I kissed the Sexiest Man Alive. Of course I’m going to internet-stalk.
I feel a little hot when I type in his name, though I don’t know why. The guy is one of the most-searched men on the planet. Checking his social media accounts is no big deal. Maybe he’s even tweeting about the crazy fangirl he kissed this week.
Only.
Huh.
I stare at my computer screen, reading an article lamenting that Chase James isn’t on social media. Apparently, he’s low-key and private like that. My opinion of him goes even higher. I click a few more links and find that, though he’s not on social media himself, he does have a lot of fan accounts devoted to him. My heart stops when I click on a red-carpet photo. He’s staring into the camera like he knows all my secrets. I’ve been on the receiving end of that stare, and it’s even more devastating in person. He’s even more devastating in person.
Next, I click on a timeline of his relationship with his costar. It says, despite rumors, they broke up years ago amid much drama and tears—hers, not his. He’s single.
I’m glad. At least he’s not a cheater who goes around kissing random girls.
I touch my lips, still feeling the imprint of his kiss. With my other hand, I touch the screen, tracing his lips.
Slowly blowing out a breath, I continue clicking on images. Him arriving at an airport, surrounded by paparazzi, and at a hospital, visiting children. I smile at the hero worship in the eyes of the kids. He’s dressed in his The Wanderers outfit, an Indiana Jones look that works for him, big time.
I click again, and there’s a video of him walking down a New York street. My eyes get big as I take in the five bodyguards walking with him. Girls break away from the crowd, trying to grab any piece of him they can. He walks fast, eyes down. The bodyguards close in, forming a human shield, as the women follow. I click off, feeling guilty for even viewing the recording. I’m stalking him as well.
At the café, he approached me warily, as if he was uncertain of my reaction. He hesitated before letting his hood fall back and revealing his recognizable face.
The video leaves me disturbed; I have to wipe the icky feeling away. I manage that with a photo of Chase from a magazine shoot, looking far more comfortable in front of the camera, even shirtless. Damn, he has abs for days.
“Busy working?” A familiar voice breaks through my thoughts.
I jump, almost falling out of my chair. Daisy looks down at me with a grin. I’d been so focused on the screen—on Chase James’s abs—I hadn’t noticed Daisy walk up next to me.
“No! Yes! I mean, I didn’t see you come in. Are you on your lunch break? Audrey’s around somewhere.” I lean forward, subtly trying to block the screen.
Confession time: I’m a bad friend. I haven’t told Daisy about my close encounter of the celeb kind. I plan to tell her. It will be fun to talk with someone about it, especially Daisy, who gets so excited about everything. But I want to keep it to myself for just a little longer, like a delicious secret.
I take a deep breath and exhale. I almost got caught ogling Chase James on a computer screen.
How mortifying.
“Whoa, easy, girl.” Daisy laughs, leaning against the side of the desk. “You’re all pink and breathing hard.”
“I was…doing exercises in the back a few minutes ago.”
“Really?” Daisy looks skeptical.
I can’t blame her. I never work out, and I certainly wouldn’t start in the stockroom at work. I’m the worst liar ever.
“Yes. I need to get more fit,” I babble, doubling down. “I read an article about how you should break up exercises into short segments throughout the day. Improves your mood and circulation.”
“You know what’s great exercise? Dancing.” Daisy swivels her hips in a slinky move. “I’m going to the Red Room tonight, and you’re coming with me!”
The Red Room is actually not red. And it’s not a room. It’s a nightclub. I usually resist when she tries to drag me out, choosing to stay in and text with Remington, watch old movies, read, write—anything that doesn’t involve getting dressed up and mingling with strangers, especially not in a crowded bar with too-loud music.
Though I did like mingling with Chase James, especially that part when our lips mingled.
My eyes glaze over as I remember The Kiss once again.
“Olivia!”
I startle. “Huh? Sorry. What did I miss?”
“Oh, nothing. You agreed to go out with me tonight.”
“I did not. Don’t you have a store to run?”
She shrugs. “There were no customers, so I got bored.”
“There will never be any customers if every time they try to call or stop by, you’re always closed in the middle of the day.”
“I’m just popping in for a few minutes. I deserve a break. Why are you trying to get rid of me?” She leans over the counter until she can see the computer screen and lets out a laugh.
I sigh. Caught. Damn.
“Chase James. Well, well, well. I didn’t know you had the hots for him.”
“I don’t!” I blush. “I mean, I’m just, um…” Yeah, I have nothing.
“Don’t worry. I won’t spill your secret.” Her eyes twinkle. “I’m just surprised. I’ve never heard you talk about him before. You only seem to like those old mysteries and film noirs.”
“Hey, old movies are the best.” Audrey strolls up to the desk, carrying a stack of books. She drops them on the table next to me with a loud thud. “They don’t make heroes like Gregory Peck anymore,” she says with a sigh.
“Love the outfit. You channeling Audrey Hepburn today?”
“Well, we do share the same name. And taste,” Audrey says with a grin. Audrey is obsessed with, well, Audrey. And Marilyn, Grace, Ava, and the rest of the classic movie stars. All her outfits are inspired by her favorite movies. Today, she’s wearing cropped pants and ballet flats paired with a black turtleneck, her hair in a cute pixie cut.
She takes in my flushed face and Daisy’s grin. “What’s going on? What did I miss?”
“We’re talking about how Olivia is a superfan of Chase James.” Daisy slaps a hand over her mouth in an expression of horror. “You won’t get a cardboard cutout, will you? Those are weird as fuck.”
I frown. I should tell Daisy and Audrey about Chase coming into the bookstore’s café. If they met someone famous, I’m sure they’d both tell me. But I still hold back. Maybe it’s because of that crazy video I just watched, the one where he can’t even walk down the street without being accosted.
It feels wrong to share, as if I’d be betraying his ability to have private moments without them becoming fodder for the gossip mill. So, feeling guilty, I decide to keep our meeting just for me. And especially our kiss. That’s for me and my dreams.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never Googled a celebrity.”
Daisy grins. “Of course I have. Just not Chase James. He’s not my type.”
“He’s everyone’s type,” Audrey argues. I mentally high-five her.
“Not mine,” Daisy insists.
“Then who is your type?” I want to get dirt on her, just in case she keeps teasing me for my crush.
She hesitates and then leans over, types on my keyboard, and clicks.
A photo of rock legend Ryder Black fills the screen. I’m not surprised she has the hots for him. Most girls do. But it surprises me she has a crush she’s never mentioned. I always think of Daisy as an open book with no filter.
“I didn’t know you liked him. You never even listen to his music.”
She shrugs. “I do. But it’s a private thing.”
Audrey smooths her hair. “The problem with celebrity crushes is that they’re pointless. It’s not like he would ever meet and fall in love with a regular girl.”
“True.” I’ve had enough of unrequited love with Remington.
Daisy crosses her arms and frowns. “Celebrities aren’t gods. They’re just people. They would be damn lucky to go out with one of us.” She turns to me. “But don’t change the subject. Start mentally preparing for our night out. I want to meet Drunk Olivia in person.”