All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1)

by Liberty Kontranowski

  I take a deep breath and say the only thing I can think of. The thing that will buy me some time. The quintessential statement that almost every person who has been in a relationship throws out before getting in too deep. The biggest cop out of all, really.

  “I need some space, okay? This is just . . . too fast. It was a fangirl infatuation that went really far, really fast. And maybe we need to step back.”

  “Oh, come on, Kallie. You are so full of shit,” he says, rolling his eyes. “There is no way you really believe that.”

  “Yeah, well, there are a lot of things I’ve been forced to believe that I really don’t want to!”

  I walk into his room to gather up my stuff. “I’m going to stay at the hotel tonight. And I think I should fly home tomorrow instead of Monday.”

  “What? You’re walking away? You’re really not going to tell me where all of this is coming from?”

  I glance up at him; he looks so sad. How can I do this to him? Oh yeah, because of what he did to me.

  “I just need some time. I think we still have a lot to learn about each other.”

  “Well, we can’t really learn about each other if one of us refuses to talk.” He gives me a pointed look, which makes me feel both guilty and mad. He must read this on my face because he walks up and tries to put his hands on my shoulders. I shrug them away.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest instead. “There is no way I am buying what you’re selling. No way. There is something shitty going on here and you need to speak up or else there is not a damn thing I can do about it.”

  Ugh, why does he have to be such an intuitive son of a gun? He is making this so difficult. I really just want to spill everything, but my line has been drawn. I need to stick this out. I need to remember who I am and what I need. I need to let him know that I can call some shots, too. I need to figure out how I feel about this and decide what I’m going to do next. And he’ll just have to be okay with that.

  “What you can do,” I say with a very measured voice, “is give me some space.”

  “Fine.” He walks toward his door. “I kinda thought we were at a place where you could tell me anything, but sure, okay, if you need space, by all means.” He holds open the door, his face full of hurt and confusion and annoyance and sadness. I pick up my bag and as I walk past him, he gives me a rough peck on the cheek. “Call me when you’re ready. I hope it’s soon.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Worth a Thousand Words

  “Kallie? It’s two o’clock in the morning. Are you okay?”

  Oh God, how I needed to hear this voice. There is nothing in the world quite like a friend who answers your excessively off-hours calls.

  “You were right, Sara. You called it and you nailed it. I am so naïve.”

  With those few words, with that short little admission, my emotions fall out. The tears I held in as I left Niles’s apartment, the tears I held in throughout the cab ride here, and the tears I held in as I rode the elevator to my room, burst through the door, then flung myself onto the bed . . . they’re all loose now. They’re cascading down my cheeks and onto my shirt and onto the pillow and right to the sheets and the blankets. They’re everywhere, dampening everything, making my vision blurry and my head and my heart absolutely ache.

  “I called what? Oh my God, what happened?”

  “He isn’t what I thought,” I wail. “What I hoped. He was . . . using me.”

  I don’t even try to pull myself together, and because Sara has seen me at my worst many times over, I know she doesn’t expect me to.

  “Girl, slow down,” she says, compassion dripping from her voice. “What do you mean, he was using you? Using you for what? Did he hurt you?”

  “No, he didn’t hurt me.” I sniff. “He wouldn’t do that. But he couldn’t come up with any ideas for the new record,” sniff, “so he befriended me to get into my head. He was gonna write his new album with my stupid fangirl obsession as the focal point. Can you believe that?” I pick up a pillow from the bed and whip it across the room.

  “He told you that?”

  “No,” I blubber. “Robbyn, his ex. She told me. At a party tonight.”

  Sara clucks her tongue, then laughs more loudly than she should at 2:00 a.m. “So his ex told you this? And you believed her? Kallie, that is naïve.”

  “She sent me a picture, Sar. It was right there in front of my eyes. A notebook page filled with notes in his handwriting, with all the questions he needed to ask in order to build the new album around my sorry obsession. I feel like such a fool. You questioned what a rock star would want with little old me, and I didn’t listen. Why didn’t I listen?”

  “Oh, honey, it’s okay.” Her voice is like a hug through the phone. “You fell hard for him and were blinded. That’s what love does. Don’t be so hard on yourself. This is not your fault.”

  “Why did it have to be this way?” I cry. “I really thought, in some weird way, we actually had a chance.” I swipe at the tears trailing down my cheeks and try to sit up. My body doesn’t cooperate, so I flop back down and stare up at the ceiling instead.

  “I know you did, love.” She pauses a second, clearly trying to assemble the right words. “But, you know, this is probably for the best. I’m sorry you are hurting, I really am. And it’s awesome that you had so much fun while you did. But hidden agenda or not, your chances of being a real thing? I mean . . . it probably wasn’t going to happen. It was a dream, not a reality.”

  Of course she’s right. I didn’t listen to her before, but I obviously should now. I was crazy to think a small-town girl like me could ever attract an international rock star on her own merits. Of course there was something behind it. And yeah, things may have gotten real between us, but how sustainable is something like this? I’m a dreamer—always have been—but sometimes a little kick in the reality pants is all I need to come to my senses.

