All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1) Read online

  “Hello?” I hiss. There are people everywhere. And being loud and discrete at the same time is kind of a challenge. This is so weird.

  “Hey. You here?”

  In a flash, everyone around me disappears and I breathe in and savor his voice. It’s unmistakably his and I love hearing it even more than I thought I would. Just listening to his three-word utterance is like hearing a chorus of angels at the Pearly Gates. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but to me, it’s the most incredible sound. And it’s coming right through my phone.

  “Yeah, me and the rest of the world,” I laugh.

  “Awesome! What’s the crowd look like?”

  “Hot and sweaty and ready to party.”

  “Perfect. That’s just how we like ‘em.”

  There’s some fumbling around in the background and the squeal of a guitar being tuned. Niles laughs at something someone says, goes quiet for a second, then lets out a loud, long breath.

  “You okay?”

  “Yep. Shot number two, down the hatch.”

  Oh, man. He’s doing his preshow shot ritual. While he’s on the phone with me. What I wouldn’t give to be back there with him right now.

  “So . . . are you nervous?” I try to keep my voice calm and even.

  “A little. Wait. About the show? Or meeting you? The show, no way. It’s what I live for. Meeting you, yeah, a little.”

  Awww.

  “I, uh . . . I’m a little nervous, too,” I stammer, shuffling forward. If being smooth is my goal, I am failing so hard right now.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll have fun. See you in a little bit?”

  Oh, yes. Yes, you will.

  “Can’t wait,” I breathe, as I push through the turnstile.

  Holy crap, here we go!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Backstage Pass

  Backstage is not at all as glamorous as it should be. It’s a bit musty and surprisingly chilly, given the steamy summer night outside. Eight-foot tables are pushed together in a C-shape with food, beer, energy drinks, and disposable tableware covering every inch. I lean against a wall, not knowing what to do with myself. There are a few others trickling backstage, but Zeke, the bouncer, took only me to the part of the room with the food.

  There’s some commotion and laughter, but it still sounds far away. My pulse picks up and there is no question that anyone within a ten-mile radius could hear my heart thump if they listened hard enough. This is getting too real. This isn’t words on the pages of a book anymore, or even some texts and a quick phone call. Niles is a real human being who just walked through the door backstage and is heading straight toward me. There is seriously nowhere—and no time—to hide!

  He immediately catches my eye, and I lose my breath. I am one hundred percent sure my face rivals the color of red velvet cake. I break into a cold sweat so bad it feels like my skin is melting.

  He slips past everyone else and, in an instant, is less than a foot away from me. “I got you on the first try,” he announces, clearly proud of himself. “I knew it was you. I knew you’d be blonde. Knew it!”

  His lips part to reveal those teeth! I read once that he had veneers applied after busting a tooth at a show a few years back, and now I truly believe it. They are Colgate-commercial straight, pure white, and all lined up like little soldiers in his wide mouth. I’m dying.

  From the first row, I could see every one of his fillings (there are four) and I quickly became fascinated with how he could sing and smile at the same time. When his eyes fell on mine, not five minutes into the show, I knew he knew. He didn’t reach for my hand until over halfway through, but we made eye contact several times. When his fingers finally clasped mine, it was electric. I was touching Niles Russell. He held on longer than he should have, making the fans around me—guys and girls alike — that much more determined to get their own piece of him. He surprised us all by grabbing a few more hands, but only mine did he grab a second time.

  Now, he’s so close to me I can smell him. His hair is wet and messy, but his face is no longer sweaty, as though he stuck his head under a faucet on the way back. He has a towel wrapped around his neck and his concert T-shirt has been replaced with a clean, dry one. He smells of deodorant and hot skin. It’s intoxicating.

  “Have fun?” He hands me a half-empty water bottle. “Shit! That one’s mine. Here’s a full one.” He shakes his head in embarrassment and switches the bottles, which is disappointing since I would have gladly taken his.

  It occurs to me that I have not yet uttered one word—only smiled stupidly—so I take a breath and give it a try.

