Characters' Bios in Hot Romance

Jonathan Williams

Son of director Zander Williams and special effects artist Lara Nylund Williams, the 23-year-old actor is best known for his role in the Hollywood blockbuster The Demigod. Other notable roles include:  Love Twice (with Mia Thompson), The Forgotten Year (with his brother Jack Williams), Uproar (with Niki Morris), Third Rung (with Amy Richardson), Demigod Forbidden (with Rachael Marrerro), and Liar’s Remorse (with Natalie Lipka). 

Nicknames:  Jon, Will, and His Holy Hotness

Birthday:  April 4th

Close Friends:  Nick Reyes, Hayden Nappo, Liam Nordstrom, and Chris Hanson. Also hangs with: Jake Gorboni and Daniel Nackerson 

Trivia:  

1. Plays the piano/keyboards and guitar, and has been known to join buddies Nick Reyes and Hayden Nappo on stage with their band EXpireD. 
2. Has a vintage guitar collection, including a signed Fender that once belonged to rocker Terence Halverson.
3. Currently in a relationship with university student Sarah Isabella Austin.
4. Has a great sense of humor and will often play practical jokes on castmates and crew when filming a movie. 
5. Singer Ashley Taylor deemed him "His Holy Hotness" on the red carpet of the VMAs after she was shown a video clip of him singing on stage. The name stuck in the press. Copyright 2015 Susan Schussler (All characters, events, and places are fictional.) 

Blonde Chicks Preferred: June 18, 2013

Liam Nordstrom:  June 18, 2013

The pain in my thigh pulses up my leg and collects in my pelvis, concentrating, before penetrating my spine all the way to the base of my skull. I’ve waited ten minutes since I pushed the little blue button and I have five more minutes before I can push it again. Five minutes shouldn’t be as long as it is, but it’s endless. All I can think about is the pain and how it spreads to every cell of my body. My mind bounces, unable to concentrate. I know that once I push the button, an unquenchable itch will spread across my skin and I will likely vomit again. It doesn't matter though, as long as the pain is doused to a more manageable level.

Kelsey brought my tablet to the hospital this morning, hoping electronics would distract me from the agony. It hasn’t. I glance at the clock. Three minutes. This button system is supposed to help wean me off the medicine. It’s not working. I was more comfortable yesterday before they gave me control of the dosage. I don’t have control. What a joke. The doctors want me to stretch out my dose time to thirty minutes by the end of the day. That’s not going to happen.

One minute. I watch each second tic—every muscle in my body tense. I was told I need to relax. It will help with the pain, the nurse said. I can’t. Ten seconds. My thumb hovers over the button like I’m in a game show waiting for the question to be read. Would it hurt less if they just amputated my leg? Two. One. I push it. No whirring sound? I push it again. Silence. Is my button broken? My heart is beating out of my chest. I’m going to kill that nurse if she changed my time already. Nurses act so sweet, but they’re really SADISTIC. My thumb frantically pounds for relief as I search the bedrails for the call button. Then I hear it—the beautiful mechanical release. Three, two, one. The warmth spreads up my arm and then down my leg. I exhale knowing that I will have a few minutes before the pain owns me again.

I wonder if the guy that hit me has ever felt this much pain. I’d like to introduce him to it. How could he not see me? My motorcycle is red—the most visible color on the road. He batted me like a flipper in an old pinball game. An eighty mile an hour flipper. I landed two lanes over, pinned under my bike. I guess I’m lucky. Lucky I wear a helmet (not really luck, just brains, and the law). My luck was that the woman in the lane where I landed was paying attention and her brakes worked. Otherwise, her tires would have crushed my spine.

Oh crap. The termites are back—inside my cast, on my bare back, on the soles of my feet. I try to convince myself that scratching doesn’t help. I can’t reach where it itches anyway. I scratch my chest and arms instead—with no relief.

I think someone from the studio stopped by yesterday. I don’t remember who or what was said. Kelsey said someone posted a security guard outside my door. It had to be the studio. I guess I must still have a job. Maybe they’ll write the accident into the script. I doubt it though, with only one week before mid-season break.

My parents were here this morning and the guard asked them for their IDs. I should take them off the visitor’s list. My mom acted like the accident was my fault because I was riding a bike. She’s always hated my motorcycle. I don’t really want to see anyone. I look and feel like crap. I’m lying on my back with a damn weight tethered to my bones with a screw that jabs right through my flesh. The bruises that cover my body look like they’re starting to fade just a little—the edges around the purple turning green. Will is supposed to stop by this afternoon. At least I know he won't post pictures. Maybe he can distract me from the pain.

Oh hell! There it is again. The ache transforms into stabbing daggers. According to my phone, I’ve lasted thirty seconds longer than the last time. I clinch the blue button with my thumb suspended above it and wait.
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler

Blonde Chicks Preferred: June 11, 2013

Liam Nordstrom: June 11, 2013

Kelsey and I ate brunch with Jim, her father, and he hated me like I knew he would. I can usually win over mothers, but I never bond with a girl’s dad, especially if he’s seen my show. I tried to connect. I did. I guess I just don’t have anything in common with a man who’s worked on oil rigs all his life. He told me point blank that acting wasn’t a real job and that the only talent an actor had was lying. Then he proceeded to talk about my character as if Ashton Post and I were one in the same. I must be a hell of a poser.

When I picked up the check, Jim admitted that I was a step up from Kelsey’s ex. I knew what he was talking about. Kelsey had told me about the loser. But she still fidgeted nervously as her father explained that her ex couldn’t hold a job and Kelsey paid all the bills. If she had duct tape she would have silenced him quicker, but the pungent glare she gave him finally took effect and Kelsey decided brunch was over. I wasn’t going to argue. Kelsey dropped me at Will’s before heading to the airport to get rid of her dad. I think she agreed that I was right about fathers not liking me and she shouldn’t push it.

