#fangirlproblems Read online

  He waves a hand in front of my face. “Talitha?”

  When did I tell him my name? I don’t remember introducing myself. Maybe I did. Everything’s a blur.

  I blink. A shirt, right. I’m not sure I have anything big enough. He’s really tall and lanky, but it’s not like he doesn’t have muscle. Because I’m looking. His muscles aren’t in question.

  “Um,” I stutter, still having a hard time focusing on his face. “I think I have an oversized hoodie.”

  It’s oversized for me, at least.

  “Lead the way,” he says, moving one of his arms.

  How could such a little gesture make me so crazy? I’m absolutely nuts right now. It’s too much to be with him like this. I better find that hoodie fast.

  My feet don’t work that well when my brain is rattled. I tear my eyes off his amazing abs and wobble over to the front closet. Hoodie...hoodie... It’s a boy’s L, so it should do the trick, hopefully.

  I stay in the closet and hold out the sweater with pinched fingers like it’s dangerous. If I turn around to look, it’ll all be over.

  He takes it from me. “Are you going to stay in there all night?” he says a second later.

  Does that mean he’s dressed? I turn around to see his nakedness covered, thank goodness. I was having way too many inappropriate thoughts a second ago. All right, I still am.

  He reaches a hand behind his head to do a nervous-neck-scratch thing and a little of his skin shows right above his jeans. That’s way worse than him being bare-chested.

  I flip around to close the closet door, but I’m not thinking right, so my head smacks into the doorjamb.

  His hands grip my arms to keep me from falling, again. When did I become a klutz? It wasn’t that long ago when I was vaulting over the fence.

  “Are you okay?”

  No. I’m not okay. I’m a walking embarrassment.

  “Yeah,” I say, afraid to let him see just how vulnerable I am.

  He leads me to the couch and sits me down, one of his arms still around me. “Let me see,” he says, moving my hand from my forehead.

  Now that I’ve given in and let myself feel―now that I know I’m attached―it’s too much to have him so close. He’s real, he’s in my life for the moment, and I’m already going to be heartbroken when he goes.

  I jump up, spinning around and taking my first proper look at him since he got out of the shower. Crap, he was in my shower. I wonder if he touched my loofah.

  Focus.

  “Do you know when you might leave?”

  I need to prepare myself for the time when I’m going to be ruined.

  “Uh,” he says, scratching under his good ear. “I think it’ll be a while. Taehyun said they’re still looking for me so...”

  Is he saying he’s going to stick around? The urge to keep my hands busy surfaces again.

  “What do you want to eat?” I say, clapping my hands together.

  He gives me another of his signature smile. “Anything.”

  Okay, that’s a tall order, but maybe I can figure something out. Not to brag, but I’m an awesome cook. I mean, I’m going to culinary school—it’s a given.

  If I had planned ahead of time, I would’ve gotten a good cut of beef or expensive fish. I open the fridge and rummage through the options. I do have some rice, premade. I could throw veggies in it and make a stir fry, but I won’t. It seems too cliché to feed to an Asian.

  The vegetable drawer gives me a better idea. I pull out some peppers, mushrooms, and onions. If there’s one food that’s universally liked, it’s eggs. The cheese comes out next, some sliced ham, and of course, the rice. Rice in an omelet is killer good.

  I dump the ingredients on the little bit of counter I have then start searching for a cutting board.

  When I stand, Chansol's in my personal space. I step away, flattening myself against the counter, caught off guard. If this keeps happening, I might die from a heart attack.

  #fangirlproblem13

  Never being satisfied.

  “Anything I can help with?” he says, attitude still bright.

  Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation for my lost breath? “I think I got it,” I say. Honestly, I don’t like to be bothered in the kitchen. Him standing here is torturing me enough.

  He picks up a pepper. “I’m pretty good at chopping.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. Lots of people think they’re pretty good at chopping. They’re not. Knowing how much Chansol’s been babied by his eating schedule, I’m sure he’s not even close to good.

