Crazy Ex-Fangirl Read online

  I chuckle flirtatiously. “OK, you’re not a rule breaker. It’s fine. I’m not really one to get autographs from a celebrity.”

  “I need to attend to the next person in line." I can tell he is trying to be polite as possible, but losing patience quickly.

  I slide a piece of notepaper across the table. “Here’s my phone number. Ring me later once you’re finished here. We could have a little fun backstage … if you like. No strings attached. Quick and dirty.” My lips curl at one side.

  He turns the full weight of his gaze on me, and doesn’t say a word for a long time, like his brain is ticking away. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  The loud music in the arena thumps in my ears, but my brain is turning down the flashing lights and putting on music that, in my mind, sounds a lot like ‘bwa chi chi waa waa’.

  I nod dumbly as he picks up my phone number between his thick fingers, and for one, seemingly eternal retina-searing moment, he just looks at me, lets me see all of the sex positions he has planned for us play out behind his sinful gaze. I feel my entire face suffuse with heat.

  I am like honey to a bee.

  I smile with high confidence as I leave, glancing over my shoulder to find his eyes still on mine, my heart pounding, and my faith in myself floating in Cloud Nine. Those dark eyes of his are promising me he will take me in ways that will have me forever praying for my sins, as he folds up my phone number and…

  …throws it in the rubbish bin.

  Wait, what?

  Did that bee just sting me?

  His gaze, glazed with amusement, clamps down on mine. I shift my feet uncomfortably as a cocky smirk plays across his devilishly handsome features. I should look away, run away. I am humiliated. But I find my eyes riveted to his. There is a small twinkle in his eyes, a slight amusing smile. It should be a good thing, given the rarity, like catching a unicorn. But in this circumstance, it’s a bad thing. His smile is mocking me.

  And then his expression darkens, like I was a thorn in his flesh; one he picked out and casted off — just like my phone number. He finally breaks eye contact, and I watch him turn his head around to glance up at Delphine, reaching out to sign her Tempest baseball cap.

  That … arrogant bastard.

  I didn’t do anything wrong, I tell myself with resolve. I am, after all, entitled to want to blow off a little steam and have a good time every once in a while, right? Right.

  I suddenly feel an irrational surge of anger and start to march straight back to him, with my head held firmly high.

  Fake it until you make it.

  He could have easily slipped my phone number away and never call. He could have left our parting at a polite, respectable level.

  "You’re one of my favourite boxers, Tempest," I hear Delphine say to him.

  "Thanks. Who should I make this out to?" Lenic asks her politely.

  “I don't know what makes you think you're so important,” I spit at him, eyes narrowed. He flicks his gaze at me. It isn’t pleasant. It isn’t kind. It is the look a man has when faced with a crazy, wild thing. Something untamed, something unpredictable. Something damn frustrating.

  “You mind?” he says. “The lady’s getting her autograph.”

  “The lady’s my best friend.” I look at Delphine. “I really am sorry for this. You don’t mind, do you? I only need a minute, I promise.”

  “Um … no, it’s fine,” she replies, looking at me like I’m insane.

  “Thank you. I owe you one.”

  My eyes narrow at the man in question, all that gorgeous thick hair and height and piercing dark eyes — Lenic Reevus, The Tempest, whatever — and try not to react with too much hostility.

  “I think someone — outside your brown-nosing entourage — needs to tell you that just because you’re famous and good-looking, doesn’t mean you can show an insensitive and cruel disregard for others.”

  A bulky security guard from behind the famous boxer steps forward. Lenic holds his hand up, shakes his head. The security guard moves back, keeping a stern glare on me.

  I continue my onslaught. “You wanted me to see you discard my phone number into the rubbish bin. You smiled at me when you did it. I saw you. You got off on making me feel small and insignificant, didn’t you? Like you’re King of the damn world. But you’re not. You’re the biggest jerk.”

  The cocky look on his face only riles me up further. “All I did — was throw away something I don’t need.”

  My anger isn’t from his rejection. It’s the manner in which he rejected me. “You should be more generous and kind to your fans. After all, we’re the ones who support you, make you.”