Will and I messed around on his metallic green Fender for a while. The same one we used to beat on as teenagers. He had just gotten it back from the shop, completely restrung. The guitar sounded better than I remembered. It sounded better when Will played it anyway, me not so much. I knew something was bothering him. He always turned to music when he needed to work through a problem.

“Girl trouble?” I asked.

He nodded and started strumming a melody I didn’t recognize. When he stumbled on a few notes and then reconfigured the song in a different key, I realized he was composing—not something he did often. I knew some chick must have really bent him over.

“Does she have your balls in a vice? It can’t be any worse than the teenage brunette trying to destroy me.”

“What’s going on with that?” he asked.

I shrugged because nothing had changed. “The studio has their publicist dealing with it. They want me to keep my mouth shut. The paparazzi are waning a little, but still a pain in the ass. There weren’t any at the house this morning, so that’s an improvement.”

“Are the police still stopping by?”

“Not since last week. My lawyer says that they don’t have a case unless Kelsey changes her story. Which won’t happen because it’s the truth.”

He chuckled and I knew it was because I called my dad my lawyer. “How was brunch?”

“Her dad seemed to soften to me. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Kelsey didn’t seem to like it.”

“So you two are pretty serious?”

“About as serious as I’ve ever been.” His blue eyes widened. I knew what he was thinking and I wasn’t there yet. “Not that serious,” I added. “Who’s got you all strung up? It’s not still the Internet girl, is it?”

“Yep.”

“You got a picture? I’ve got to see this chick.”

“No. I don’t even know her last name.”

“Shit. You’re pathetic.” I laughed. “What makes you think she’s different from all the rest?”

“I don’t know. She just is.”

“And you’re sure she’s not some three hundred pound guy named Bubba? You’ve seen MTV’s Catfish show, right? That shit happens more than you think. It could be nasty if you and Bubba’s relationship hit the tabloids. Do you know anything about her? We could cyber stalk her.” I pulled out my phone.

“I can’t find her without her last name. I thought about just setting up a meeting, but I’m not really sure I’m ready for that. I want to talk to her first. If I’m going to wreck her life, I want to make sure it’s worth it.”

“Mighty considerate of you, bro. Are you and Bubba having cyber-sex?”

“Best ever. It’s as if he can read my mind, knows exactly where to put his hands.” Will laughed and shook his head. “No. We’re not in that place, yet.”

“His loss. You probably just need to get laid. Call someone. You can’t think clearly when you’re all pent up like that.” He laughed again, but I was serious. “What about Rachel Marrero? I bet she’d drop everything to come service you. Give me your phone. I’ll call her.” I held out my hand, but he just scowled at me. His expression said drop it, which convinced me even more that Rachel could solve his problems. He doesn’t do casual hookups, but he and Rachael were doing a movie together in the fall—hooking up was implied. Besides the abstinence deal clearly was not working for him.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said with amusement in his voice. “Jake’s coming over in an hour to spot my bench pressing. I’ll add an extra twenty pounds to work off all my pent up energy.”

“I’ll stay and lift with you, if I can borrow some shorts.”

“Yeah, no problem. Is Kelsey picking you up? Otherwise you're grabbing dinner with us before I hall you back to Malibu.”

“She was going to retrieve a few things from her apartment and then stop back. I probably won’t have time to eat.”

We talked a bit more about the Internet girl and then when Jake showed up we headed to the weight room. The room had changed slightly over the years—upgraded equipment, new paint, a better sound system, but it was pretty much the same as when we were teens. I never fully understood why Will had moved back in with his parents until this crap with the paparazzi started. I get it now. Somehow home would always feel safer.

Jake help me correct the form on my reverse curls and it burned like hell. I guess I had never done them right. We'd finished our workouts by the time Kelsey showed up. Will buzzed her in and she met us in the courtyard. I knew right away that something was wrong. The black smudges around her eyes blared that she’d been crying. She melted into my arms as if collapsing after a month of battling zombies. I looked into her red rimmed eyes and asked, "You OK?”

She nodded and squeezed her arms tighter around my neck, resting her head on my chest. I looked up to check the bros' reactions, only to find Jake’s gaze devouring Kelsey’s ass as if it was the last morsel of food left on the planet. Jake’s a decent guy, but I was still going to kick his ass if he didn’t stop ogling my girlfriend. I’d get some good jabs in before he killed me anyway. My death glare sent Will into hysterical laughter, which he tried to curb into a cough.

Once he composed himself, Will asked Kelsey if she and I wanted to grab dinner with him and Jake. I expected her to say no. Everything about her said she just wanted to go home. But she turned and announced, “Yes, I’m starved. My roommate’s an asshole by the way.”
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler

Blonde Chicks Preferred: June 5, 2013

Liam Nordstrom: June 5, 2013

When would the nightmare end? The press was relentless the last five days, following me everywhere I went and I was tempted to just sleep on a couch at the studio so that I wouldn’t have to deal with them. If it weren’t for Kelsey I would have done it. She and her roommate had a falling out and she needed a place to crash until they worked out their problems. Nak left for Toronto on Sunday and sending Kelsey back to the house alone to deal with the vultures would be kind of douchey.

The ordeal with the underage girl hadn’t been all bad, though. I was definitely getting my brand out there. Six different publicists had contacted me, over the last couple days, asking if I needed representation. I never really needed one before now. It’s not like I made millions of dollars or anything, and sharing what I did make wasn’t a priority for me. But I could see where it would be helpful to have someone to deal with the media.

