Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
NICK
I spend the rest of the concert in a complete daze.
The music washes over me, but I’m barely processing it. Every time Anthony moves on stage, all I can think is that’s the guy I’m supposed to meet in just over an hour.
It’s like my brain is stuck on that point.
“That was incredible!” Teddie shouts as the house lights come up. “You need to get going, right? I can’t believe it really is Anthony Devine you’ve been messaging. You can’t keep him waiting.”
“I’m just going to go to the restroom,” I mutter.
Leaving behind their confused face, I head to the restroom, which unfortunately has a line.
It’s okay. I don’t actually need the restroom. I just need to sit down and put my head between my legs for a while.
So I do that on a chair in the hallway.
It doesn’t help.
When I sit back upright, I’m still the ordinary guy who is supposed to meet up with a Grammy Award-winning international superstar.
I check my phone.
Nothing from AntD. From Anthony. From Anthony fucking Devine. Who will soon be making his way to a café on Houston Street, expecting I’ll be waiting there to meet him.
Okay. Okay, okay, okay. This is fine. Everything is fine. I just spent a month pouring my heart out to one of the most famous people on the planet.
It turns out that instead of getting catfished, I got reverse catfished? Is that a thing? When someone tells you exactly who they are and you’re too stupid to believe them?
What are we going to talk about? “Hey, remember when I told you about my crushing student debt while you were flying private jets between continents? Good times.”
Finally, I make myself stand, and I’m immediately swept up in the crowd. All these people paid a small fortune just to be in the same building as Anthony Devine for two hours. I’ve been getting his undivided attention every night for free.
It’s unbelievable.
“Nick?” Teddie appears out of nowhere. “Where have you been? Don’t you have to hurry? I thought you had to meet Anthony.”
“I’m not going.”
Teddie stops dead in the middle of the crowd trying to exit MSG. Several people bump into us, muttering curses.
“Excuse me?”
“I can’t meet him. This is insane. He’s Anthony Devine.
Do you know what this means?” My voice is getting higher with each word.
“I told Anthony Devine about my inability to grow facial hair! I sent him photos of my dying plant. I ranked my top five most embarrassing moments for him, including the time I called my professor Mom!”
“Nick—”
“He probably thinks this is hilarious. Some broke college kid, thinking he was talking to a regular person. He’s probably been laughing at me this whole time with his celebrity friends.”
“Nick!” Teddie grabs my shoulders. “Breathe.”
I take a shaky breath.
“Okay, now listen to me,” Teddie continues. “That man just got Madison Square Garden to scream your name. Does that seem like someone who’s been laughing at you?”
“But—”
“No buts. You’ve been talking to this guy for over a month. You know him. The fact that he’s famous doesn’t change who he is.”
“It changes everything!”
“Does it though? Has he been kind to you?”
I think about all our late-night conversations. The way he remembered my exam schedule. How he made me feel better about Chad. “Yeah.”
“Has he been genuine?”
“I mean, he kept telling me he was Anthony Devine, and I thought it was a joke, so technically—”
“Nick.”
“Yes. He’s been genuine.”
“So I don’t see what the problem is.”
“The problem is he’s famous!”
“Oh no,” Teddie says, their voice dripping with sarcasm. “The guy you’ve been messaging constantly and have a great connection with turns out to be a superstar. The universe is just so terrible sometimes.”
“I really like him,” I whisper.
“The fame thing isn’t real. He’s still just a person with real feelings.”
I stare at them. “You’ve been watching Notting Hill again, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, and I get that if things go wrong between you, you’ll have to stop listening to the radio or watching anything to do with music because he’ll still be everywhere, which would suck. But don’t you think it’s worth the risk?”
My mouth is dry.
Is he worth the risk?
He’s famous. He’s impossibly out of my league. Dating him would mean photographers and tabloids and a million people having opinions about us.
But then I think about how talking to him makes me feel more like myself than I do with people I’ve known for years.
“Yes, he’s worth the risk,” I say.
“Then what the fuck are you doing standing here?” Teddie checks their phone. “It’s already ten forty-five. Where are you supposed to meet?”
“A café on Houston.”
“Okay, if we lived in England, I’d totally be getting in my car along with our cast of quirky friends to race through the streets of London to a press conference. But instead, I think you’d better start running.”
I stare at them. “This is crazy.”
“Love is crazy. Now go!”
