All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1) Read Free Page B

the girls and I have gotten along so well. I’m happy now, joyful and (pretty much) carefree. We take off and shop until someone has a meltdown, sometimes never buying a thing, but always enjoying each other’s company (until said meltdown occurs). We eat ice cream for dinner, then make up for it the next day with vegetable omelets and whole grain toast with organic honey. They giggle nonstop and I do, too. We paint each other’s toenails and comb each other’s hair. When Brad and I were married, it was one strained Family Movie Night per week and the rest of the time we spent avoiding each other. It was no way to live and I think the girls can see that now.
    I flop on my couch and reach for my laptop. I really need to send Lucy the first three chapters of my next book—the highly anticipated sequel to Emily and Nash’s story—but my mind is a little, um, preoccupied. I check my phone, hoping for a text from Niles, but there isn’t anything other than a missed call from my dentist, confirming my cleaning appointment for Monday.
    I lift the lid on my laptop and am immediately lured in by the number on my inbox. I dig right in and see not one, not two, but three emails from Niles and his “people.” The ones from his people are confirmations of my front row ticket and backstage pass. I am allowed to bring a camera, but no backpacks or anything else aside from “my person.” Sure, fine, that I can do.
    The one from Niles starts out innocently enough but gets personal in a hurry. He tells me he’s excited to see me and that every time he starts envisioning what I look like, he pushes it out of his head because he doesn’t want any preconceived ideas.
    For real? That’s kind of adorable.
    As I think about how to respond to his email, a text from him comes in asking what I think he should wear to the show on Friday. My poor mind can’t keep up with him. He’s all over the place.
    But, hey, I know what you should wear, Niles.
    How about Not. A. Thing?
    After my cheeks catch fire thanks to my naughty thoughts, I yank my mind back out of the gutter, pull myself together, and tell him that I love the black jacket he’s worn in the past, but I think it will be way, way, way too hot for that. As in, 90 degrees hot. He says he’ll wear it anyway and ditch it when the sweat starts pouring. I shiver. Niles Russell is wearing my favorite jacket. Because I asked him to. Wow. I couldn’t even get Brad to wear a shirt without holes in it on the rare occasions we went to the mall.
    “Kallie, I just want to prepare you . . .”
    Uh-oh.
    “I’m not the most outgoing guy IRL. So if I’m a little awkward after the show, don’t be surprised. I figured I’d better just apologize in advance.”
    Not outgoing? That makes no sense. All of our conversations, his stage presence, the zillions of interviews I’ve seen him do. If he’s not outgoing, then he’s a darn good faker.
    “I hide behind my music. But you probably know something about that, don’t you?”
    I let this digest a second, then shake my head as if he can see me. I have no idea where he is going with this.
    “You don’t need to hide behind your words with me, Kallie. When we meet on Friday, be yourself. And I’ll be me. Let’s at least try. Deal?”
    Oh. So that’s what he meant.
    Okay, then.
    “Deal.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    Ring My Bell (Or, My Cell)
    It’s finally concert day, and I’m on my way, gripping the steering wheel as if it will fly out of my hands if I dare loosen up. I hate highway driving and the venue is a good hour and a half away. Not good news for me, right?
    The only thing squelching my fears is my brain’s constant replay of our last conversation. In the few days we’ve been talking, Niles has apparently gotten to know me better than I know myself. How could that be? He didn’t watch a hundred interviews of me, like I did him. He doesn’t know my friends. Or my family. Or the really real story behind my relationship with Brad. I don’t