Fangirls like myself live in the real world, yeah, we’d just rather be spending time with our fictional significant others, fictional best friends, or the fictional people we’ve marked as our own. So maybe I’m trudging on ahead too fast, maybe I’ll regret it in the future when my heart’s shattered to pieces and everything sucks and even my favourite foods will taste like ash.
But I’m insanely attracted, and he seems to likewise be attracted to me, and if every date I’ve had is constantly being measured up to what a fantasy date with Chrisander Gage would look like, how dumb would I be not to at least see where this goes?
“You make me want to kiss you,” he groans, and his voice is so close my body responds, lighting up with sparklers in my blood, my skin tingling. I have a stupid smile on my face, alone here in the dark, phone mashed to my ear. I squirm in my bed, pressing my fingers against my lips, imagining for a second that Ayden’s mouth is back on mine.
I also really need an ice bath—stat. “I don’t think you should say things like that to me. I might go into a meltdown.”
Ayden laughs, a knowing laugh, a freaking sexy laugh that has me trying to remember how to swallow. “Maybe I want you to have one, and maybe I want to be there when it happens.”
“God, you need to stop talking,” I whisper, knowing that I’m going to need a cold shower—and grumbling to myself because I could have had Ayden in my bed, beside me, doing all sorts of fun things. “I can’t handle any more.”
“Tell me something else, then. Anything you’d like,” Ayden murmurs, and I don’t want to think about what he looks like in bed. I don’t want to wonder about what he’s wearing—is he wearing a T-shirt, or is he bare-chested? Boxers or briefs? I don’t want to think about any of that or I’ll drive myself crazy.
I pull in a deep, deep breath, and it somehow turns into a yawn I have to bite back. “Aren’t you tired? Didn’t you shoot for, like, a thousand hours today?”
“I want to fall asleep with your voice in my ear.”
No, damn. I squirm in my bed, finally tearing off my pajama pants because it’s way too hot in here. And yeah, my heart’s melted and I can’t stop grinning in the dark. “What was it like going to L.A. after London? Did you have a hard time with it?” There. We’re on safer ground, now. Safer for me, for him, for everyone.
I hear him settle more deeply into his bed, more rustling of sheets, and a deep, satisfied sigh. “Fine, I guess. Lost the accent right quick, though, tried to sound like everyone else. It’s still there, in some words, and it comes back whenever I fly back home to see my parents. It sort of started the whole acting business for me, though, knowing I could slip into this other person by just changing the way I spoke. Made me want to try on different people. That’s why Leviathan has been so hard for me—I’ve never played a character this long. Sometimes, it feels like I’ll never get to shrug Chris off before I put someone else on. Sounds weird, doesn’t it? I don’t even know if I’m making any sense to you.”
“No, no, you are.” I like that he’s talking to me about his past, that he’s letting me in, letting me see the real him. Isn’t that the whole awesome thing about dating someone, learning who they really are? “You’re making a lot of sense, actually.” I can’t help the yawn that escapes me this time, but I move my phone out of the way so he doesn’t hear it. If I can, I’d love to fall asleep to the sound of his voice, too. I think I would go crazy just from him saying my name over and over again.
“I think you might be one of the few people I’ve really talked to these last few years since Leviathan blew up. Don’t get me wrong, I love my castmates, the crew, and I spend most of my day with them, of course, but we’re all different people when we’re done shooting for the day. A lot of them have families to go home to. And now with moving the show to Toronto, well, it feels like I’m starting at a new school and everyone’s known each other since they were little.”
That warms me right through, like I’ve drunk hot chocolate with marshmallows after being outside on a winter’s day. “You’re a very private person.” I don’t say it like a question—he knows I’m a fangirl, and that’s not something I’ll apologize for. Although, if he were to come over, I might have to get rid of my life-sized cut-out of Chrisander Gage in my bedroom, especially when it’s going to be replaced by the real thing! Cross my heart and hope to die.
“You sound tired, darling,” he says, and my heart beats faster in my chest at the D-word. It would be lovely, I think, to be his darling. So, so lovely. “I’m going to let you sleep. Call me tomorrow, anytime. I’ll get back to you if I’m busy shooting, all right?”
“I’m going to kiss you the next time I see you for calling me ‘darling,’” I inform him, not even embarrassed by it. I have too many feelings, and they’re spilling over into our conversation—I’m not even mad about it.
He laughs, a tired chuckle before he yawns.
“Go to sleep, Ayden, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Aria, wait a second.” My heart thumps hard in the silence that follows, my brain conjuring up all sorts of imaginary professions of love. I wish, I wish so bad. “I want to see you for as long as you’ll let me.”
“That sounds ominous, and a little presumptuous of failure.”
I can almost feel him shrug through the line. “I know my life, and it doesn’t fit well into another’s usually. I’m hoping that these are unusual circumstances we find ourselves in.”
I gulp. “Me, too, Ayden. Me too. Sleep well, okay? And thanks again for tonight. I could have gotten the bill.”
“And I appreciate you trying to pay, but I wasn’t raised that way. Sleep well, darling.”
God, that darling word again. I might actually lose it. My heart’s pumping way too hard, my skin is tingling and hot like I’m running a fever, and I have this weird skipping, floating feeling in my belly that can’t accurately be described. I really like Ayden, super-like him, even.
Can there possibly be room in my heart for more than one man, even though they have the same face? Can that actually happen?
This is a fangirl problem I never saw coming.
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