Today, I met with the producers of my show for lunch. They said that Monday’s ratings were the highest ever, and they attributed it to all the publicity that I’d been getting. They told me to play it up as long as I could. The script was being reworked so that my character would get more screen time. They were patting me on the back and they didn’t seem to care if I was guilty or not as long as jail time didn’t conflict with filming. I guess it was all about the ratings.

Kelsey, on the other hand, questioned me about the candid shot of the girl in front of my motorcycle. She saw it the night I was grilled by the police. She thought it was odd that I had never met the girl and yet there she was next to my bike. I didn’t know how to explain it, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

“Anyone could have followed me somewhere and snapped a picture while I was in a restaurant or a store,” I said. “She’s a stalker.” I pushed Kelsey back on the bed and crawled up her until I was straddling her hips. “And really who wouldn’t want this?” I said unbuttoning my shirt and shrugging it off. But when I bent down to kiss her, her hand shot up, pushing against my chest. “What?” I asked.

“Your cockiness is exactly why everyone believes what that girl said about you.”

“Flaunt what ya got, I always say.” I leaned down again, but her hand stopped me a second time. “What?” Why did she want to talk? I wasn’t really in the mood to talk.

“My roommate told my dad that I was seeing you and he called me today. He thinks you’re a punk.”

“He doesn’t even know me.” I started unbuttoning her shirt. All I could think about was what her bright green bra was covering.

“My point exactly. I told him we’d have brunch with him on Sunday.”

I groaned and rolled onto the bed next to her. Way to ruin the mood. I wasn’t ready to meet her father. I barely accepted the fact that I couldn’t date other women and now I was meeting her family? “I told Will that I would meet him on Sunday. He’s going to help me strategize against the press.” I knew she could hear the lie in my voice.

“Call him. I’m sure he will understand. Daddy’s only going to be in town for the day.” Her voice made a sexy southern twang when she said “daddy” and I couldn’t help the smile that crept onto my face. I loved accents. It didn’t matter what they were. I once dated a girl who didn’t speak a hint of English, just because of how my name rolled off her tongue.

“You’ll go, right?” she asked.

“No.” I shook my head to emphasize my point.

She started buttoning her shirt. “It’s important to me, Liam.”

“Why would you want him to meet me? He’s not going to like me.” I propped my head up with my elbow against the bed and met her blue eyes. “I’m screwing his daughter. He’s going to hate me.”

“You won’t be screwing his daughter if you don’t go.”

“And women claim that they don’t use sex as a weapon.”

“I just want to show Daddy that you’re not like your character Ashton Post.” There was that twang again.

“So he’s a fan?”

“I wouldn’t call him a fan, but he does watch the show.”

“OK, who do you want me to be? The detached jerk, the doting boyfriend or the intellectual jock? Just pick one. I am an actor.”

“Just be Liam.” She touched my face and dragged her thumb across my lower lip. “I’m sure he would like you best. I do.”

It was easier to be a character than to be me, especially for “daddy.” I stared into her eyes for a full minute until the doorbell rang. I groaned again, realizing what I wanted wasn’t going to happen, and left the bedroom to answer the door. Still shirtless, I peeked out the side window to verify it wasn’t paparazzi and saw the two detectives from the other night on my doorstep. I instinctively looked around the room to make sure there wasn’t anything illegal sitting out in the open. Not that I had illicit drugs or firearms laying around, it was more of a reaction, like automatically braking when I spotted the CHP, just in case I was speeding. Convinced I was safe, I opened the door.

“Mr. Nordstrom, may we come in. We have additional questions from the other night,” the male detective stated. I remembered his name was Rodrigues.

I stepped aside and they filed in. As I led them to the living room the female detective said, “You have a nice place here. Do you rent or own?”

I was sure she already knew the answer. Why people played these games was beyond me. “A friend of mine owns it,” I said and they sat down on the leather sofa. “I’m pretty sure I can’t talk to you without my lawyer present.”

Rodrigues raised an eyebrow at my comment but didn’t respond until Kelsey settled by my side on the oversized chair. “We’re not here to talk to you. We’re here to talk to Mrs. Adams,” he stated.

I took out my phone and called my father. Of course, it went to voicemail, so I sent him a text instead. Being the lawyer he was, he avoided texting if possible. Texts could be subpoenaed so he frowned on them, but it was an emergency.

“It’s Ms. Adams,” said Kelsey.

“Oh, my mistake,” stated the officer. “We were just wondering, Ms. Adams, if you could identify Mr. Nordstrom’s motorcycle in this photo.” He held out a photo printed on plain white paper—the same as the one on the Internet.

“I can’t say whether it is his or not. Lots of bikes look alike.”

“Well, is that his license?” asked the female.

“I don’t know. Don’t you have the ability to look that up?” questioned Kelsey. The plate was pretty clear in the picture. I’m sure the girl made sure the angle was just right. And the detectives knew it was my bike. They saw it on the driveway and could have verified it there. They just wanted Kelsey to see the pic and have doubts so they could get her to change her story.

“The plate is mine and you know it. You walked right by it on your way in. That doesn’t mean I know the girl. I think we’re done here,” I said.

The detectives both rose and Rodrigues handed Kelsey his card, saying, “If you can think of anything else that you remember about that night give us a call, Ms. Adams.

I knew then that this wasn’t over. As the detectives left I started to wonder what connections the sixteen-year-old girl had. She had to be important for the police to pursue the case with my flawless alibi. Was she the police chief’s or a studio head’s daughter, or had I piss someone else off?
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler

Blonde Chicks Preferred: May 31, 2013

Liam Nordstrom: May 31, 2013

As my bike rounded the last curve before the house, I could see the news vans backed up along the street. White truck after white truck with telescoping dishes, lined the road all the way down, intertwined with the paparazzi vehicles. I had spent enough time with Will to recognize vultures. Blue and red lights sprung from the cop car, bouncing in all directions as the officer tried to manage the traffic on the narrow street. Jared Borne’s girlfriend Penelope in her white BMW convertible stopped in the middle of the road ahead of me and I slowed my bike. As she handed her license to the policeman, she glared at me in her rearview mirror.