  “Really, I can handle it.”

  He points to the eggs. “I can mix those up.”

  There’s no way he knows what it takes to mix eggs to perfection. He hasn’t seen me get started yet.

  “No,” I say, flat out. “Just let me handle it.”

  He folds his arms. “What can I do then?”

  I look around my little four-by-four kitchen. “Hm, you can stand there and look handsome.” I feel a little self-conscious for being so forward, but he caught me online looking at him—I have nothing to hide. Not to mention the way I reacted to meeting him in person. He’s gotta know I think he’s the most attractive man on the planet.

  I can see my words make him even happier. A happy Chansol is the best Chansol.

  He stands next to the pantry. “Here?”

  I nod as I tie an apron around my waist. “Perfect.”

  “You sure you don’t want to chop things side by side?”

  Flirting? I swear, Chansol was just flirting with me. My heart is going a million miles an hour.

  I shove him a little, just to show how much I liked him getting his flirt on. Because any excuse to touch him is a good excuse. I mean, if he’s sticking around I should take advantage. I’ll worry about the pain tomorrow.

  Lucky for me, the only counter space big enough to chop is right next to where I placed Chansol. I get lost slicing the veggies, grating the cheese, and cracking the eggs.

  Oil’s been heating in a pan, so I throw in the crisp peppers and onions to soften them up a bit. I add some garlic too, because garlic is the best smell when you’re hungry. Gets the mouth salivating.

  I start another pan with melting butter and whisk the eggs with milk until it’s an even yellow color.

  If this omelet is going to be perfect, it has to be seasoned just right. Everything else can be fine, but if you add too much salt―it’s over.

  There’s nothing like fresh cracked pepper in eggs, so I reach for that next.

  The pepper grinder is on the second-to-the-top shelf, right above Chansol’s head. I set down my whisk and wipe my hands on the apron.

  Why did Sam think it would be a good idea to put the pepper out of my reach? I’m pretty sure the stool is in the bedroom―I needed it this morning to get my favorite jacket out of the top of the closet. Guess that means I’m going to jump for it.

  This kitchen is so small. When I get to the shelf, Chansol doesn’t have the space to move, which puts me halfway against his torso. Even though I feel his warmth through his shirt, even though I can smell the cinnamon-sugar sent wafting off his body, I don’t stop reaching. I’m determined to make this the best omelet he’s ever had. Each time I jump, I get a little higher, my fingers grazing the wood.

  Missed again. One more jump and I should―

  Chansol catches me around the waist with one arm, stopping my motion. My knees are touching his legs.

  Blood flushes to my heart, my skin goosebumping. With his other hand, he reaches behind him and pulls down the pepper. I make a grab for it, but he places it on the counter instead.

  “Talitha,” he says in a serious tone, and I raise my gaze from our feet to his face.

  Bad idea. Dark puppy-dog eyes are digging straight into my insides. I don’t have secrets anymore. Chansol’s eyes can see right through me.

  Without saying a word, he knows exactly how crazy I am about him.

  I try to back away, but he has me tight. “Coupon,” h
e says, pulling out my FREE HUG card and setting it next to the pepper.

  Now? It’s probably good I turned everything to a low heat, but still.

  His other arm wraps around me, holding me captive. I know I owe him an embrace, but I can’t bring myself to move my arms from my side.

  My culinary reflexes are screaming to lean forward and grab that stupid grinder, but Chansol’s face has me captivated.

  He nods toward the shelf. “Anything else you need me to get?”

  All the food ideas I had a second ago are gone. Flown straight out of my brain. The only thing I notice is Chansol’s perfect mouth. I swallow, not daring to leave, but also not daring to stay.

  “No. I―”

  He cuts me off with a kiss, his hands pressing into my spine. That perfect mouth―lips I’ve admired for so long―have made contact with mine. His fingers dig into my back as he lifts me up, so he doesn’t have to bend down so far.

