Fangirl

Chapter 10 #2

Maya gapes at me like I just declared I hate kittens. “Not a—not a big deal?” She gestures wildly. “Amy. Will Winters. Hollywood’s favorite disaster man personally invited you to a red-carpet event, and you just casually declined like you were turning down an ASOS discount email?”

I snort. “First of all, rude. Secondly, he wasn’t asking me on a date. He just needed a plus-one and probably some good PR. I was unfortunate enough to be the nearest available woman.”

She shakes her head, stabbing a cherry tomato like it personally betrayed her. “I just— I don’t understand you.”

I shrug, reaching for my fork. “You wouldn’t have gone either.”

“No, but that’s different,” she argues. “I have Matt. And a wedding ring. You, on the other hand, have…” She narrows her eyes. “Wait a second.”

I pause mid-bite. “What?”

Her lips curve into a slow, devious grin. “You are committed.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

She leans in, resting her chin on her palm. “That’s why you didn’t go. That’s why you turned him down without hesitation.” She hums, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You, my dear Amy, are a taken woman.”

I groan. “Oh my god.”

Maya beams. “Admit it. You’re loyal to your hot nerd.”

I roll my eyes, shoving a bite of food into my mouth.

“See?” She gestures dramatically. “You can’t even deny it.”

I swallow, then sigh, pressing my hands together. “Maya. I did not reject Will Winters because I’m ‘loyal’ to Eli. I rejected him because I have zero interest in being some Hollywood actor’s arm candy.”

Maya hums again, unconvinced.

I glare. “And because I’m loyal to my hot nerd.”

She gasps, clutching her chest like I just confessed to murder. “You admitted it!”

I groan, dropping my head onto the table as Maya cackles in triumph.

“I’m screwed.”

“Not yet, but if you buy that ticket for LA, you would be. Well and often.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll talk to him tonight. I’ll… I’ll offer to come visit.”

She stops smirking. “You know he’s dying to meet you, too, right? You showed me some of the messages. The boy is smitten.”

I exhale, picking at the edge of my napkin. “I hope so.”

I do hope.

I see hints of it—his messages, the way he makes time for me even when he’s exhausted, the way he never lets a day go by without checking in.

But there’s always that sliver of doubt, that whisper in the back of my mind, reminding me that screens make everything easier.

That typed words are safe, that real life is real—and sometimes, real is disappointing.

What if I go all the way to LA, and he looks at me differently? What if the easy, endless conversation stalls under the weight of reality?

What if I ruin the best thing I’ve had in years by trying to make it something more?

This is not a fan fiction or a romance novel; this is life, and it’s never that easy… never.

Maya watches me, and for once, she doesn’t tease.

“You’re scared,” she says simply.

I let out a breath. “Of course I am.”

She nudges my foot under the table. “You wouldn’t be if it didn't matter so much.”

I stare at my plate, tracing the condensation on my water glass. “He does mean something to me. I just don’t know if I mean something to him in the same way.”

Maya doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to force an answer. Instead, she just tilts her head. “Then maybe it’s time to find out.”

I swallow. Hard.

“I’ll talk to him tonight,” I say.

Maya softens, her teasing tone fading into something gentle. “Good.” Then, after a beat, her smirk returns. “Because if you don’t, I will buy your ticket myself, force you onto that plane, and send you off with a ‘go get railed, nerd lover’ banner.”

I groan, launching a napkin at her head. “You have to stop.”

She just laughs, dodging it with the reflexes of a gremlin who thrives on chaos.

And as much as I roll my eyes, as much as I pretend to be exasperated… I love her for it.

For being my personal cheerleader. For believing in this—believing in me, even when I can’t always believe in myself.

Now I just have to get through the rest of this day.

Because tonight?

I get to tell Eli about my almost date with a Hollywood superstar. And that is going to be fun.

When I grab my phone at the end of the day, there’s already a message waiting for me.

Eli: I’m sorry for missing you at lunch, Fangirl. I worked really late.

I smile like the besotted idiot I am, my fingers already moving before I can even think about playing it cool as I rush to the train station across the road from the studio.