  “You want me to screw every woman who gives me her number … so that I don’t come off as an arsehole who’s ungrateful to his fans? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes,” I say firmly, then pause, a little confused. “I guess…” I add more weakly. I realise my point is leading me towards a lack of good sense and judgment.

  “That’s a beautiful mind you got there.” His tone is cocky, arrogant. “I don’t sleep with fans.”

  “You should try it. Might put a rare smile on your dark, miserable face for once. You know, it doesn’t hurt to smile.”

  His piercing gaze falters for a second, breaking away from mine, before he parks his elbows on the table and leans forwards, throwing another punch. “Partying’s not my thing. Some of us work for a living.”

  Is he insinuating that I don’t work? “Are you calling me a gold digger?” He smoothes a hand along the nearly shorn sides of his head, the look of a man who thinks he is King.

  “I call it like I see it.”

  “How dare you? What right do you have to judge me?” I hiss back. “I spend more time working hard than playing hard.”

  “Is that right?” His eyes sweep a slow perusal of my body. I swallow, feeling the heat of my anger in my chest slowly move down between my legs. “Something in entertainment, huh?”

  Did he just infer I’m a stripper, a lap dancer? A webcam girl? “Yes, correct — but not in the way you’re so obviously thinking. I’m a vlogger. I work extremely hard making lifestyle videos for my one million subscribers.” I straighten up, feeling like I’ve taken the throne.

  He leans casually back in his chair, crosses his arms. “How the hell do you make a living from that?” His tone is laced with superiority, like my career is meaningless, juvenile.

  “Why don’t you tell me first how you make a living from punching a man in the face,” I retort, as we appraise each other like warring lions. “You ugly faces. I pretty them. I know which one I deem more valuable in people’s lives.”

  I note the hard, calculating look in those black eyes as they traverse the venue, the large crowd, and take in the stench and density of the air around us. “If I slept with every fan who wanted it — I wouldn’t have time to eat, sleep or do anything else.”

  And Delphine thinks I’m the vainest of them all.

  “You’re an incredibly egotistical man, you know that, right?”

  He rubs his jaw, glancing at the rubbish bin behind him. “Show her the bin, Doug,” he says to the security guard. The man built like a brick wall picks up the metal bucket and angles it down so I’m able to see the contents. There are at least a hundred discarded phone numbers inside.

  I watch his large shoulders rise and fall as he heaves out a heavy breath, then stretches his back. He’s losing his patience. “Are we understanding each other now?” he asks, looking at me with an oblique disinterest. “Are we done here? Your friend’s waiting.”

  Indignation sweeps through me like a hot wash, and I am hell-bent on throwing the knockout punch. “Ohhhh … I see…” I smirk, long enough for irritation to tense his body. “Yes, we are understanding each other now. Of course you’re not interested … So the tabloids were right...” An uppish chuckle comes from my lips, and I glance over at Delphine. She stands awkwardly, a sheepish expression on her face. “He’s answered our question.
”

  “What question?” he grunts, with a pissed expression on his face

  I turn to him. “That you bat for the other team and I don’t mean the terrorists.”

  His coffee spills over the table as he slams his large fists down in front of him, hard enough to make me flinch. He makes a noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “You saying I'm gay? I'm not gay.” His usual cocksure manner has cracked. I’ve struck a raw nerve. There’s been a lot of media hype in the tabloids questioning his sexuality due to his scarce public sex life. “For the hundredth time,” he spits, “that picture of me with Cross is not what it looked like. My arsehole manager likes playing to the damn crowd.”

  That very picture of Lenic being kissed on the lips by another good-looking man is my desktop image.

  “It doesn’t help your case when you turn down a solid nine-and-a-half willing girl...” I squint my eyes at him and give him a come-out-of-the-closet look. “I believe everything I read in the newspapers.”

  Thinking I’ve gained the upper hand, and believing this evening couldn’t crush my soul any more, he hits me below the belt with, “Maybe you’re not my type of girl. You think that could be the case?”