  I don’t understand how this is happening. I’m just his fan. I’ve done nothing to deserve this, even if I’ve been wishing for it forever.

  Half of me thinks I’m so unworthy I need to run the other direction, but the other half is in the moment, where my mouth is moving to the rhythm of Chansol’s. His breath is sweet and spicy, just like him—a cinnamon tang that fills my nose and makes my mouth water.

  Finally, I allow myself to realize he’s not leaving anytime soon, and I sure as heck am not going to be the one to end this kiss.

  My trembling fingers dare to touch his sides. At first, I just grip the edges of his sweater, but the more we kiss, the braver I get. My hands splay across his back, pressing him closer to me until his abs are right against my chest.

  Chansol picks me up and swings me around, setting me on the counter and knocking all the food away. Now his face is leveled with mine, our lips synchronizing as our heads turn, noses brushing.

  His breath tickles my skin as he steps back for some air. We’re both panting, and my lips feel swollen.

  He gives me another soft kiss, and I lean forward for more, hungry for his touch.

  “Wait,” Chansol says, not stepping back but not kissing me, either.

  Our lips aren’t touching, but the tingle of energy lingers between us.

  Chansol closes his eyes and I feel his desire this time. He wants to kiss me again, and I want to be kissed.

  “We should stop,” he says, but then he tips his chin up so our mouths meet again.

  This time my hands go around his neck, his strong shoulder muscles flexing under my arms. His fingers wander across my back, pulling me closer until our bodies are flushed.

  I take one deep inhale, and then lean away―breaking the kiss. Chansol stumbles forward, surprised at the sudden stop. I have to duck my head to the side to keep him from kissing me again.

  “The eggs!”

  Chansol sniffs so he smells it, too. Burnt oil, burnt vegetables, burnt eggs, ruined omelets.

  I slide off the counter and run to the stove. It’s a black disaster.

  “Crap,” I yell, turning off the burners as fast as I can.

  Everything’s a mess. This was supposed to be perfect.

  My eyes prick with tears. Chansol kissed me. I don’t know why, but it can’t be because he likes me. It was just that I was close. And here.

  Men are like that anyway, right? They see an opportunity and they go for it. He doesn’t know how much his absence will kill me. I don’t want this to be a one-night stand kind of thing.

  I’m falling for him. Not just as an idol—or even the person I’ve admired for so long. I like the man that’s in front of me. The one who saved me, took care of me, and kissed me so passionately I could’ve sworn he loved me too.

  The tears continue to prick at me as I scrape the burnt eggs into the sink. I haven’t done one smart thing since I came face to face with him, but this takes the cake for the worst of them all.

  It’s over. I don’t even know what I’m doing, thinking I could cook for him. Like that would make a difference in the course of our lives. He’s an idol―he can’t stay with me.

  “I should go to my room,” I say, my back turned to him. It’ll be easier to let him go if I don’t have to watch it. “I’ll order you some food first.”

  There’s a pizza place close by and I have my credit card on file for their website.

  All I know right now is that a knife is stuck in my heart and he has the power to twist it and kill me, or pull it out and let it bleed. Either way, I’m damaged for life.

  #fangirlproblem14

  There’s no separating the fangirl from the emotions.

  With my head hung low, I start retreating.

  Chansol puts his arms around me, pulling me into his chest in a back hug. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll stick around for a while.”

  I twirl around—breaking his grip—my vision fuzzy with tears. That kiss was too amazing. His arms around me feel too good. The sound of his soothing voice does too many things to my soul.

  “A while?” I say, backing away until I’m in the living room. Distance. “What are you even doing here, really?”

  I need to know, because each second I spend with him becomes more tainted.

  “Talitha.” Even the sound of my name on his lips is overwhelming. “It’s not what you think.”

  What does that mean? Is it because he knows what a weakness he is to me? Does he understand how much it hurts knowing it can’t last? Because right now, I feel like he’s taking advantage of my feelings for some physical pleasure.

