Sweet & Spicy Lesbian Short Stories (GirlxGirl)

From Fan to Forever

My insides flip. This is either the greatest thing ever to happen to me or the worst, depending on whether she can smell me from this distance.

Regaining feeling in my legs, I whip open the door of my building and hurtle myself inside, then grab my camping gear and drag it in after me. The moose floatie smacks the door frame on the way in.

Cate freaking Whitney is feet away from me, filming a movie.

I hyperventilate my way up to my apartment and unlock the door with trembling hands. The familiar smell of home hits my nose—sweet-orange essential oil diffusing on the kitchen island, woven with layers of shampoo, burnt toast, and cheap coffee. Abby must be up.

I dump my camping gear and rush through the kitchen and living room toward the balcony. The apartment is as I left it, cluttered and full of low-maintenance plants. My laptop, heap of textbooks, and blanket nest are untouched on my side of the couch. Trinkets from travels, books, and pictures of friends and family take up every surface. It's disorganized—Abby prefers the term eclectic—but it's home.

I slide open the patio door and burst through to spy on the movie set.

The view is awe-inspiring. They've built a clockwork storefront over my favorite coffee shop. White tents and trailers, the back of wooden structures, and a lot of expensive film equipment clutter the intersection.

From the depths of the apartment, footsteps pad closer, and Abby says, "You smell like worn-off deodorant and sunscreen. I thought you weren't coming home until tomorrow."

"Cate Whitney is down there," I whisper-shout, scanning the dozens of people milling about the set.

"Fuck off!" Abby screams, rushing beside me to peer over the balcony.

I clap a hand over her mouth. "Shh!"

Abby pries my hand off. "You saw her?"

"Right as I was coming inside." I wrack my brain for the last headline I saw about Cate Whitney. "She must be filming Clockwork Curie."

There she is. She's with a group of people behind the cameras, pointing at a monitor and nodding. She's easy to spot because of the outfit but also because of that abnormally attractive Hollywood look. What is with that?

"Clockwork what?" Abby says.

"It's a steampunk movie about Marie Curie," I whisper. "The scientist. We were talking about it in class not long ago."

As if a high-budget movie about science hero Marie Curie isn't awesome enough, they had to go and cast Cate Whitney as the lead. Excuse me while I cry feminist tears.

"Abby, she was, like, ten feet away from me," I say, making sure she understands the situation.

I peel my gaze away from the set. Abby is wearing a smart navy blazer and no pants. Her thick, dark hair is styled to emphasize its natural waves, she's wearing makeup, and her oversized glasses are unusually free of smudges.

"What's up with you?" I ask.

"Virtual job interview."

"What company?"

"Enough about me. Are you going to try and meet Cate?"

My heart jumps at the question like I've just been dive-bombed by an angry crow. "What? No. She's working."

"Girl, you've been obsessed with her since before you knew you were a lesbian. Remember the magazine pictures taped to your high school locker?"

"Shh!" I say, dragging Abby inside. I slam the patio door and round on her. "I can't just walk up to her!"

"Sure you can. Rachel, this is the universe bringing you an opportunity," she says, picking lint off her blazer. "Seize it."

I rub my tired eyes. Cate Whitney really is a queer icon. Between her film roles, her wardrobe, and being an outspoken ally, I'm positive that if someone were to poll all of the lesbians and ask them to rank their top celebrity crushes, she would win the popular vote.

I guess I could try to say hi to my hero. The prospect sends a nervous thrill through my chest. "What would I even say?"

Abby opens the bamboo privacy screen we use as a backdrop during video calls, which conveniently masks the surrounding disaster. "I don't know. Big fan of your work?"

"Ugh, that's so normal."

"If you want her to remember you for something abnormal, fine, but I think you're better off sticking with something average here."

"Fair enough." I hesitate, heart thumping. Then I shake my head firmly. "No, I can't. It's too awkward."

"You have to!"

Carefully, she places her laptop in front of the dirty dishes and unfolded laundry on the kitchen table.

"You just want me out of the apartment during your interview," I say.

"Well, yes, but I also want you to seize the day. Do it. I'm not letting you back in until you say at least one word to her."

"Excuse me?" I say, laughing.

"You heard me, Rachel Henrietta Janssen," she says severely. "I'm shoving you out the door and bolting it until you succeed."

"What if I'm not allowed on se—"

"I double dare you," she says in a girly tone reminiscent of our high school slumber parties.

"Oh, shut it."

She makes chicken noises and I throw a tissue box at her. It bounces off her chest.

"Did Amelia Earhart let people stop her from achieving her goals?" she asks, waving her arms.

"Amelia Earhart died while achieving her goal, Abby."

"Beside the point. You'll thank me later."

I chew my lip. As uncomfortable as it would be to approach a celebrity, I would live my life in deep regret if I didn't do it. Cate Whitney is more than a celebrity crush. She's a legend, an icon who helped me discover my sexuality and come out.

"It's not like you're the only one. I saw a couple of girls leaning over the fence to get pics with the actors last night," Abby says, a wry smile on her lips, like she knows I'm at my tipping point.

I can't help it—my face breaks into a grin. "Dare accepted. I'll ask her to sign the back of my phone."

I grab a permanent marker from the jar on the counter.

"An autograph? What kind of person in this day and age—" Abby stops, probably remembering that the alternative is to ask for a selfie, and I hate having my picture taken. "I guess having Cate Whitney's signature on the back of your phone would be cool."

"Hell yeah, it would. Do I have time to shower before your interview?"

"Yes!" Abby squeals in excitement. She opens her laptop and settles into a chair, checking the position of the privacy screen. "You've got twenty-four minutes to get out of here. Why are you back early, anyway? How was camping?"

"Good luck with your interview," I shout, racing to the bathroom.

My attempt to dodge her question doesn't work, and she chases after me.

"How was camping, Rachel?"

"Fine!"

"Liar."

Ugh, she's too perceptive.

Before I can shut the door, she wedges her hand between it and the frame.

"What happened with Julia, Rachel?"

~

That's the end of Chapter 1! I'm so excited for this book launch! I'll add the pre-order link as an External Link to this chapter, and you can also find it on my website at tianawarner.com