  I feel my stomach clench and my mood takes a dramatic turn for the worse. But I don’t show hurt. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I was hoping for fireworks with Lenic Reevus. But there is none of that here. There is just ugly disappointment, like a quickie that never hits the spot.

  Reality never lives up to the hype. Lenic Reevus is rude, bitter and maybe gay — and not the sexy straight kind.

  My thoughts backpedal desperately in my head as I fight to remember just how I ended up here — how I came to the conclusion that this was the only possible end result of dealing with today’s anniversary.

  God, I am the architect of my own misfortune.

  I fight back the gut-wrenching trembling that threatens to overtake me. What am I even doing here? Seriously. Today marks a dark time, but I am fine. I am always fine. I’ll leave while I still have some dignity, while I’m still whole. I won’t let myself care.

  I look down confidently at the way my bright-red dress hugs every sexy curve of my toned body, then raise my eyebrow at him, with an outward look that screams I know I’m his type, even though inwardly I know I’m not.

  I park my hands on the table and lean forwards, pulse racing. “You should show a little more respect to your fans — even the desperate, pathetic ones — because every woman deserves to be treated right. You don’t get a pass because you’re famous. Ever heard of the Wheel of Fortune?” I don’t give him time to answer. “If you’re not careful, one day your ego will strike you down and you’ll fall from a great height.”

  I straighten up, and smile mirthlessly down at him. “I’m delighted we didn’t screw. You’re a humourless jerk who wouldn’t know what fun is, even if it knocked on your door and slapped you in the face. There’s plenty of more sharks in the sea for me to spend tonight with. Enjoy your miserable lonely life, Tempest.”

  There is a flash in his eyes that betray emotions, and for a moment, he looks hurt. But it is too brief, and the arena is too full, and the sound of an announcement rings too loudly in my ears, and there is nothing left to say.

  Not breaking my smile, I turn on my heel and walk away, willing my heartbeat to slow down. All I wanted was the familiarity of a strong man to take me tonight and help me forget the pain.

  My smile falters, but I hold strong. Tomorrow the shadows clear, like they always do.

  I only need to survive tonight.

  2

  “I’LL JUMP IN AND GET YOU MYSELF.”

  LENIC

  “ARE YOU HOOKING up with Daniel?” Delphine asks, as we wander through the twists and turns of the well-lit corridors backstage. I strangely find it comforting following the map to West’s changing room, an activity for my mind to focus on that doesn’t involve a certain rude bastard.

  Daniel is the lawyer I met at the main bar. After my contention with Lenic Reevus, we fell into shots of hard liquor like carrion birds on a corpse. “I’d rather make it a girls’ night only — and West.” I wrap my arm underneath hers. Daniel was lovely and sweet, but frustratingly there was no wish fulfillment. A certain stuck-up ex Marine won’t stop running through my damn mind, and I don’t want anyone else.

  She smiles at me, squeezes my arm. “How near is West’s room? I really need to use his loo,” Delphine says, urgently.

  “Just ahead, on the left — hold on.” I halt my footsteps, my eyes landing on a door to the side of us. The sign ‘Lenic Reevus’ hangs in the middle, and the door is slightly ajar. I push the door open a little farther, and see it is empty. My gaze drifts towards a bar, a table, a seating area, and I see a MacBook resting on the armrest of a leather sofa chair.

  I rush into the room. “A man’s laptop can only mean one thing — I’ll put a tenner on a threesome. Two men, one very busty girl. Did you see his hands? I’ve never seen such big ones. He’d want plenty to hold on to—”

  “Don’t do it.” Delphine stands by the archway, looking nervously out the corridor.

  “A little research won’t hurt. And it’ll most likely be password protected.” I lift up the laptop lid and a smile blooms on my face instantly. It’s already switched on and logged into his browser.

  “I’m not coming in,” she hisses in a whisper.

  “I won’t be long. Keep a lookout.”

  I lean forwards to peer at the screen, and it takes me a moment to digest what I'm looking at. I grimace. “That is … just wrong.”