  “You positively killed it tonight,” I say, my voice shaking as it finds its legs. “As always.” He beams.

  I can tell I touched a hot spot, so I keep going. “Every performance gets better, I swear. And I’ve seen many.”

  “Thank you.” He reaches out like he’s going to touch my arm, but his hand just kind of airballs and falls back to his side. “Much more fun than real life.” He winks.

  As I attempt to collect myself (how am I still breathing right now?) he nods toward a group of people gathering near a doorway. It’s clear he wants to tell me something about them, but nothing’s coming out. He looks at me helplessly, then gestures and nods toward them once more. He looks so flustered, I wish I could reach into his mouth and pull the words out for him.

  “Jesus,” he finally says, throwing his hands up. “I can’t talk. I warned you about this.” He laughs and unscrews the cap on his water bottle, only to replace it again without taking a drink. I smile and raise my eyebrows as if to tell him it’s okay—and that he’s absolutely freaking adorable for being so shy and awkward around me.

  “Okay, let me try this again,” he says, extra slowly. “Bottom line? We have a lot of great fans who pay good money or pull a lot of strings to get back here. The other guys keep them pretty entertained, but I do need to sneak over to say hi. I won’t be gone long, okay?” He looks at me with wide eyes, as if half-expecting I might freak out if he goes.

  “Oh, of course. Take your time. Really.” I hope my voice doesn’t reflect the burst of relief I feel, but we’ve already interacted more than my heart can handle. Him stepping away for a minute will give me a little time to regroup.

  “Want a beer?” He motions to one of the tables sporting ice buckets filled with Coronas and local crafts.

  I don’t hesitate for a second. “I’ll take about ten of them!”

  He eyes me up and lets out a loud, sincere laugh. “You’re my kind of girl. Corona with lime okay?”

  “Perfect!”

  He pops open the top of my beer and slips a lime inside. A simple task, but it has me absolutely mesmerized. Niles Russell is fixing me a drink, for crying out loud. How whacked is that? He prepares one for himself and holds his toward mine.

  “Cheers?” It comes out as a question rather than a statement. His eyebrows are cocked and a half-smirk pushes in the dimple on his right cheek.

  “Cheers!”

  We clink our bottles together, then with a departing smile, he turns and walks toward the crowd. After about three steps, he spins around and mouths, “Be right back.” I nod. And then die.

  Once I resurrect, I take three deep breaths, just as Shape magazine suggests you do when you’re in a stressful situation, and try to quiet my heart. I watch him across the room, posing for pictures and making small talk with fans. He’s not as loud and chatty as the other guys, but he doesn’t look awkward at all. He’s in his element. He’s in control.

  At one point, his eyes lift toward mine and he gives me a small smile. He tips his bottle back, draining it of its beer and I can’t help but think he’s onto something. I polish mine off like I’m trying to win a high school drinking game and instantly feel a little calmer. I grab another from the table and pop it open. It’s ice cold and feels amazing on my burning hot hands. I mosey around, trying to look natural, but I’m sure I’m not fooling anyone. That’s okay. I’m here. And I wouldn’t wan
t to be anywhere else right now.

  He’s gone for what seems like ages, and with my back turned to the rest of the room, I feel him before I see him. I spin around to find him smiling wide, his drying hair all crazy and sexy. My entire body catches fire.

  “You are really, really tiny,” he says, looking me up and down.

  “You’re taller than I expected,” I shoot back. I was never able to pinpoint his height, but I always kind of assumed he was pretty short. He’s not. I’m guessing he’s about 5'9", which isn’t exactly gigantic, but still seems pretty impressive next to my miniature 5'2".

  “Beer’s good, right?” He reaches for his second, this time a craft.

  “Nothing like a cold beer on a hot summer’s night.”

  “Yeah. Nothing better.” He gives me an appreciative smile. “And we booked you a room, so drink up.”

  He says this so casually I almost think I didn’t hear him.

  “Wait. You what?”

