Page 63 of Fangirl

There’s a pause, just long enough for me to second-guess myself, before my phone vibrates again.

Eli: Then do it. I’d love that.

My breath catches.

I don’t reply right away, just sit in the moment, soaking it in. This is happening. It’s really happening.

For weeks, I’ve let doubts and what-ifs cloud my mind. But now? All I feel is anticipation. Excitement. The kind of giddy, full-body thrill that makes me want to kick my feet like a teenager with a crush.

I’m going to meet Eli.In person.

I can’t wait.

Me: I can’t wait to see you.

I’ve never felt this exposed to someone I’ve never touched. Never felt so close to someone I haven’t even met. That should terrify me. But instead, I feel safe, like coming home. And that’s what scares me the most.

Eli: Same for me, Fangirl.

My grin widens, but before I can type another response, he sends one last message.

Eli: Just promise me one thing?

Me: What’s that?

Eli: No matter what happens, don’t regret us.

I pause, frowning slightly at the screen.

There’s something about the way he says it—like he knows something I don’t. Like there’s a weight to his words, a meaning hovering just below the surface.

A flicker of unease stirs in my gut, but I shake it off.

I won’t regret it. I know I won’t.

Me: I promise.

My phone stays silent. No new message. Just my own words staring back at me, waiting.

Pea stretches on my lap, his warm little body pressing into me, but even that familiar comfort doesn’t quiet the restless feeling settling deep in my bones.

What if this isn't the love story I think it is?

What if I'm wrong about him?

I press my phone to my chest, breathing hard.

The doubts don’t go away. They linger, whispering, twisting, curling around my ribs like a storm waiting to break.

CHAPTER 11

ELI

Itake a slow breath, rolling my shoulders back and forcing the tension out of them.

Will has made me feel a lot of things over the years—admiration, gratitude, exasperation, amusement, even deep concern. But never this. Neveranger. Never this simmering, visceral feeling of betrayal that’s been gnawing at me since Amy told me about his little impromptu visit to her office a week ago.

I haven’t answered his calls. Haven’t responded to hismessages. This isn’t a conversation that can happen over the phone. And honestly? My fist is already itching to meet his jaw.