Page 18 of #Starstruck

Which made me think back to the conversations I’d had with Chase that day. I realized I had felt like myself the whole time. But in a good way. I didn’t feel like I had to compensate or behave differently. I could just be me, dumb comments and all, and I never felt “less than” or like he was judging me or I’d put him off. He reminded me a little of Gavin. There was this underlying current of comfort between Chase and me. One that was instant and didn’t have to be cultivated.

Of course, it had been way buried under all the physical tension I’d felt. Like he was some live wire and I didn’t know where the next surge of power was going to come from. Or whether I’d get electrocuted by him. He seemed exciting. Maybe even a bit dangerous. It was certainly something I’d never experienced with a guy before. Just thinking about being close to him on his couch gave me goose bumps.

People always said, “Don’t meet your idols.” But they were wrong. Because real-life Chase was a million times better than on-screen Chase.

I sent Chase my information after I set up a new e-mail account. There was no way I was going to tell him my e-mail was [email protected]. About five seconds later, I got a message from One-F. He sent me some documents he wanted me to sign, including one called a nondisclosure agreement. Which basically meant that I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone about anything related to Chase. I was happy to sign that one. It gave me a legal reason not to tell Lexi everything.

Then One-F asked me to pick up Chase’s dry cleaning and sent me a picture of the receipt. He also wanted me to stop by Chase’s agent’s office to get his fan mail. Apparently the agency was overwhelmed by it and wanted it gone. He said I could drop everything off at Chase’s house, and he gave me the codes to the gate and the front door. He promised to forward the production e-mails with Chase’s daily call sheets. Which were basically the schedules for each day of shooting, listing what days Chase was to be there and his call time—when he was supposed to show up.

There were a lot of clothes to pick up at the dry cleaner’s, but the tsunami of fan mail I had to retrieve was ridiculous. It literally filled up my entire trunk. Just boxes and boxes of it. I decided to drop everything by his house on Wednesday morning, as my mom needed my help that night.

I drove out to Marabella, making sure to cruise down the main strip. I loved this quiet little town. The main street was comprised of Wild West–type storefronts in fanciful colors like pink, turquoise, and purple. It was the kind of place where the locals tore down freeway signs so tourists couldn’t find it. Marabella had the most beautiful, pristine beaches, and the natives didn’t want to share them.

Nobody had been happy when Google Maps became a thing.

As I pulled into the driveway, I got a text from Chase. He had stopped direct-messaging me on Twitter and now just texted me instead.

It was kind of hot that he owned a tux.

My mother had enough time to say hi and bye before she was gone, leaving me with my four half siblings: Zander (ten), Zane (eight), Zelda (four), and Zia (almost two). I asked them what they wanted for dinner, and Zia clapped her hands together and screamed, “’Acaroni and cheese, Zo-Zo! ’Acaroni and cheese!” I knew it wasn’t exactly healthy, but it was her favorite food in the whole world, and she was so adorable I couldn’t say no. I put my hair up into a messy bun and got started.

I somehow managed to get all their hands washed and everyone sitting at the table and eating in a reasonable amount of time. Zane was obsessed with superheroes and had on his Spider-Man costume. I convinced him it was okay to take off his gloves and remove his mask in order to eat. Zia happily got more of the mac and cheese on her face than in her mouth, Zander was more interested in his iPad than eating, and Zelda kept trying to give noodles to Mr.Wriggles, her purple panda.

“Spider-Man doesn’t eat,” Zane grumbled.

“He does eat. All the time. His aunt May makes sure of it,” I said, catching Zia’s sippy cup before it ended up on the floor. “All the superheroes eat. Even Captain Sparta.”

This was indicative of how much real estate Chase Covington currently occupied in my brain.

“Which one is he?” Zander asked.

“The awesome one!” Zane shouted, giving Zander a dirty look.

Time to intervene. “He’s the former tomb raider who found a gem that had all the spirits of ‘The 300.’ They were Spartan soldiers who single-handedly held off a Persian invasion. Some of the greatest warriors the world has ever known. And the gem gives him all the strength and abilities of ‘The 300’ combined. He goes off to New York to fight with all the other superheroes.”

Which made me think of Chase in his Captain Sparta costume.

And when he was partially out of his costume.

As if sensing my distraction, Zia announced, “I pooped.”

Sighing, I got her out of her booster seat and took her to the bedroom she shared with Zelda. Too late, I realized she had managed not only to fill her diaper but also somehow to shoot it all the way up her back to her neck. I gagged a little. “Gross, Zia.”

“Luboo, Zo-Zo.”

“I love you, too.” I sighed, carrying her at arm’s length into the bathroom. I got her cleaned and rinsed and in her pajamas fairly quickly, but it wasn’t quickly enough.

Zander and Zane were in the living room. Zane was trying to see if he could stick to walls, and Zander was ignoring him. “Don’t you have that science thing you’re supposed to be working on?” I asked. Zander rolled his eyes as he put down his tablet and got his backpack.

I couldn’t find Zelda, and it was never a good thing when she was this quiet. Not to mention I still smelled poop, which meant it was probably on me somewhere. I needed to change out of my yoga pants and old T-shirt and take a shower.

I found my sister on the floor of the pantry, her mouth stuffed with chocolate chips. “No!” I exclaimed, grabbing the bag from her. “Hurry, we have to get you to a toilet.”

She stood up when I pulled on her arm and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “I feel sick.”

Then she proceeded to projectile-vomit chocolate all over me. Although she wasn’t allergic to chocolate, Zelda had an intolerance to one of the ingredients. Our mom had been working with an allergist to figure out which one, and despite the fact that it made her throw up every time she ate it, the girl just could not stay away from it. Which I understood, because it was chocolate, after all.

Somehow she managed to get none of it on her and all of it on me. With a smile she announced, “I feel better!”

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