  “Safety first,” he says, with a wink. I must have the ol’ deer-in-headlights vibe going because he looks at me almost sympathetically and says, “These after-parties can last a while. Especially when we’re here, since we’re minutes from our drummer’s hometown. If you think it’s crazy back here now, wait ‘til his family gets here. Those people are nuts!”

  I still have no idea how to respond, so I just stare at him, smiling like an idiot. I expected to have a beer or two, get my book signed, maybe eat a jalapeño popper, and leave. As if to prove me completely wrong, Niles puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “This way, you can stick around and have a few—or a bunch—of beers with me, and you won’t have to worry about driving home.”

  My bare skin ignites under his touch while I attempt to process this new information. Niles Russell wants me to stay and hang out with him? And they rented me a hotel room so I could do exactly that? Good God! This is more than what my wildest dreams could have ever expected out of tonight.

  I take a long, long swig of my beer and let my mind go wild with the possibilities.

  Because this, my friends, is the full-on definition of dreams coming true!

  CHAPTER SIX

  We Own the Night

  Multiple beers, the gift of time, the shots ofJägermeister that just made their rounds . . . whatever it is, it’s working. Niles and I are having a great time.

  True to his prediction, the backstage party is really hopping. There are people everywhere. I’ve rubbed elbows with Austin’s (the drummer’s) entire family, knocked back a shot with Austin himself, and drank off of Niles’s bottle when he insisted I sample one of the crafts he was drinking. This night—my life tonight—is a dream.

  Jase, the band’s keyboardist, was particularly anxious to meet me. When Niles introduces me as his “writer friend,” Jase grabs my hands with his, telling me, “You must be one helluva great writer to come up with something interesting to say about this guy.” He lets go of my hands and does the guy-nudge against Niles’s shoulder. Niles laughs and turns red, and for the first time, I wonder how much all the guys know about my book. Did they read it? Ohmygawd, if they did, what must they think of me? What if Niles is embarrassed by it? What if they think I am some groupie ho who is trying to bed their leader? Gah!

  If they are thinking any of those things, none of them let on. We’re all relaxed and behaving as if we’ve known one another for ages. It’s clear that Jase and Niles are especially close. In fact, it’s common knowledge that until recently Niles dated Jase’s sister, who is a permanent fixture in their entourage. I always thought that was a huge violation of the bro-code, but maybe not. Either way, I have yet to see her backstage tonight, but I keep watch, just in case.

  Niles disappears for a moment, so I look around, taking it all in. This is what he lives, every day he’s on tour. This is such a departure from life as I know it, I can’t imagine what makes him feel like he needs to hide. He has everything he could want. He’s crazy talented, he’s surrounded by fans and friends, and he’s got people willing to run out and restock party supplies at any whim. What’s not to love?

  “Here,” he says, coming up behind me. “This is for you.”

  I can’t see him, but I sure do feel his chest against my back as his arms reach around in front of me. We’ve been brushing against each other all night, but close contact like this is enough to make me lose my damn mind.

  My eyes drop down to his hands, which are holding my book. “I figured I’d better sign it now, before I get too shitty.” His breath warms my ear, causing just about every visceral reaction a body can have. I’ll be mortified if he sees my skin, which is now covered in goosebumps the size of Texas.

  I nod, but don’t want to move much more than that for fear he’ll back away. Instead, his chin comes to rest on my shoulder. I stop breathing. “There are some pretty personal scenes in here. You’re an excellent writer.”

  My mind flashes to a scene where Nash does this exact thing to Emily—comes up from behind and nuzzles his chin into the crook of her neck. I tried so hard at the time to capture what Emily must have been feeling. But now feeling what I’m feeling with Niles, I know I didn’t even come close. My lung capacity has diminished to zero, so all I can do is whisper. “You really read it?”

  “Cover to cover. More than once.” His weight shifts behind me. I stiffen, hoping to fire up some electromagnetic field that will keep him against me. It doesn’t work, but what he does next is almost better.

