a whole lot easier to make a move when you’re messed up.” He turns over on his side to look at me. “We’re in bed together, Kallie. Most people would be doing a lot more than just lying next to each other, right?”
I nod and swallow hard. “So, why aren’t we?”
“I don’t know. I want to. And I’m pretty sure you want to. But, it’s not time yet.” He rolls back over onto his back, takes my left hand with his right, and puts my hand on his chest. “Feel that?” His heart is thumping wildly, as though he’s just gotten off stage.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“That’s not normal for me.” He laces his fingers through mine and extends his arm. My hand is now resting against his right thigh and is dangerously close to there. All I would have to do is stretch out my fingers and scoot them over less than six inches and I’d get a handful of awesome.
“Hm. I have a hard time believing someone like little ol’ me could make Niles Russell’s heart go pitty pat. How many girls have you been with? Like millions?”
“Ha. Less than you think.”
“Fewer.”
“Huh?”
“You’ve been with fewer than I think.” I smile at him when he looks at me.
“Really? You have to correct my grammar during a moment like this?” he laughs. “See? That right there is why my heart is thumping. You’re like no other, Kallie Reagan.”
He turns over again and smooths my hair with his left hand. I allow myself to stare at him and really take him in. He’s not a traditional beefcake handsome guy at all, but he’s incredibly handsome in his own quirky guy-next-door way. We are so close that, if I had any kind of balls, I’d only have to move inches to initiate a kiss. But I don’t. I’m paralyzed and mesmerized. I close my eyes as he continues playing with my hair.
“You falling asleep on me?” he asks, his voice soft.
“Of course not.” But his touch is so gentle and rhythmic and he has me so relaxed, I actually might be.
“You can. I know you’re tired. You worked your ass off writing the other night and now I’m imparting my night owl ways on you.”
“I love your night owl ways. I love pretty much everything about you.”
He freezes.
Oops. Somebody just got spooked.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
“It’s okay,” he says, stroking my hair again. “I love your honesty. And I love when you don’t hold back.” He inhales deeply. “You don’t feel like crying tonight, do you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good. That’s good. Because that really sucked. When I figured out it was you next door and I put the pieces together . . .”
“Shhh.” I let my eyes drift open and discover he’s staring right at me. “Pretend that never happened, okay? It was an emotional day, but it was nothing you did wrong. I promise.”
“Someone sweet like you should never have to cry.”
I don’t mean to, but I shrink back from him a bit. Sure, his words are genuine and kind, but all I can do is think about all the times he’s called me sweet. Or cute. He’s never called me hot or sexy or any of that. What about the other girls—though “fewer than” I think—he’s been with? Were they cute? What’s Robbyn like? Is she sweet or is she freaky? Does one turn him on more than the other? Probably so. All guys like freaky chicks, don’t they? The sexier the better? I’m just sweet. And cute. I can’t be Niles’s type. Not at all.
I roll away from him and onto my back. I think about stripping down, right here, right now. That’s not something a sweet girl would do. I think about straddling him, pressing my chest against his, covering his mouth with mine. That’s probably what his other “lady friends”
would do. That’s probably what he likes, and what he expects.
But I can’t do it.
“Do you think we’ll ever kiss, Niles?” I can hardly believe the words escape my lips, but it’s something I am dying to know, dying to do.
“Most definitely. Just not yet.” He pulls me closer, burying my face in his chest. He rubs my back for what seems like a millennium, then kisses the top of my head. “There you go.” He laughs. “Our first kiss. Well, second, really. Because I’ve already kissed your cheek.”
“Hilarious,” I say, nudging his arm. “But seriously, though. Thanks for tonight. This whole life of yours—it’s pretty amazing.”
“Sometimes it’s amazing just to be normal. I feel so normal right now. You do that to me—for me. So, thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I yawn. “What time is it, anyway? Do you have to go?”
“I should.” My heart sinks. “But I’m not going to. I’ll stay with you. I have until five. Now, sleep.” He nuzzles his chin into my hair, and in an instant, we are asleep.