I didn’t have time to worry about pissing her off because the crowd recognized me. Even with my dark helmet, they knew. With cameras raised the reporters locked me in their sights and descended upon my bike, like a pack of hyenas. I wasn’t going to wait to be swallowed by them, so I squeezed my motorcycle past Penelope hoping the cop would understand. When I pulled up to the top of the drive bright lights from the news trucks burst on. I kicked down the stand and rocked my ride back securely onto its mount. I hesitated for a moment, knowing I would be bombarded with accusations any second. Unsure if I should head off the speculation or avoid interaction with the trolls, I dismounted my bike and pull my helmet off. I thought leaving the helmet on would be a sign of weakness or guilt and I had neither.

“Liam.”

“Liam, did you know she was underage?” asked a faceless woman, holding a mic out like a torch under my nose. Seriously, did the girl hold a press conference already?

“Did she change her mind? We’ve all been there. Tell us your side,” came a shout from the darkness created by the blinding lights. The crowd revved around me and the noise blended together, leaving no distinguishable allegations.

I pushed my way to the front door just as it opened. My roommate Nak stood inside, his dark hair messed and his shirt askew. He moved just enough for me to get through and once I was in, he slammed the door closed, catching a microphone in the fissure. After three attempts to secure the door, he snap the lock.

“Tough day, eh?” he said. Nak didn’t usually talk like that, but it was a standing joke we had about his Canadian upbringing and he knew it would lighten my mood.

“Yep. So much for a quiet evening at home.” I glanced over to Leslie sprawled on the couch, looking not quite her pulled together self. “Sorry about the feces on the driveway,” I added. They knew what I meant. Nak shrugged. Nothing ever bothered him. That’s why we got along so well. “Have they been out there long?”

“A couple of hours. They’ve been at the door several times, but we ignored them. Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Some teenage girl is accusing me of statutory rape. It wasn’t me. I’d never seen her before in my life and I was with Kelsey that night. Besides the girl’s a brunet,” I said, as if my last sentence completely put to rest any doubt.

I knew Nak and Leslie were planning, a long time coming, quiet evening in and I didn’t want to take any more of their night. “Is Kelsey in there?” I pointed toward my room.

“Yeah. When did you give her the key?” asked Nak, settling next to Leslie and propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“This morning,” I admitted with raised eyebrows, anticipating their comments.

“Getting serious,” Leslie announced with a smirk, as if I hadn’t realized what giving her a key meant.

I shrugged and took off down the hall to my room.

Kelsey slept curled in a small ball on my bed, classical music leaking from her headphones. Still wearing her shorts and tank, her face was clear of makeup—natural and beautiful. She probably washed it off minutes after she arrived. For someone whose career involved applying layer upon layer of cosmetics to other’s faces, I always thought it strange that she peeled hers off the first chance she got.

I grabbed a quick shower without waking her and snuck into the kitchen for a sandwich, bringing it back to my room to avoid messing up Nak’s night anymore then I already had. Kelsey was sleeping on her stomach, now, with her knee bent and her butt up in the air. Hmm—love those shorts. The girl could sleep through anything. I doubt she would notice if I removed them.

I slid her iPad out from under her right thigh, where it was trapped, with full intention of turning off her music, when the picture left from her last Internet search popped before my eyes—the now familiar face of the girl who accused me of assault stared back at me as she leaned against my motorcycle. Oh Crap!  
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler  

Blonde Chicks Preferred: May 27, 2013

Liam Nordstrom: May 27, 2013

Met Will last night for a burger and drinks at Mickey’s. It’s dark in there and the hostess, Teiki sat us in the back, like always. Will said he and Rachel Marrero spent all Saturday doing stills and an interview for some Australian magazine. It's a promo for their upcoming film and the article, most likely, wouldn’t be out until the end of summer.

“Is she as tight as everyone imagines,” I asked and he smiled. He had to have hooked up with her.

“Wouldn’t know. I didn’t sleep with her.”

“Why not? I would have. Is she with someone?” I looked up from my plate and met his eyes. “Honestly that shouldn’t matter. You’re doing a film together. There’s latitude when you’re starring in a film together. Isn’t that in your contract?”

Will laughed. “She’s not seeing anyone. She told me. And she would have gone back to my place if I had asked, but I didn’t.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He stared at the wall behind me with a distant look on his face. “I don’t know.” He took a bite of his burger shaking his head.

“Whatever it is, get over it. Get on it and get in it,” I said and he raised an eyebrow to me. “What’s stopping you? Is it Mia?” God don't let it be Mia.

 He swallowed what he was chewing and then took a swig of beer before answering. “The Internet girl.”

“Seriously? Have you told her who you are?”

“No,” he said before taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Because you know that it will just fuck everything up and she’ll turn into some psycho superfan?”

“That's not it. She’s got this perfect little life and I don’t want to drown her in my cracked fishbowl.”

“How do you know she hasn't figured out who you are?”

“I can tell. We connect on a higher level."

I rolled my eyes. "You haven’t even talked to her on the phone. You don’t know her at all.” I wasn’t trying to piss him off. I just wanted to pull him back into reality. What did he want? Most actors would cut off their left nut for his life. I'm not saying that his life isn't fucked sometimes because of his fame, but it's a tradeoff. You can't have it both ways. He shut up about the girl after that and changed the subject to my "revolving door" of a love life.
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler

Sarah's Journal: May 26, 2013

Sarah:  May 26, 2013

Here I am another memorial weekend without a boyfriend to snuggle with in front of the bonfire. I don’t know what Will is. Can I consider him my boyfriend? I feel like we’re dating. Neither of us is seeing anyone else, but how real can it be if we’ve never met?

