Chapter 24: Hot and Heavy

Eric steered his baby blue Ferrari around the hairpin turns of Mulholland Drive with a sense of exhilaration. It felt great to be behind the wheel again. He'd spent too many nights in the backseat of limo lately, and he missed the feeling of control that came from driving himself.

Why did he always have to leave his car at home when he traveled? He'd bought himself a Ferrari 458 Spider a little over a year ago to celebrate his latest album reaching multi-platinum status. But so far, the odometer still only registered a few thousand miles. Maybe he should bring his car along on the tour kicking off next month, he mused. Leave the tour bus to the roadies. There couldn't be anything in his contract that forbade him to drive himself, right? Why would the record label even have to know? Eric made a mental note to float the idea by Maury in the morning.

Maury.

Eric couldn't seem to get his manager's voice out of his head. He'd spent the whole Christmas special telecast mentally rehashing their conversation. All he had to do was sing a passable rendition of White Christmas, but he'd managed to flub the words to the second verse. What was the matter with him anyway?

"It's no one!"

"No one, huh? That's more serious. Don't tell me you're in love. . . ."

Maury didn't know what he was talking about, Eric reassured himself. His manager had only leapt to that conclusion because he didn't have all the facts. Maury didn't know about the fake Twitter account . . . or that the girl on the other end of the conversation was a fan. How could he be in love with a fan? A random fan girl who hadn't even told him her last name or where she lived – whose picture he'd never even seen?

"Ridiculous," Eric muttered as he pulled his car into the long, gated driveway of the house in the Hollywood Hills.

He rolled to a stop and popped the car door open, shivering slightly against the chill of the night air. He gave a silent salute to the monitored security camera, hidden in the bushes that flanked the front door. As he made his way inside, his hand went automatically toward the back pocket of his jeans.

But he stopped himself. He groped around for the living room light switch instead.

He didn't really need to look at his phone, did he? Not yet. Maybe not tonight at all. Maybe he needed to give it a rest – spend one night without pouring out his every passing thought to Tessa. It would be the first night in months that he hadn't fallen asleep reading her messages and imagining her voice, whispering him good night.

But he was perfectly capable of setting it aside, right?

"Don't kid yourself that this girl is different." That was what Maury had told him. "Special and unique, my ass."

With a sigh, Eric kicked off his sneakers and sprawled on the couch. Maybe this was what he needed, he told himself. Some solitude. A quiet evening at home. Put on some music and crack open a bottle of wine. No phone. No Twitter.

Where was the stereo again? His eyes wandering restlessly about the immaculate interior. Home, sweet home. All very tasteful . . . and very unfamiliar.

Who was he kidding? This place felt no more like home than any of the other swanky hotel suites where he laid his head most nights. Between his tour schedule and his acting and modeling duties, he barely cobbled together six weeks a year here in LA. He hadn't been exaggerating when he told Maury that he didn't have time for a girlfriend. Not unless he found one that he could cart along with him wherever he went – a handy-dandy girlfriend the size of a cellphone, who fit conveniently in the back pocket of his jeans.

"You know you're supposed to disclose if you have a new girlfriend, right? The publicists appreciate a heads up."

What would the publicists say, Eric wondered, if he told them the truth? Maybe he should have filled Maury in on the details. He could only imagine how his manager would have responded to that particular disclosure.

"Yes, Maury. You caught me. I'm having hot and heavy Twitter affair with an agoraphobic college drop-out who wears bunny slippers and lives with her mom."

Eric snickered to himself at the description. Special and unique, for sure – but not exactly the way his manager had meant.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder what Tessa had thought of the show tonight. He knew she must have seen it live. She'd asked him to watch it with her, so the two of them could live chat.

"Can't do it. Have to work," he'd DM'ed back to her. It was the truth, wasn't it? "But I'll catch you later tonight, OK?"

She'd probably wait up for him now. She was probably on Twitter at this very moment – gossiping about him with all the other fans. Had she caught the slip-up in the second verse? Or the flat-out lie he'd told about sledding with his dad?

"Just smile pretty for the camera and stick to the script. No one's gonna be listening too closely."

But Maury was wrong about that much at least. Someone was listening. Tessa. Maybe just one fan out of all the millions – but Eric couldn't deny the warm feeling it gave him in the pit of his stomach, just knowing she was out there, tuning in.

She listened. Maybe that was why he felt this connection to her that he couldn't seem to shake. She shocked him sometimes with the things picked up on – the dark thoughts he left unspoken in so many of his songs. He had the whole world singing along with his lyrics, but she seemed to be the only one who could hear what he saying between the lines.

Had she sensed his unease on the show tonight? He'd covered the botched Christmas carole with a cocky grin straight into camera, and Maury had slapped him on the back afterward for a job well done. But had Tessa seen through it? Had she been satisfied? Or had she known that smile was fake? 

"Who am I kidding," Eric muttered under his breath as he reached again for his back pocket. He couldn't leave her hanging. He'd promised he'd chat tonight. And what was the point anyway, not looking at his phone? What was he trying to prove? He'd go out of his mind with boredom if he spent the evening all alone, sipping wine by himself in his living room. He wasn't particularly in the mood to get drunk. And he knew the reason why.

He obviously had a different addiction, and it had nothing to do with alcohol.

Eric pulled out his phone with a jerk and tapped to open Twitter. But he saw in an instant that it was set to the wrong account:

Eric Thorn

@EricThorn

15.3M Followers

He barely even bothered to open his real account nowadays, but he'd been commanded from on high to tweet about the Christmas special. His eyes skimmed down to the message he'd sent earlier that day.

Eric Thorn (@EricThorn)

#HappyHolidays to my amazing fans! What do you want for Christmas? All I want is for you to watch me LIVE tonight at 8pm on @CBS!

70.4K Retweets    257.2K Favorites

He hadn't crafted that particular gem by himself. Some social media expert from the label had written it, and Maury had stood over Eric's shoulder and dictated the words. The replies had started pouring in the moment he hit Tweet. Eric hadn't been able to peel his eyes away in time to avoid reading the first few responses that popped up on his screen in rapid succession.

Anna Thorn (@EricLove333)

@EricThorn ILY

Mrs Eric Thorn (@MrsEricThorn982)

@EricThorn FOLLOW ME!

Naomi (@EricTFan)

@EricThorn I'll give you ANYTHING you want for Christmas baby

Eat Me Eric (@EricThornPorn)

@EricThorn I WANT YOU TO F*** ME TIL MY INSIDES BLEED!!!!!!!

A shudder of disgust ran down Eric's spine as he remembered. He really should have known better than to look at the replies. Nothing like a dose of holiday cheer from his amazing fans to ruin his mood. He'd been more than a little tempted chucked his phone across the room, just to obliterate that last one from his memory. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd cracked his screen that way.

But he hadn't thrown his phone. He didn't need to resort to violence – not anymore. He'd merely switched accounts, praying that Tessa would be available to talk as he'd fired off an angry message.

Taylor: This fandom is so f'ed up.

She must have already been on Twitter when he sent it. She'd obliged him with a nearly instantaneous response, and he'd felt his anger start to ebb the moment it hit his screen. It was crazy, the effect she had on him. He couldn't even explain it – this way she had of brightening his mood.

Eric couldn't resist the urge now to go back and re-read their conversation. . . .

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