And an instant later, it’s five o’clock . . . and he’s gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
What Do You Want From Me?
I knew this would happen. Freaking knew it. My life is a whirlwind for five days, I see and talk to Niles almost nonstop, we get close and then closer, then bam! It’s a new week and I haven’t seen him at all.
“I miss you!” I whine, staring at his pic on my phone. “When am I going to see you again?” We talk daily—sometimes multiple times per day—but this stretch of their tour schedule is particularly heavy and they go from one stop to the next, leaving the stage, having a one-hour meet and greet with fans, then heading onward. No after-parties, no chance for me to hang with him. I’m a mess.
I’ve been trying to work on Book Two, but my inspiration has waned. I’m starting to think having Niles as a muse was easier before I knew him because I could just project characteristics onto him without knowing whether or not they were accurate. Now, whenever I try to write a line or a scene with Nash, I think more about the real Niles than Nash—whom I actually created and hence “know” a lot better than Niles. It’s all kinds of confusing and it’s making things pretty difficult.
To my delight, Niles is turning out to be every bit as romantic and caring as Nash. But he’s also a bundle of contradictions. Yes, I want to have sex with you, but no, I’m not going to do it yet—even though I’m a rock star and rock stars are known for that exact type of behavior. No, I don’t want to ever make you cry, but it’s been a week since we’ve seen each other and now all you do is mope . . . and cry. Yes, we’ll kiss someday, but not yet—even though I almost kissed you on the running trails when I was at your house, being “normal.”
I mean, what if we would have kissed that day? Would that have been it? Or would we have gone back to my apartment and done more? Even if not, with that first kiss out of the way, would we kiss every time we see each other now? Would that night in Philly have been our first roll in the hay? So many questions messing with my mind I can hardly stand it.
And the irony of it all? Niles’s promise to me was that he’d distract me from the girls this summer. Now, it’s my conversations with the girls that distract me from Niles.
They’re having a ball in North Carolina. And even though we miss each other a ton, I think being away is getting easier for them. Brad’s mom has them constantly on the go, even taking summer gymnastics classes at a local dance studio and cooking classes from a friend of a friend.
Of course, they have no idea what my life is like back here and I don’t dare share any of that info with them or Brad. Brad is already so bitter over my book for reasons spanning from its success (hey, it’s hard to get a book published) to the obsessive passion and time dedication it takes to fuel a project like that, to the fact that it was about another guy. If he ever found out I actually met and hung out with Niles, oh boy! But the more I think about it, the more I know he will someday find out. After all, Katherine has already called and texted multiple times to get the scoop on how/why Niles was in town with me, how we met, and what our relationship status is (“just friends” will not fly with her—not after what she saw on those trails). I’ve ignored her completely, which is probably only fueling the fire. With tongues wagging like they do in this town, I’m surprised the whole world doesn’t already know.
As soon as I hang up from the girls, my phone springs right back to life with the text message I’ve so been waiting for.
“How does a trip to Beantown sound? On Wednesday? We have a little breather. Didn’t think we’d be spending the night there, but now I guess we are. Flights are confirmed, concert ticket is ready, VIP pass is yours. All you have to do is say yes.” Pause. “PLEASE say yes. I miss you.”
He misses me?! Did I just read that right? As much as I’ve missed him, I’ve never actually come out and said that to him for fear of sounding like a lovesick fangirl. Even though I’ve been Mopey Maggie over here, he’d never know it because I always try to be full of sunshine and unicorns whenever we talk. Sure, I’ve told him multiple times that I can’t wait to see him and hang out again, and that I’m dying to watch him kill it in front of a crowd once more, etc., but I know he’s under a lot of stress and he’s probably tired. He doesn’t need some crazy fan whom he’s befriended blathering on and on about missing him when he’s out there doing his job of entertaining the masses.
In a not-so-surprise move, my stomach squeezes tight and so does my heart. “I. Miss. You. Too.” I type. “And my answer is HELL, YES!”