Will and I connected online Thursday night and I shared my plans for the weekend up at the lake. I told him that it would probably be raining and cold like it always was on Memorial Day weekend. I would have given anything for him to say, “I’ll keep you warm.” No such luck. I told him I wouldn’t be able to meet up with him because there was no Internet at the cabin.

“How does that make you feel?” he asked. I knew he was making fun of me. One of my psych professors hammered that phrase into my head for two semesters and it slips out of my mouth more than I like to admit. It is really just an open-ended question to provoke discussion, but I must have written it more than once to Will.

“I’m screaming inside,” I answered.

Then he said something that really threw me off. “And that’s why I love you.” I stared at my computer screen in disbelief for a moment as I tried to figure out if his words meant anything. Normally I would have just let it go. People say stuff like that all the time. But that one line scrambled my brain and I didn’t know how to respond.

I must have paused too long because he added. “Just the reaction I wanted.” What did that mean? Was he being sarcastic? Was the reaction my hesitation or my screaming? Brain freeze!!! I decided that he must have meant my screaming and he was just clarifying his first statement. I moved on.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I asked.

“Working.”

“How does that make you feel?” I typed, trying to make him laugh.

“I’m screaming like a little girl inside,” he wrote.

“Now you’re mocking me.”

“Yep. How does that make you feel?”

“Shut up. Are you ever going to tell me what you do at your job?” I like that he gets my sense of humor. He seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

“Nope,” he answered after another long pause.

“Had to think about that one?” I asked.

“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

“It doesn’t matter what you do. I would still like you even if you cleaned bathrooms for a living,” I wrote.

“So you like me?” he asked

“Obviously.”

Then some idiot that was not invited to our chat wrote, “I like you too, Sarah. Can I get a BJ too?” What an ass! The guy continued vomiting disgusting comments, one after another, as if he had listened to our entire conversation. We’ve never been interrupted in a private chat room before and even after we changed sites I couldn’t get the guy out of my head. I didn’t feel as free to open up online as I had before. I guess people like him are the reason why Will never wants to share our phone numbers or emails over the Internet. I just thought he was being paranoid, but I wouldn’t want that guy calling me. How are Will and I ever going to meet? It seems impossible.
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler

Sarah's Journal: May 18, 2013

Sarah:  May 18, 2013

Will took me to the Met in NYC for our date on Friday. I didn’t even know that was possible. It turns out you can tour the museum online. It wasn’t like we could touch the art, but we wouldn't have been able to touch it in the museum anyway, so what’s the difference. I suppose if we had been together, I would have been able to hold his hand or feel his arm as it curled around my waist. That would have been better. Instead, I sat on my bed, in front of my laptop, in my pajamas, while we simultaneously enlarged photos to see the art up close. We probably saw more different kinds of art than we would have if we were actually there. Sculptures, paintings, pottery—we saw it all.

He showed me a sketch of the Greek demigod Perseus holding Medusa’s head, penciled by a Swiss artist. It was just a black and white sketch, but he seemed enamored by it. Honestly, to me, it wasn’t as impressive as some of the colorful French paintings, but the depth and realism of the sketch made it look like the figures were carved in marble instead of drawn.

He asked, “So? What do you think?” He was so funny as if he was revealing a piece of his soul by showing me it.

Even though I didn’t give him the enthusiastic reaction he wanted, he didn’t get discouraged. He continued to explain the significance of Medusa’s head, how Perseus captured it and what he did with it after he got it. As Will shared Perseus’ history with me, most of which I already knew from literature, I was amazed by his take on it. It was fresh and updated, and he definitely knew more than I did about Greek gods. He asked me if I had seen the movie The Demigod.

“Of course.” I typed. “Everyone’s seen it. It’s our generation’s Titanic. Besides the actor who played Perseus is really hot.”

I’m pretty sure that was the wrong thing to say because he changed the subject after that and didn't make his usual hilarious comeback. I hope he doesn’t think that he has to live up to some intangible hottie, because I don’t really care what he looks like. OK, I care a little bit, but looks aren’t everything. A guy’s personality always shows through and outweighs his looks, either negatively or positively. I’ve seen guys who from across the room look god-like, heavenly glow and all, but when they open their mouths they morph into a hideous Neanderthal. And I used to think it was strange how some couples seem so mismatched in their looks. Why would a nine date a five? But in my vast experience (of twenty years) I’ve learned that the five’s personality makes them even or the other way around. Will’s personality makes him better looking than any guy I’ve ever dated and I don’t have a clue what he looks like.

Jessica's Way: May 17, 2013

Jessica:  May 17, 2013

It’s Friday and I have one more final left tomorrow before I’m officially a senior. Most of my housemates have dug in for a night of studying, everyone except Sarah. She's done for the year. Twenty minutes ago, she stood in my doorway wearing her pajamas and mentioned something about having a date tonight. When I called her on her fashion choice, she said, "This is what I'm going to wear." I know she isn’t leaving the house in her PJs. Does she really think that she’s dating that Internet guy? I hope Sarah hasn’t gone blind. She has to see that the guy is a con. Just a couple of months ago, there was that football player in the news who got scammed online by a guy. It’s happening everywhere.

At first, when she told me about Will, I thought that Megan had set it up to get Sarah out of her three and a half year slump, but even Megan wouldn’t take it this far. Then I thought that maybe it was Sarah’s ex, Matt, but he would never put so much effort into it if there was no reward. Or maybe it is him. He could be trying to find a way back into Sarah’s life. I wouldn’t put that past him. Will’s story seems a bit far fetched. Seriously? A movie director’s son? How gullible does he think she is? I'm pretty sure that Matt would never believe Sarah was that stupid.