I take off running, pushing through the crowd still streaming out of the venue. Of course when I burst onto the street, there’s not a single available taxi. The Uber app shows a twenty-five-minute wait. The subway will take at least twenty minutes with the transfer.
Fuck it. I run.
I probably look insane—a sweaty guy in a band T-shirt sprinting through Manhattan like he’s being chased. By the time I reach the Bleecker’s Café, I’m ten minutes late and gasping for breath, my shirt soaked through with sweat. Attractive.
I peer through the window, and my heart stops.
He’s there. Anthony Devine is sitting in a corner booth, wearing a baseball cap and hoodie like that’s any kind of disguise when you’re one of the most famous faces on the planet. He’s staring at his phone, leg bouncing under the table.
He looks exactly like he does in photos, but also nothing like them. He looks…normal. Anxious. Human.
I push open the door.
He looks up, and our eyes meet, and for a second, neither of us moves. Then his face breaks into that crooked smile I’ve seen in a thousand photos, but somehow, it’s different when it’s directed at me.
“Sorry I’m late,” I manage, sliding into the booth across from him.
“I thought you weren’t going to show.” His voice is quiet, uncertain.
“I wasn’t.”
He flinches.
I raise my gaze to his. “See, I built up this big fairy tale in my head,” I say.
“Meeting this guy I had this amazing connection with. A guy who makes me laugh constantly, who gets my weird sense of humor. But in my head, he was just…an ordinary guy. Like me.” I swallow.
“And I guess I had to mourn that version before I could deal with my actual reality.”
He’s watching me cautiously. “And what’s your actual reality?”
“That I get to meet a guy I have an amazing connection with, who makes me laugh constantly, who gets my weird sense of humor, and just happens to be a multi-millionaire pop star.”
He meets my gaze, and the relief I see on his face makes me realize how much the scriptwriters of Notting Hill got it right with the whole celebrities-have-real-feelings plotline.
“I’m really glad you decided to come,” he says.
“Yeah, me too.”
His throat works as he looks away. Under the baseball cap, with his shoulders slightly hunched, he looks almost ordinary. Almost. Then he glances back at me, and those dark eyes catch the light and—nope, never mind, still devastatingly handsome. “So, you want something to drink?” he asks.
“Yep, coffee would be great. And you’re buying.”
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’m buying, am I?”
“Yep. You’re a multi-millionaire pop star. I’m a broke student. I’m pretty sure it would be polite for you to offer to buy me coffee in this situation.” I stretch back, giving him a catlike smile.
I’m not going to pretend there isn’t a world of differences between us. Instead, I’m going to embrace the elephant in the room. Give it a giant hug. And maybe get a free coffee out of it.
“I might even offer to buy you a slice of red velvet cake,” he says.
I give him a wink. “You know all my weaknesses.”
His gaze drops to my mouth for just a second before meeting my eyes again. “Not quite all,” he says.
And the heat that sparks between us makes me feel almost giddy.
Fuck. This is happening.
It’s actually happening. I’m on a date with Anthony Devine.
He gestures at the waitress who’s been hovering nearby. She’s clearly trying to figure out if he’s really Anthony Devine or just someone who looks remarkably similar.
For a second, ordering food feels surreal.
Like, an hour ago, I was hyperventilating outside Madison Square Garden, and now I’m debating whether to get a cappuccino or a latte while Anthony Devine sits across from me, stealing glances at me over his menu like I’m the most interesting thing in this room.
We order food, and then we talk.
We talk about the concert and the rush he gets from performing. We talk about my classes and how Jade still hasn’t figured out that I reorganize her food when she’s not home. We talk about his mother’s habit of critiquing his stage outfits.
And it turns out Anthony Devine in real life is no different from AntD online. He still laughs at my dumb jokes. He still has strong opinions about weird stuff. He still remembers every random thing I’ve told him.
And actually hearing him laugh out loud, seeing the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, is so much better than a laughing emoji. Obviously. But I didn’t realize how much better until right now.
There’s also the way he looks at me. Like I’m the only person in the room and everything I say matters. I keep catching his gaze lingering a beat too long, and each time, it sends a jolt through my chest that I’m trying very hard to play cool about.
Eventually, the lights flicker—once, twice—and I look up to see a very tired server pointedly wiping down the counter while shooting glances in our direction.
We’re the only people left in the café.
Shit. How long have we been here?
Anthony follows my gaze. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”