“Awesome! I know I’ve been busy, but you’ve seriously been on my mind. A lot. I can’t wait to see you. Thanks for saying yes.”
Suddenly, all the time I’ve spent in a funk over the last week seems so insignificant. I am alive again, and Wednesday can’t come soon enough. I mentally make plans to hit the gym hard over the next two days and realize a trip to the mall for a sassy new shirt is definitely in order.
“Thank you for asking me. I was wondering when I’d ever see you again. I was losing hope.” Sad face.
“Ha, don’t give up on me. I told you I’d keep you distracted this summer. This past week was a bit sucky, but it’s always like that on the East Coast. After NYC on Friday and Saturday, things will ease up.”
New York! Oh man, have I ever let myself fantasize about joining him there, too. I’d stay at some awesome hotel, meet Lucy for lunch on Friday, and swing by my publishing house with her to say hello to the very people who manage my writing career. I’d go to both concerts and after-parties, and maybe even crash at Niles’s apartment for part of Saturday, since that’s their home base and Niles keeps a place there. Then I realize there is no way, no how, that would ever happen so I push that idea out of my mind and focus on what I know: I’m going to Boston on Wednesday!
“I’ll never give up on you,” I type. “I seriously, seriously cannot wait to see you again. I really have missed you a lot.”
It takes him a minute to respond, but finally, he types, “Why, Kallie? Why do you miss me? Because I’m a rock star? Because I’m a hot mess that’s fun to fuck with? Because my life is a whirlwind and it gives you good inspiration for your characters? Tell me why you miss me so much. I seriously want to know.”
What?!
I shake my head, stunned. I don’t know what he’s getting at, but this is not a conversation that can be covered over text. Without thinking at all, I hit the “call” button and hear the ringing tone before his voice.
“Sorry,” he answers. “That was totally assholish of me. I’m just having a freak-out day. It happens. I’m sorry.”
“Niles. Don’t you dare think for one second that I like or miss you because you’re a rock star. I learned of you because of your talent, yes, but there are a lot of talented people out there. You are so much more than your talent.”
There’s nothing but silence on Niles’s end, so I race on. “You’re a complicated motherfucker,” I laugh, “bu
t you are so amazing. In so many ways. I feel like when we’re together, you’re actually you, am I right? I mean, in addition to all the laughs we’ve shared and the fun we’ve had just hanging out, we’ve slept together twice. And by ‘slept,’ I mean we’ve actually gone to sleep. You haven’t even tried to bang me yet and you definitely could, any time, any place. I would not be the one to say no. So, what gives? Why haven’t you tried? What do you really want with me, Niles Russell?”
Not gonna lie, I’m a little shocked by what just came out of my mouth. I’m about as nonconfrontational as they come. But hey, this has been on my mind and if he’s demanding answers, I’m going to, too.
“I don’t fucking know, Kallie. I know that you wrote a book about me and I know that for whatever reason you find me interesting and I know that now that I’m getting to know you, I find you interesting, too. But beyond that, I don’t freaking know anything. I know I want to screw your brains out—trust me—but I don’t want to hurt you because, really, I’m a piece of shit and you deserve better. Yet, I can’t tear myself away from you, which is stupid because throughout my whole life I’ve perfected the art of tearing myself away from just about everything. No promises, no regrets. So yeah, I guess this is fucked up all around and I don’t know anything except that I’m going to be really damn happy when I look out into the crowd on Wednesday and see you there, front and center. Then, I’ll be even happier when I can glue myself to your side at the after-party, even though the guys are wondering what the fuck my problem is and why I’m not behaving like my normal self.”
“The guys are noticing?” There are so many points of this conversation to focus on, yet I choose this one. Why? I don’t know. It seems important.
“Yeah. They think I’ve lost my freaking mind. I kind of hate that they think that, so that should say something.” He pauses. “Plus, I’m starting to get crap for how long it’s taking me to write this next album. So I’m a bit of a head case right now. You’ll have to excuse me.”
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