  I scrunch my eyes shut, pushing even more tears down my face. “I just want to come home.”

  “Can you fly out tomorrow? You probably should. Can I help call someone for you? Are you okay where you’re at?”

  “Yeah, I’m at the hotel. I’m fine here. I’ll try to get my flights changed, but for now, I just need to finish my cry and sleep this off.” My voice shakes as I paw through my bags in search of pajamas. “Thanks for listening, my friend. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I don’t wait for her response, and I couldn’t hear her if she said anything else anyway. I cry and cry and cry some more, thinking about my entire journey with Niles, from the moment I conceptualized my book to less than an hour ago. The feelings I developed for him before even meeting him, the knots in my stomach the first time we came face-to-face, the pangs of emptiness I felt every time we were away from each other for even the shortest of moments. I think about the realization that he isn’t who I dreamt he was, who I made him be in my mind and on the page, or who I wanted him to be more than anything.

  Oh, why couldn’t he have just read my book, thought I was cool, and called me up just because he wanted to get to know me better? Because I was someone with whom he connected? Because I was someone worth knowing, not because I provided fodder for his next artistic foray? I feel like such a joke, such a moron, such a fool for handing him my heart on a platter, only for him to take the butt of his microphone and grind it right in.

  What am I going to do next? Do I tell him this is it? That we’re done just as fast as we started? Do I ask to remain friends? Do I say, “Hey, maybe our paths will cross again someday, so farewell for now?”

  Ugh, I’m not ready for this change yet. I’ve become far too accustomed to how things have gotten and that’s how I still want them to be. I want to see his face and hear his voice and smell his smell. I want a zillion texts a day and more pictures on my phone than it can viably hold. I don’t want to imagine what life will look like now. Already. Without warning.

  Somehow, some way, between all the tears and q
uestions and muddled thoughts and sadness, I fall asleep. He’s in my dreams, of course, and all is well. But I must remember it was a dream. All of it was only a dream.

  ***

  I wake up to Niles’s voice, singing inches from my head. I have one of his songs as my general ringtone and hearing it call to me first thing this morning breaks my heart all over again. I make a mental note to change it as soon as I can.

  Lucy’s name flashes on my screen, so with a froggy voice and mush for a brain, I answer as cheerfully as I can.

  “Good morning, Lucy! Happy Sunday!”

  “Kallie, hiiiiiiii,” she drawls. “Have fun last night?”

  I puff a breath through my nose and feel the corners of my mouth turn down. If I won’t be seeing Niles anymore, I’m sure I’ll need to come clean to her eventually. But now is not the time.

  “Yeah,” I say, my heart tightening all over again. “It was nice.”

  “I see that. You looked great. And you two are fabulous together. Nice work.”

  Wait, what? I guess my stunned silence clues her in, because her voice bubbles as she says, “You haven’t seen Page Six yet today, have you? You guys are in there. And you look incredible. This is huge. Congratulations!”

  I am stunned. Absolutely stunned. Page Six? I’m in Page Six? With Niles?

  “Do you know who Niles’s publicist is? I can find out, but if you already know, that’s cool. We’ve been talking about doing that for you, but now it looks like the sooner the better. I’ll get with the team first thing tomorrow.”

  I can’t even believe what I am hearing. The world is opening Page Six this morning and seeing my face in it? And now my agent is talking to me about getting a publicist? This is all part of that unbelievable dream I was living, just hours ago. And now it’s crashed and burned. Just like that.

  “You there?” she asks. “You’re so quiet.”

  “Sorry, yes, I’m here. Just the first time I’ve ever been, you know, internationally exposed.”

  “Ha, well, enjoy it. Looks like this is just the beginning. You guys will probably be the next media darlings.”

  I fall back on the bed, stretching my arm so it reaches into the bag next to me. I dig through until I find the sweatshirt I took from Niles’s apartment last night. I put it up to my nose and breathe in. Hoo boy.

  “Do you think we can announce on your fan page that you’re dating? Your readers will go absolutely crazy.”

  No! Oh my God, no!

  “Um, we’re not really dating.”

  “Well . . . you obviously spend a lot of time together.”

  “Yeah, as friends.”

  Lucy laughs politely. “Kallie, I know it’s weird talking about your personal life, but when we get off this call, look up the picture. It pretty much screams that you two are way more than just friends.”

  Holy cow, what the hell? What are we doing in the picture? I run my mind back through last night—the stuff I can remember, anyway. I assume the snap was taken at the after-party. If that’s the case, then yes, anyone there would not have had a hard time catching us in an embrace of some sort. Wow, this is huge. I wonder what Niles will think. I wonder what his publicist is thinking. I wonder what this means for us going forth.

  “Listen, Kallie, you’ve been seen at a lot of his shows. People are making the connection between him and your book. I know Niles is super private, but he’s not so private that he hid his obvious affection for you while you were at a huge party where he had to know there’d be cameras. This could be really big for your career, especially as we shop your movie rights. I think it’d be smart for you to make an announcement on your fan pages. Or at least say something cheeky about the photo. It doesn’t have to be weird. We can make it fun, but it’s still an admission by default. What do you think? This could be great. For both of you.”