Me: Too bad. You missed some excitement.

There’s barely a pause before he replies.

Eli: Is that right? Did Pea finally make it to the runway?

I chuckle, shaking my head as I type.

Me: Not quite. But close. Will Winters showed up at my office today.

This time, there’s a longer pause. A beat. Then…

Eli: Come again?

I bite my lip, giddy anticipation bubbling in my chest.

Me: You heard me. Hollywood’s favorite bad boy, in the flesh, strutting through my office like he owned the place.

Another pause, and I look up to see my train come in. Today is quite lucky, and it’s fairly empty, so I take the seat immediately by the door.

Me: I’m not joking.

Eli: And why, exactly, was he at your office?

I smirk.

Me: I have no idea. But he did ask me to be his plus-one to a premiere tomorrow night.

The typing bubble appears. Stops. Appears again.

And then…

Eli: Excuse me???

Oh, this is too good.

Me: What? You think I don’t get asked to high-profile Hollywood events on the regular?

Eli: Fangirl…

I grin.

Me: I said no.

Eli: You said no.

I can practically hear the disbelief in his voice.

Me: Obviously.

Eli: Why?

Me: Because I’m not into the limelight, I’m into simple, quiet, comfortable…

I chew on my bottom lip as I’m thinking about my next words.

Me: I’m into us.

The second I hit send, my heart plummets into my stomach.

What am I doing? Was that too much? Too flirty? Too—

My phone buzzes.

Eli: You’re killing me, Fangirl.

I blink.

Me: How so?

Eli: Because I’m here, and you’re there.

Me: Actually… I was thinking… maybe I should come see you in LA. What about December?

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

The typing bubble pops up immediately.

Then disappears.

Then nothing.

I stare at the screen, my stomach twisting.

A minute passes. Then two.

I shouldn’t have said anything. I ruined it.

Still nothing.

Panic starts to creep in, cold and sharp. Did I just overstep? Did I read this whole thing wrong? I know he’s been busy, I know that, but maybe he doesn’t actually want to meet in person. Maybe this whole thing is different for him. Maybe I just…

No. Stop. Breathe.

I shove my phone into my coat pocket, pressing my lips together as I look out the window at the lights as we pass the suburbs.

The lump in my throat is humiliating, but I can’t help it.

It’s stupid—so, so stupid—but I feel like I just shattered something fragile.

Like I ruined the best thing I’ve had in years.

The train hums beneath me, the familiar screech of metal against metal filling the silence as I stare blankly out the window. My reflection is distorted in the glass, blurred by streaks of condensation, mirroring the mess in my own head.

I almost cry.

No, Amy. Don’t. You’re almost home. Hold it together.

It’s ridiculous, really. I’m not in love. I can’t be, right? But I like him… more than I should. And for the first time in weeks, I feel distant from him. And it sucks.

By the time I step through my front door, my heart is wedged somewhere between my stomach and my throat. I drop my bag, kick off my shoes, give Pea some food, and collapse onto the couch, barely resisting the urge to throw my phone across the room.

Then it buzzes.

I scramble to grab it, fingers shaking.

Eli: Shit, sorry, Fangirl. Got called away. Just saw your message.

I barely process it before another message comes through.

Eli: You want to come see me?

The tight coil in my chest loosens just a fraction, but my hands are still unsteady as I type my response.

Me: Only if you want me to.

His reply is instant.

Eli: Of course I do.

I let out a breath, my whole body sagging with relief, but then…

Eli: I just… December doesn’t really work.

My heart plummets so fast that I actually feel sick.

Of course. Of course he’s backing out. I was an idiot to think this was anything more than an online fantasy. Maybe he has a girlfriend. Maybe he’s married. Maybe I’m just some fun little distraction, and I was stupid enough to believe it was real.

My brain starts spiraling, humiliating, self-destructive thoughts racing at full speed, when another message appears.

Eli: The thing is, I wanted it to be a surprise, but I’m coming to London in December for the Explosion Protocol premiere. And I was going to ask you to be my plus-one… but I guess you don’t want to.