When Will first started to reveal himself to Sarah, she and I spent a couple of hours searching the Internet looking for something that would match with what he had told her and though he didn’t say his father was famous, he did say his family’s secrets were all over the Internet. Maybe not in those words, but something like that. We found a couple possible leads, but nothing fit perfectly. I can’t imagine anyone would want to hurt Sarah, but I’m not going to believe the Internet guy’s story until I meet him in person and probably not even then. Sarah will figure it out. She’s not one to dive in head first.

Besides, I’m sure Jeff will say something to her tonight. He'll set her straight. He is very protective of his little sister. He’s coming over at eleven. I told him I would be done studying by then. I can’t concentrate with him here. I usually study on my bed and he always finds a way to push my books aside. Once his fingers are skimming across my stomach or trailing along my thigh, I’m a goner. My books end up on the floor and I never get back to them. So I banned him from the house while I’m studying, but when I’m done, he’s welcome. I sleep better with him next to me and a girl needs a good night’s sleep before finals, right?

Sarah's Journal: May 13, 2013

Sarah:  May 13, 2013

Will and I watched a movie together on Friday. I should say, we watched the same movie while we chatted online. I didn’t realize how strange our arrangement sounded until I tried to explain to Jessica why I couldn’t go out with her and Megan. I should have just said that I was studying for finals. I should have been studying for finals. But when Will asked me to watch the movie with him, I knew studying would be pointless. I wouldn't have been able to concentrate. 

Will and I have such a weird relationship. Do we have a relationship? Truthfully, I don’t know. It’s like meeting the perfect guy and obsessing over him for weeks until you finally work up enough courage to tell him how you feel and just as you open your mouth to spill your soul, a gorgeous blonde appears at his side. (Of course, she’s blonde. They’re always blonde.) She introduces herself as his girlfriend, of five years, and they look so perfect together that your stomach starts to heave, disintegrating all your dreams. That never actually happened. I just feel as if my visions of this perfect guy evaporated once I found out where he lives. I’m pretty sure there is no such thing as a perfect guy, but even so, I'm just as doomed as the girl in my daydream. 

He lives so far away. It’s not as if he will move here because of me. He has a job and a life and friends. I have a year left of school and then graduate school after that. I “won’t be able to get a job without graduate school”, according to my parents. Will and I will never get to be together. There is no point in wanting more. Why am I even thinking about him that way? It’s safer if I just put him in the friend zone. I know that. I want to put him in the friend zone. (That’s a lie! I’m such a terrible liar—I can’t even convince myself.)

On Friday, he asked me if I was seeing anyone.

“Seriously or casually?” I asked, trying to gauge where the conversation was headed.

“Either?” he replied. We had talked about our dating history before, but never really spelled out clearly whether either of us was seeing anyone else. Did I say else? Oops.

 “No. Are you?” I said as I agonized over his pending answer. 

His response melted my heart. “Only you.” 

It was the perfect answer. I don’t know why I would expect anything less from him. The whole night was flawless, almost ideal. Except in a perfect world, our date would have ended with our first kiss. 

Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler  

Blonde Chicks Preferred: May 9, 2013

Liam Nordstom: May 9, 2013 

I hung out at Will’s most of the day yesterday. We killed a few thousand zombies as we hashed over the trip to Austin that we took a few weeks back. Our buddy Chris’s band was playing at what we thought was going to be a club but was really a sixth street bar about the size of my bedroom closet.

In such close quarters, our usual hats and sunglasses disguise proved worthless. Most of the patrons left us alone, though—only a few girls approached. But the music blared too loud to talk and they eventually gave up. Someone must have sent out a tweet, ratting out our whereabouts, because, before we knew it, the tiny bar was packed beyond the fire marshal’s limit and they had to stop alcohol sales until it cleared out. We sat at a table with a music promoter that was scoping out Chris’ band and he gave us passes to another concert for the next night.

When Chris finished playing, we snuck out the back, which was our only escape. The crowd outside the front door was a hundred people thick, and we never would have made it back to the hotel exiting that way. The concert the next night was a bigger venue and easier to blend in. Overall, the trip was laid back and after the first night, we didn't have too much trouble moving around Austin. We visited a guitar store and couple vintage shops, and everyone we met was pretty decent.

Will and I hit Leo’s for dinner after our zombie killing spree and he mentioned that Mia had stopped by the day before. He didn't say much else about her, though. I did get him to fess up about the girl that’s captured his attention. He said she’s a college student who he met online. She doesn't know who he really is and I think that works in her favor.

He was pretty guarded about her, though and he seemed taken in a way I'd never seen before. Will and I have dated more than our share of girls and we know what’s out there. Maybe this will work for him for a while. I’m sure it will change after he reveals himself. The sweetest girls turn into raging lunatics the second they realize you’re a celebrity. I don't have to remind Will that. He knows better than I do, and there is no point in crushing his happiness. Time and the media will take care of that.

Sarah's Journal: May 6, 2013

Sarah:  May 6, 2013

I found Will right away last night, on the gossip site. He asked if my Internet was out and it made me feel guilty. I wasn't sure he would notice that I hadn't logged on for three days, though I would have if he had done the same. I didn't want him to know I was avoiding him, but I think he sensed it. He seemed cautious at first but then asked if we could set up a regular meeting time so we could better keep in touch. I agreed. It felt right, almost like he was asking me out.

Since our conversations have always focused on me, I took the lead and I asked him about his missing last name. He gave me an excuse about his family being overexposed in the press. He didn't want me judging him for stories on the internet that wasn't true. I wondered what kind of family lived in the press. Was his dad a serial killer? Or his mom a politician. “So you’re the son of a mob boss?” I asked.

