Page 124 of Charming Like Us
“Let him know you’re thinkin’ about him,” Donnelly finishes.
“And that’s why you don’t take dating advice from Paul Donnelly,” I say and flip over my phone. No new text.
He must be sleeping.
But damn I wish he were awake and wanted to hang out. Even if it was a five-minute,hey there, looking good, Highland,kind of convo.
“Call him,” Farrow suggests.
“I shouldn’t wake him up.” I stare at my blank phone screen. “He had a horrible time trying to film Charlie this afternoon. Couldn’t ask him a single question since every time he opened his mouth, paparazzi shouted at him.”
Farrow chews gum slowly. “About your kiss?”
“Yeah.”
Silence eats at our booth, and the sound of billiards balls clinking seems louder.
“It’s annoying as fuck,” Farrow finally says. “Paparazzi, the hate online, but some weeks are better than others.”
I flip my phone again, realizing how much frustration I’ve been feeling. “The hate towards Jack is nuts, bro. These fans of mine, who are obsessed with the imaginary mother-effing romance between me and Charlie, will notstop. One told him togochokeanddiethe other day.” I’ve heard this kind of fandom language before and hardly blinked, but now that it’s directed at someone I have feelings for…
It stings.
I’d rather be the one they’re playing target practice with.
“They’re not fans,” Donnelly says. “They’re stans, but most likelyantis.”
“Ananti?” Farrow arches his brows.
“I’m with Redford. What the hell is that?” I know what a stan is—in short, an overly passionate fan. But I’m not as deeply involved in fandom culture like Donnelly. Though, I do keep up with it better than Farrow.
“Anti-fans, anti-shippers,” Donnelly explains. “They root hardcore against a couple. Like hate-watching a TV show, but real life, man. It’s my least favorite part of a fandom. No love, all hate.”
Fuck.“Now we’re dealing with anti-shippers? It’s my fault,” I continue, “what’s happening to Jack is on me. You date me, I come with baggage.”
Farrow leans forward. “See, that’s not what we’re doing here is blaming yourself. You didn’t create Oslie, and you can’t get rid of online bullshit and anti-fuckers. But you’re going to find a way to protect Jack because you’re Oscar Oliveira.”
I nod slowly.
Yeah.
I have to find a way. Because that’s the only avenue where I come out feeling like I’m worthy of being in a relationship.
“How much are you charging me for that advice, Redford?” I ask lightly, the mood lifting with my words.
“Eh, it’s free. I’m writing it up under,I couldn’t look at your face anymore.”
Donnelly laughs.
“Aw, fuck you.” I flip Farrow off, and we’re all grinning. For a moment, I start forgetting that Jack hasn’t texted me back.
SFO finishes their pool game, and Thatcher, Akara, Banks, and my little brother slide into our booth. We shoot the shit about the Phillies, Thatcher’s upcoming wedding, and Epsilon who keeps eyeing us to death.
Jealous motherfuckers.
“Get outta Philly!” a couple drunk guys yell from the bar.
I clamp a hand on Donnelly’s shoulder as he pops up. He shuts his mouth as his ass hits the seat. I’m sure he was about to yell,“We’re from Philly!”