  “Then what?” I say. “Any second, Taehyun will call and I’ll never see you again. Dammit, Chansol, I care about you. This can’t be some fling. Not for me.”

  “I know,” he says, pulling at the sides of his hair.

  I scoff. He knows? If he really knew, he never would’ve followed me outside. If he understood what the simple act of him being near me does, he wouldn’t have tortured me this way.

  I wait, arms folded and eyebrows raised.

  “No one’s calling me,” he says.

  I’m not sure I heard that right. If I did, that would mean he actually wants to stay here― which doesn’t make sense. “I’m sorry?”

  He smiles. “I told them not to bug me. The concert’s been pushed back a day because of the media, and―”

  “Hang on.” I have to stop him because I need to understand what he’s saying.

  So, he wasn’t honest about someone coming to get him, and he’s been making excuses ever since we got here. I’m not even sure if anything he said was one-hundred-percent truth.

  I should forgive him for lying. I should be ecstatic because he did all those things to spend more time with me, but I don’t get why he needed to do it that way.

  One look at him and those big dark eyes melt me. How can I hate him when he’s so beautiful? I can’t just let it go, though; he needs to understand.

  “There’s something I don’t think you get,” I say. “It’s great that you’re staying. I want you to stay. But it’s not enough. That kiss―” I have to stop because I’m choking up. It’s hard to talk about what just happened because I want to pretend it was a dream.

  I only imagined feeling his hands all over me. Only envisioned being so close to him we were practically one person.

  “That kiss,” I say again, the lump in my throat making it hard to talk, “is just a tease. It’s a reminder of what I’ll never have. I’d rather not be close to you. I don’t want to spend time with you if it’s going to end. It’s better if you go now, so I don’t fall deeper. You mean too much to me.”

  He doesn’t have any more excuses, I’ve laid it all out there.

  I don’t know what I expect―him to walk away, maybe? But he doesn’t do that.

  His head is down, so I can’t read his expression, but he’s not moving and he’s not saying anything. He lets out a sigh.

  “It doesn’t have to end,” he says, his eyes meeting mine in an attempt to pierce straight through my bra
in.

  But it does. I knew it before I even met him in person.

  With two long strides, he crosses the room to where I am. His hands cup my chin, pulling me up to his face. He kisses me before I’m aware of what’s happening.

  He slides a finger right underneath my ear, still holding my face in his hands. It takes willpower I didn’t know I possessed to not lean into him. “I meant that kiss, and I mean this one, too,” he says.

  His hands are warm on my jaw, his words drawing me to him, his lips begging me to meet him in the middle.

  I give in.

  There’s nothing like this kiss. It’s Christmas morning, and my birthday, and an X-O comeback all rolled into one. It must be a new year, too, because fireworks are exploding in my chest.

  Resistance? Ha! Resisting when he’s closed the space between us is impossible. I’m still afraid. More afraid than I’ve ever been, but if he’s serious, I have to forget that.

  I’m grateful to have him in my arms, period. It doesn’t matter what he says, there’s no guarantee he can stay. Now. This moment. It’s all we have. I can’t ruin it any longer. Not if he doesn’t want me to.

  It’s because I care. Because of my feelings, I’ll give him peace. For the moment, anyway.

  Tender kisses on supple skin makes my heart melt and my senses open. He guides me to the couch, sitting me down and tangling his fingers in my hair. I grip his waist, but the too-small hoodie keeps pulling up so my fingers are touching skin.

  It’s amazing being kissed like this. It’s almost as if I’m the only one he wants. He’s the only one I want too, which is why I have to be careful.

  “We shouldn’t,” I say in between smooches, but I’m not committed enough to pull away.

  He holds my mouth captive one more time, pulling away slowly. Moisture causes our lips to stick as he lets me go.

  “Everything okay?” he says.

  He kisses me once more like he’s still not done. I know how he feels. “We can’t go too far,” I say, my voice breathy.