“I wish. At least then I would have the power to snuff out the lying bastards.” His statement seemed too bitter to be a lie.

We switched to a chat room, after that, for a little more privacy. Will was either really creative and a good storyteller, or telling the truth. The way he worded his explanation made me want to believe him. Passion that liars rarely exhibit hung in his every thought and nothing he said contradicted his previous claims. I was looking for inconsistencies. When he told me his father was in the movie business, I wondered what kind of movies. Maybe it was because we were in a chat room that my brain immediately went there, but he squashed my thought like he could read my mind.

“He directs legitimate Hollywood movies, not adult films,” he wrote.

“So you’re one of those trust fund kids that spends all your time at the beach and in the clubs?” I asked, trying to marry the couch potato image, I first had of him, with a snooty Hollywood brat.

“Not me. I don’t enjoy clubbing. The beach, I like, but I don’t get to hang out there much, because I’m always working and I don't live off my parents' money. I work for what I have.” His assurance seemed sincere. From what I've read, most Hollywood brats admit that they don’t work. It’s a status symbol not to have a job.

We chatted for two hours and he answered every question I asked. Sometimes his answers were a bit cryptic, but I figured he would tell me more if we weren't in such a public environment. Besides he is not his parents—none of us are and whatever was going on in the press with them, he couldn't control. 

I always pictured him living down the street, or across the Cities, or at least in the five state area (I could handle that). I never expected him to be from Los Angeles. I didn't even consider it. In that moment, when I learned where he was from, all hope of dating him evaporated. Maybe it’s for the best. Now, I won’t have to worry that he’s using me or that he’s a fraud. We’ll just be friends. He’ll be like one of the girls with a super sexy guy’s point of view. I’m lucky, right?

Damn! I don’t want to just be friends. 

Sarah's Journal: May 5, 2013

Sarah:  May 5, 2013

I stayed off the Internet for the last three days, got both my papers written and transferred my notes from American Lit to my phone so I can listen to them while I ride the bus. I should be able to go through them all at least once before the final. I deserve a reward for all my hard work, right? I do, don’t I?

When I get home I’m going to check the gossip site for Will. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I've missed him. It was hard not clicking on the website and searching for his username in the comments. Part of me wants Will to disappear to where I can’t find him so I won’t get hurt when he turns out to be a fraud. It would be easier if we just never connected again. Eventually, he would erase from my memory—probably. But the other part of me wants to meet him and date him and lose myself in him. I think I just need to be more direct and ask him specifics, like where he lives and why he doesn't have a last name. Then maybe I will feel better about wasting my time.

Sarah's Journal: May 2, 2013

Sarah:  May 2, 2013

It snowed three inches last night. What the hell? It’s May. It is not supposed to snow in May, even in Minnesota. I guess this is why my dad never plants his tomatoes outside until the middle of the month. I hate cold weather this time of year. Most the guys on campus have been wearing shorts and flip-flops for at least two weeks, and once Minnesotans switch to their summer wardrobes, it requires much more than a few inches of snow for them to pull their cold clothes back on. Still, it pains me to see people wearing flip-flops in the snow. I’m a freeze-baby and all I want to do is stay home where it’s warm and I can chat with the Internet guy.

The Internet guy. Maybe it’s not the weather. I don’t know why I can’t get Will out of my head. He sucked me in and I can’t let him go. He’s just too perfect. In my mind, I can imagine his arms wrapped around me and me melting into his chest as we laugh about some hilarious Internet story. I can’t picture his face, though. I wish I had a photo of him. Jessica thinks he’s a “catfish” like on that MTV show where people fake who they are to seduce someone online. That would crush me. She’s probably right. I really need to stop wasting my time. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I have finals in two weeks and two papers to write. What am I thinking?

Blonde Chicks Perferred: May 2, 2013

Liam Nordstrom:  May 2, 2013

Mia Thompson, what a trip. On our way down to the beach on Sunday I asked Will the same question that I had posed to her at the club. “Are you two getting back together?” His response didn't surprise me.

“How long have you and I been friends?”

I laughed and hefted my board and paddle into my shoulder as I followed him down the steps onto the sand. He seemed eager to hit the water and in a better mood than I’d seen him in a long time.

“So you’re not? Thank God.” I could feel the relief wash over my face. Mia has always rubbed me the wrong way and not many chicks do. I cheered when Will finally broke it off with her. At the time, he made it sound like the break up was mutual, but I could tell he was the one pushing for it.

“Remi talked me into the press with Mia. The fans eat it up when we’re seen together. It’s just for show to negate the bad press after that photo shoot,” he added.

“I didn't think you cared what the rags said about you. You shouldn't hook up with Mia because of bad press—just tell your publicist no. It’s not worth your soul.”

“You should talk.” He chuckled. “Have you seen your soul lately? I’m not hooking up with Mia. There is someone else I’m interested in, though.” He grinned with an innocence that I hadn't seen since high school.

I asked him if it was Rachel Marrero, the fresh new girl that every man in Hollywood wants to tap, and who just happens to be his love interest in his next film. Lucky him. Rumors of the two hooking up started circling the second they were cast together. He denied it was her, though. Then he refused to tell me anything about the girl who had clearly affected his disposition, except that he was going to take it slow with her. I hope she’s good to him. If anyone deserves a break, it’s Will.

Sarah's Journal: April 30, 2013

Sarah:  April 30, 2013

The weather guy says it’s supposed to snow over the weekend. I don’t remember it ever snowing in May before. Damn global warming! The frosty air chased Jessica and me inside for spin class at the rec center this afternoon. Neither of us could imagine freezing our butts off jogging. The entire time that the spin instructor barked her orders and punished my body past its limits, all I could think about was how I was going to miss connecting with Will today. But when I got home and logged onto our site, he was there, as sweet as ever, like he was waiting for me.