  He turns me toward him and looks right into my eyes. I allow myself to really stare back, and I swear we make a deep connection, right there, right then. “This was a badass thing you did.” He nods toward my book. “It took a lot of guts. Putting your soul on the line is never easy. I admire you a ton for that.”

  “You do it all the time.” And he does. Every song he writes is a little piece of himself.

  “We get that about each other,” he whispers. He is so close to me, I’m certain that if I let out all the air I’ve been holding in, I’ll knock him right over. Our eyes remain locked, except for the moment mine drop to his lips, wishing they’d find their way to mine. What would he feel like? Taste like? My body hums from the mere idea of it.

  “Why me?” he asks after a moment, breaking the spell. He steps back a little, leaving my severely deficient brain with no choice but to abandon my kissing fantasy and try to formulate a response.

  On the surface, it’s a simple enough question. But it’s one I figured he’d inherently know the answer to. I had grown so “close” to him during all of my research, every bit of it made sense to me. And my readers all felt like they “knew” him as well. They could see themselves in Emily, pining after a rock star or movie star or whatever kind of celebrity stoked their internal fires. They could see Nash as the object of their desire, turning the pages of a story into their real-life escape.

  But, as the subject of such an obsession, yeah, I guess I can see where he’d be left wondering some things. I’m suddenly sorry about how clueless he must be feeling.

  I look at him quickly and back away even more because now I truly feel like I could cry. Every single emotion and nerve ending is on rapid-fire right now. I have felt everything to the nth degree tonight, and talking about my book makes me emotional even on a normal day. I owe him an explanation, though, so I take a deep breath and fire away.

  “You . . . are an incredibly talented songwriter,” I whisper, more to the floor than to him. “Your voice is the most unique and amazing voice I’ve ever heard. You are captivating, and you are seriously, seriously adorable.” I glance up and he’s smiling ear to ear. Yep. Adorable.

  “But most importantly, you are my muse. Everything I do, I want to do better because of you. I work out harder when I listen to your songs, I write better when I’m writing about you, I put in more hours because I know how hard you work for your fans every single night, and I want to match that dedication. You challenge me and encourage me, and you don’t even know you’re doing it. It just radiat
es. It’s your gift. And it’s beautiful.”

  I take a breath. “That’s why you.”

  His smile is gone. His face is stone, only showing life when he blinks a dramatic blink and pokes his tongue between his closed lips.

  “Wow, okay,” he says, jamming his hands into his pockets. “We should take some pics and have another beer. Yeah?”

  I freeze. Holy crap, did I just massively fuck up? Did I freak him out too much? Jeez, he asked. He shouldn’t have asked if he didn’t really want to know. Tears sting the back of my eyes, and if my feet didn’t feel like bricks, I would definitely make a run for it.

  After at least a lifetime of me awkwardly staring at the floor, he takes my chin in his hand and angles it toward him. His posture has softened and he’s smiling again. “Kallie,” he says, his voice soft, “I told you that tonight I wanted you to be yourself. And you just were. No hiding. So, thank you.” He leans over and kisses my cheek, setting me ablaze once more.

  He takes my hand and leads me to the beer table, where we each grab another two bottles. We plop down into some nearby chairs and crack jokes, snap dozens of selfies, and find reasons to touch each other more than new friends should. Whatever weirdness happened after the “why me” question is gone, almost magically. We smash our cheeks together for “silly” pics, rest our heads on each other’s shoulders for “nice” pics, and even allow the tips of our tongues to graze as Austin stands behind us, pushing our foreheads together as we stick out our tongues at the camera. I feel his hair against my forehead and shiver. The hair I’ve wanted to touch for years is now touching me. Damn.

  At 2:30 a.m., we’re gently encouraged to leave the premises so the grounds crew can clean up. Niles insists on riding in the taxi to the hotel with me. We sit right in the center of the seat, our legs as smooshed together as they can be. We’re not holding hands, but we might as well be; our inside arms are kind of draped between our two laps. We don’t say a thing the entire time, but my heart beats loud enough to cut the silence. It’s the most comfortably uncomfortable thing I’ve ever experienced.