  More silence on my end. I truly don’t know what to say. I envision myself announcing to my fans that Niles and I are a couple. That dreams really do come true. That being true to your heart can get you everything you want in life and more. I envision my fans going crazy, my books flying off the shelves, my royalties climbing to the sky. I envision congratulatory comments on my fan page, messages of hope and encouragement, fans reveling in the fact that true love always wins. It could’ve been that way. This could have been just the beginning. This could have been my life.

  But, as of last night, that’s no more.

  “Uh, I have to think about this, Lucy.”

  “Sure. Take your time. Talk to Niles and see what they’re doing on his end. I just think that if you’re going to make a move, sometime today would be your best timing.”

  “Right. Okay.” What do I do? Do I tell her that Niles and I are no more? That the pic from last night is the last one she’ll ever see like that? That this was just a fun little fluke and my luck has run out and I’m back to being that small-town girl with big dreams who will probably end up dating someone from high school, just like her best friend? Or do I say nothing and hope all the hype dies down and Niles and I can just fade into the sunset with no one wondering or questioning or getting giddy about what they see in the tabloids?

  “I’m genuinely excited for you two,” Lucy says. “I know how much you care for him. What a dream, right?”

  Well, shit.

  “A dream. Exactly.” My voice is flat, so I wonder if she can read me. I really shouldn’t say anything more. “I’ll be in touch, okay? Thanks so much for letting me know. I’ll talk to Niles and see what’s up from here.”

  We hang up and my fingers fly across my keypad. Page Six. There it is. I scroll past A-listers, a few has-beens, and gaggles of reality stars until I see the photo in question. Holy cow, there we are. And the picture is gorgeous. Oh, it’s so gorgeous. We’re facing each other, our hips so close a piece of paper couldn’t fit through. His arms are around my waist, my hands are on his upper arms, and we’re looking into each other’s eyes, smiling the biggest, most genuine smiles we could possibly be. My hair is flowing perfectly over my shoulder and my skin has just the right amount of sheen. And the earrings! You can see my new diamond earrings just as plain as day. We look relaxed, happy, perfect together . . . and in love. We look totally, completely, unmistakably in love.

  And everyone who reads Page Six is seeing it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Word to Yo Mutha

  I send the link to Sara with instructions to “Check this quick” and wait for my phone to blow up. And thirty seconds later, that’s exactly what it does.

  “Kallie! Holy crap! Is this from last night? Before you found out?” Her voice is so high I’m not sure how she doesn’t have a line of dogs outside her window. “It’s clear you’ve only given me part of the story here. So spill it. Now. This is Page Freaking Six! And you’re in it!”

  I stare at the screen of my laptop. I have to admit the photo looks even better on a larger scale. “Yeah, that’s from last night. At the after-party. There’s just so much to tell, I can’t even. I don’t want to. But yes, at that moment, life was amazing. Then the shit hit the fan.”

  “Listen,” she says, her voice dropping several octaves. “I know what I said last night, and I know what I’ve said before, but I am looking at this photo now and do you know what I see?”

  “Lies?”

  “No. I see a gorgeous rock star who probably had a million people in that room fighting for his attention, and his eyes—and hands—are squarely on you. You, Kallie.”

  Oh, how those words sting.

  “Seriously, did you look at yourselves? I know I basically called you two a pipe dream, but this picture is worth the proverbial thousand words. This dude is into you. It’s written all over his face.”

  “Maybe he is now. But that’s not where we started.” My stomach tightens again. Oh man, I am so confused.

  “Okay, this is ridiculous. I need the whole story here, and you’ve obviously been holding back. Tell me what he said when you asked him about the notes. D
id he deny it? Come clean?”

  I swallow hard. “I didn’t ask him. He doesn’t know I know.”

  “Wait, what? If you didn’t confront him, then what did you two fight about last night?”

  I glance at the photo again and decide there’s no good in holding back. Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe Sara can help set me straight. Or maybe she’ll agree that he fucked me over big time and then I can move on in peace.

  “We were finally going to have sex last night, Sara. He was ready. I’ve been ready. It was time. But then Robbyn sent that picture. She had told me about it at the after-party, but I chose not to believe her. But then when I saw it for myself, how could I not?”

  “So you just walked out on him? Did he not see the picture, too?”

  “He was gone when it came through, so he never knew I got it. When he came back, I didn’t know how to bring it up, so I just acted normal and we just kind of, you know, held each other for freaking ever and it was amazing. But then I decided that I couldn’t go further with him unless I knew the truth, so I said something to trip him up. And the way his body posture responded? I totally busted him. It was a dead giveaway that Robbyn was actually telling the truth.”

  “Um, okay. So to recap . . . you’re telling me that he never saw the photo Robbyn sent you. At all?”

  “No.”

  “No, that’s not what you’re telling me, or no, he never saw it?”

  “No, he never saw it.”

  “And you never told him you received it?”

  “No.”

  “And you never told him what Robbyn said to you at the party?”

  “No.”

  “So, essentially,” she says, in her best psychiatrist voice, “you tricked him into nonverbally admitting something he didn’t know he was admitting to?”

  Well, when she puts it that way.