I jump from the couch so fast that Pea hisses at me in alarm.

My thumbs fly over the keyboard.

Me: No

Me: Yes

Shit!

Me: No, I mean YES! I will be your plus-one! I squeal. Of course I’ll come with you!

I hit send, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Pea lets out a disgruntled mrrp from his perch.

I press my phone to my chest, breathing hard.

Holy. Shit.

This is really happening.

Eli: You would? What about the limelight?

I snort, shaking my head.

Me: Okay, no offense, but you’re a special effects guy. You’re not Hollander.

A pause.

Eli: What if I were?

I huff out a laugh, rolling my eyes.

Me: Then I wouldn’t be talking to you right now, obviously.

Silence. I frown.

Me: Wait… how come they’re inviting a special effects guy to a movie premiere?

Eli: Well, I’m Hollander, remember?

I snort, flopping back against the sofa with a huff.

I guess it makes sense. Jake Hollander’s films are at least 70 percent special effects, 25 percent muscle, 2 percent actual talent (for co-stars only), and 3 percent smolder.

Honestly? Eli might be the real star of the movie. The unsung hero.

Me: Well, okay, superstar. When are you coming? And for how long?

Eli: December 2nd. For how long? How long do you want me for?

Forever.

The thought comes so fast, so naturally, that it nearly knocks the breath out of me.

Penis.

I shake my head, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard before I settle on something safer.

Me: As long as you can stay.

I hit send, my heart still hammering from the emotional whiplash of the past five minutes.

Eli: That depends. I’m not expected back in LA before February.

I freeze. February? I sit up straighter, my mind already racing. That means…

Me: So you’re staying in London for two whole months?

Eli: Well, I’ll have some travel in between, but mostly? Yeah.

Holy. Shit.

Two months. Two months where he’ll be in the same country as me. The same city as me.

I could see him whenever I wanted.

A slow, giddy smile creeps across my face as I open my calendar app, fingers flying as I scroll through my remaining annual leave days. I could book time off work. Not just a day or two, but a full week. Maybe even longer!

Me: You know, I have some holiday time left to use before the end of the year…

Eli: Oh yeah?

Me: Yeah. Maybe I should take a couple of weeks off when you’re here. You know, be your personal London tour guide.

Eli: Fangirl… if you do that, you’ll never get rid of me.

I bite my lip, warmth curling through my chest.

Me: I’ll take my chances.

There’s a pause, just long enough for me to second-guess myself, before my phone vibrates again.

Eli: Then do it. I’d love that.

My breath catches.

I don’t reply right away, just sit in the moment, soaking it in. This is happening. It’s really happening.

For weeks, I’ve let doubts and what-ifs cloud my mind. But now? All I feel is anticipation. Excitement. The kind of giddy, full-body thrill that makes me want to kick my feet like a teenager with a crush.

I’m going to meet Eli. In person.

I can’t wait.

Me: I can’t wait to see you.

I’ve never felt this exposed to someone I’ve never touched. Never felt so close to someone I haven’t even met. That should terrify me. But instead, I feel safe, like coming home. And that’s what scares me the most.

Eli: Same for me, Fangirl.

My grin widens, but before I can type another response, he sends one last message.

Eli: Just promise me one thing?

Me: What’s that?

Eli: No matter what happens, don’t regret us.

I pause, frowning slightly at the screen.

There’s something about the way he says it—like he knows something I don’t. Like there’s a weight to his words, a meaning hovering just below the surface.

A flicker of unease stirs in my gut, but I shake it off.

I won’t regret it. I know I won’t.

Me: I promise.

My phone stays silent. No new message. Just my own words staring back at me, waiting.

Pea stretches on my lap, his warm little body pressing into me, but even that familiar comfort doesn’t quiet the restless feeling settling deep in my bones.

What if this isn't the love story I think it is?

What if I'm wrong about him?

I press my phone to my chest, breathing hard.

The doubts don’t go away. They linger, whispering, twisting, curling around my ribs like a storm waiting to break.