I don’t know how he does it, but he always makes me feel like I’m the most important person in the world. Our "discover everything there is to know about Sarah" session lasted more than an hour. I told him my favorite color—turquoise; my favorite flowers—pink peonies; and my favorite season—summer. I revealed the kind of car I drive, what I’m majoring in school, and what my parent’s do for a living. But when I tried to ask him questions, he transitioned the conversation back to me without answering. His words were so smooth that I didn't even notice what he was doing until I was off the Internet. I hardly know any details about him. It’s not fair.

Mia's Fabulous World: April 30, 2013

Mia Thompson: April 30, 2013

I've been thinking about this friends-with-benefits thing with Jonathan and the more I envision it, the more I want it. Badly. I just need to figure out how to convince him, which shouldn't be too difficult, right? He is a man and I am me.

I ran into Liam Nordstrom and Jake Gorboni at Club Priela on Saturday. It always throws me off when Jonathan’s friends call him “Will.” With a last name of Williams, it shouldn't surprise me that they call him that, but when Liam asked me if Will and I were getting back together, it took me a second to figure out who he was talking about. After it clicked in my mind, I asked, “What have you heard?” I was hoping Jonathan had said something to him.

“Just what the tabloids are saying,” he answered.

“You’ll have to ask him. He’ll tell you if he wants you to know,” I said. “I don’t gossip, even about myself.” Which was a total lie. I’d be nowhere if I didn't self-promote.

“My guess is no, or you wouldn't be out clubbing tonight.”

He was right. I should have skipped the club—one more obstacle with the press. Match point. “Why do you ask, if you know all the answers?”

“I’m just looking out for Will. I would hate to see you hook-up with some guy at the club if he thinks you’re getting back together,” Liam said, like a true golden boy in wolves' clothes.

“Is that a proposition? Do you want to take me home tonight, Nordstrom?” I ran my polished nails up his cheek and through his hair, as I spoke. “I thought you preferred blondes.” I knew it wasn't a proposition, but I enjoyed toying with him. Men are so easy to torment. I wouldn't have gone home with him, anyway, and Liam knew it. Sure, he has his own following with his cable show, but it wouldn't do me any favors to be seen with him. Besides such an act would ruin my chances of getting back with Jonathan.

He stepped back, obviously affected by my touch. “I’m going paddle boarding with Will tomorrow. I’ll let him know you’re asking about him."

“Don’t bother. I’ll call him. So you’re still out in Malibu?” I changed the subject to prevent my intentions from spilling too soon.

I hung with Nordstrom and Gorboni a few more minutes, making small talk until Kiera returned from dancing with the piece of meat that she had selected from the nobody section. She doesn't seem to care about a man’s status in Hollywood. If he has a six-pack, a hot ass, and can hold a decent conversation, she’ll invite him in. It doesn't even matter if he has money. Of course, she’s always had plenty of her own, or I should say her parents’ money. She’s never had to fight to get ahead like I have. Sure, I have plenty of money, now, but being a self-made actress, I know what it’s like to struggle and I’m not about to lose all I've worked for over some hot bodied no-name. I don’t have her luxury. I have to care about who I’m seen with or the press will crucify me.

Her slum boy left the VIP area shortly after they returned from the dance floor. So the rest of the night, Kiera and I danced with Chet Blake, and a couple other trust-fund guys—no one famous, though.

I was tempted to show up at Nordstrom’s the next day and join Jonathan on his paddleboard, but I didn't. I know how to play him and he needs space. If I try too hard, it will only make him skittish.

Sarah's Journal: April 29, 2013

Sarah:  April 29, 2013

I ran into Jackson Tripp in line at the coffee shop. We sat for a few minutes and chatted about the classes we have left to take before graduation. He’s an English major, as well, and we’re in American lit together this semester.

It surprised me when he asked me to go with him to the on-campus poetry reading that Professor Hamel is forcing on us. I didn't think Jackson knew who I was. He’s barely said two words to me before today, but his eyes were all dark and flirty, so I’m pretty sure he didn't mean just as friends.

Jackson seemed too excited about the reading. Am I the only English major who loathes poetry readings? I like poetry—the kind found in the lyrics of songs and the words strung together in unexpected places, like a Jesse Eisenberg movie, but readings seem so coerced that I can’t stomach them. I agreed to go with Jackson, though, and I know why. I need to pull myself back into the real world and stop the constant fantasizing about the Internet guy. Will is not tangible.

I gave Jackson my number and agreed to let him pick me up. He seems harmless and I could see dating him—maybe, I don’t know. My last meaningful relationship was back in high school and that ended up being a lie. You would think that with all the psychology classes I've taken, I would have figured out how to trust the male species again, but I haven’t.

Sarah's Journal: April 26, 2013

Sarah:  April 26, 2013

He was there again. I can’t believe it. Cracked23 appeared again after I commented on some ridiculous article. I think I’m just going to that site to talk to him. He’s so funny. He totally gets my sense of humor. His name is Will. He told me today. He doesn't have a last name apparently, “only Will.”
I asked if I googled “Will” would I find a picture of him?

“I don’t know. I've never done it before, but my face is all over the internet. I’m totally famous so it wouldn't surprise me,” he typed. “If a guy pops up, decent looking—dark hair, blue eyes, it’s probably me.”

I tried it and ended up with a list of will writing services. We both LOL’d. He kept commenting on how everyone needed a “Will.” He’s so self-assured that I’m starting to doubt the couch potato theory.

Hmm…dark hair and blue eyes—I can definitely work with that.