  “Oh God, what is it? Is it animal porn?”

  I shoot her a look. “Why did your mind go straight to the bottom?”

  “What is it? What’s he looking at?”

  I turn the laptop around to show her the screen. “Fishing.”

  “Fishing porn?”

  “No, fishing. As in ‘I am a total loser and have no life.’” I shake my head. “He’s reading: ‘Top five bait to catch trout.’” I glance over at my friend. “Wow, Lenic Reevus really knows how to party. What a badass.” I do a quick scan of his search history, but it’s riddled with fishing and something called Paleo. “Who chooses fishing over sex?”

  She shrugs. “Come on. I don’t want to be caught snooping in his room.”

  I close the lid of the laptop and teeter my way out of the room, but I pause at the threshold of his door. Part of my brain is telling me that I’m about to do something stupid. Well, I tell that part of my brain, it won't be the first stupid thing I've done tonight.

  “You coming, Flick?”

  I glance back to the sofa, my drunken gaze zeroed in on the laptop. “I’ll meet you in West’s room in a minute,” I tell her, grabbing her signed baseball cap as I totter back inside. “I just need to do something first.”

  “IS THIS PRIVATE land?” Delphine asks, as we stand on the dock, looking out across the North Sea.

  It’s eleven o’clock at night, but as soon as we headed back from the city to our hometown, we came straight here. This place was a favourite haunt in my childhood.

  I pass her the bottle of red wine. “West and I used to come here all the time when we were young. Old Marsden gave us permission to do so. He knew my grandpa well and trusted us not to run amuck.”

  “But it is private land?”

  “Yes.” Staring into the void of darkness surrounding us, the only sounds I hear are the creaking of Marsden’s boat home that is anchored close by, the crickets croaking, and the strong wind that has picked up suddenly. “It’s a shame West was unable to escape his duties at Box Fest. He most likely would have recanted some embarrassing stories that took place here.” I grin at her. “That I may or may not have been involved in.”

  She offers me the bottle. “But Marsden doesn’t mind you coming here now? Even after five years?”

  “I should think so,” I say, slightly unsure. I take a sip of wine. “Do you remember me mentioning Vanessa Marsden and h
er bloodthirsty pack of gossips?”

  Delphine nods slowly. She’s only been living in my childhood nosey seafront neighbourhood since I moved back three months ago. I know this place like the back of my hand, and my reputation is still the subject of gossip. It seems, just because I escaped five years ago, doesn’t mean I get a do-over to erase the past.

  “She’s Marsden’s younger wife. I don’t understand why he tied himself to a woman like her. He’s quite pleasant, but she’s the opposite of pleasant. She’s the kind of person who expects the world to provide.” I glance across the dark sea. “But it doesn’t work that way. You need to go out there and earn it for yourself.”

  Breathing in the familiar scent of the surroundings, this place, the water, takes me keenly back. It really doesn’t look much different from the days West and I would spend time here, escaping the trials and tribulations of teenage hood. But the reality is, everything changes. Sometimes it is so slow, we barely notice. Then other times, it is abrupt, and life is never the same again.

  “Are you going to accept Daniel’s offer for a date next weekend? He seems nice.”

  “No. It wouldn’t be fair on him.”

  “Why? You’re pretty, young and single.”

  I sigh. “I can’t help it. I’ve really tried. But all I can think about is doing Lenic Reevus in the most filthiest imaginable ways possible.”

  “You still want to sleep with him?”

  “Now it’s confirmed he’s an utter bastard — yes. Very much so. I still hate him but angry sex is the ultimate pleasure.” I set the bottle of wine down on the wooden dock.

  “Can’t argue with you there,” Delphine laughs.

  We both groan in displeasure when a light patter of rain starts to fall.

  British summers.

  I roll my thumb across my silver-sterling charm bracelet and sigh heavily. Lenic was supposed to be a distraction tonight. Feeling despondent, the urge to do something precipitous takes over again.

  “I think we should end the night skinny dipping,” I suggest, teetering to a standing position, using my friend’s shoulder to balance myself.