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I've kissed a lot of people in my life. My first kiss was a bit shit; a single peck behind the bike shed at school one day when I should've been in PE. I was fourteen.

Since then, I've kissed a lot of men, a couple of girls while I was questioning my sexuality, and none of them wielded much results. For a while, I thought I wasn't cut out for romance because while sex was enjoyable, kissing or being intimate otherwise didn't interest me.

But it was the people.

My date with the one celebrity that got my notoriety up in the ballet world was the straw that broke the camel's back so to speak. He invited me out. It was okay. We had a fun time, but his kisses weren't great and I just wasn't interested.

I'd just sort of accepted my life would never have the romance my performances have in them, and I'd just be having a few casual encounters in my life.

Then I met Olly Gilbert.

The most awkward part of this whole thing is... I'm a fan. Like an actual fan of his work and I know how some celebrities feel about dating fans...

Same way I do: no, just no.

"Uh, Olly?" I ask as he lets us in his flat.

"Hm?"

"Yeah, uh, how do you feel about dating fans?"

He smirks and shrugs. "No opinion. I'm a writer, not an actor, you know? Well, I had a small cameo in the show, but nothing... major. I'm not a singer or anything. Why?"

I exhale. "Good, that could've been awkward. I'm a fan."

His smirk widens. "I guessed that by the references you sometimes drop about the book. How do you feel about dating fans?"

His hint is obvious, so I laugh before saying, "Usually, no, but you only saw me once, so I don't consider you a fan at this point."

"That could've been awkward, then. Luckily, I chose the sending flowers route instead of waiting behind the stage door for you."

I laugh. "At that point, I would've considered you a stalker. Instead, you chose the roses that got fucked up enough that we met."

He takes his shoes off and puts them on a rack. Wanting to get out of these damn high heels, I do the same. It's funny how the pointe shoes feel so natural to me, yet some can't stand them. I feel that way about high heels. I can't glide and use my ballet movements in these stupid things, but they are so pretty and make me taller that sometimes the sacrifice is worth it.

The light pink of my shoes matches the black of his trainers pretty well if I say so myself.

There's something different about his place now I'm back in it after our date. I'm unsure if it's the open romantic tension between us or whether I just feel a bit more comfortable and less awkward about being in his space.

His lounge is set up in a half-office space and half-lounge space. The desk with his laptop on it and notes is by the bay window while the TV and sofa are on the other side. He's got a framed poster of Cold Faith's promo thing when it went on TV hanging above the sofa. A framed book cover print is above his desk.

"If I were in your position, I'd have every damn edition cover on my walls," I joke.

He laughs. "While I enjoy knowing it was popular and successful, I also hate seeing it after a while. Reminds me of my failures."

"Olly, you're not a failure." I gesture to the posters. "Look at this! Wow, you hit writer's block. I bet you every writer in the world has suffered at least once. Look at you now. You have an idea, and you're working on it. You're gonna take the world by storm when it's done."

He looks at me as if I've just told him the sky is pink. Well, I'd like that, and honestly, I think at this point he'd just humour me so we can laugh about it together when I'd be proved wrong. But still.

"Please, just believe me this once. You're an amazing writer, Olly. Hell, I bought every edition of the book I could get hold of; they're all at home on my shelf. Bought the show digitally because I don't have a DVD player – who does anymore? – and... sorry, but you'd probably be scared of how much I love that book. You're amazing at it, and I wish you'd believe me and just write this thing."

He laughs. "I'll do you a deal; if you believe in yourself and your dancing abilities, I will believe you with my writing. Go for more roles, and I would love to see more moves when you're in decent dancewear."

I arch an eyebrow. "Oh, I have more romantic ballet moves up my sleeve. Right now, I could show you a few. Or I was thinking I could always show you how to dance. We could do a pas de deux."

He laughs. "Lily, I would love to dance with you. It means everything to you, but I'm afraid if I tried, I'd end up failing."

"We'll discuss it another time. It's never a case of someone not being able to, but a case of them not practising enough. But... fine, deal. I will believe in myself if you do. We'll do this, and then, together, we'll take the world by storm. Ballet dancer and author, saving the world one dance routine and book at a time."

"Well, I don't know about that, but we can aim high." He runs a hand through his hair. "Now I'm going to shoot my shot with this new found confidence... can I kiss you?"

I approach him and nod. "I'd honestly think worse of you if you didn't."

He snorts. "With a response like that, I don't have an option, do I?"

"No, no, you don't."

With nothing more, he kisses me. Deeper than I expected him to go initially, but I match him until we're all tongues. I grab the collar of his shirt and anchor him to me while his hands do the thing they did earlier – gripping my hips and squeezing. That makes everything hotter and makes me want to rip his clothes off.

I will not make the same mistakes I've made before. Despite this being so, so different, I won't throw my everything in. Although I can differentiate between sex and love, I want this thing with Olly to be it. Somehow, taking this slow seems the best course here.

"Seeing as you've beaten me to the pulp twice now, I want to one-up you on one thing," he whispers when he pulls away.

I tilt my head in question. His lips glisten in the aftermath of our kiss, and his breathing is slightly laboured. Olly looks so flushed, it makes him look adorable right now. I want to reach across and shut him up by kissing him again.

But he wants this moment.

"What's that?" I ask.

"It's been three dates now, and I've already used the l word, so all that leaves is one thing: Lily Price, will you be my girlfriend?"

Well, that wasn't what I was expecting. I thought he was going to ask to have sex, remove my top and see my tits, or go on date four, or any combination of those. Though seeing me topless on date four might be a bit awkward depending on where we would go.

I didn't see this one coming, and my insides melt.

"I, uh, have never had a boyfriend," I admit.

He laughs. "Well, same, but I've also never had a girlfriend, so we're both in this same weird situation of first love and relationship. We could navigate this together? The ballerina and the author, taking on the firsts together? Hopefully, for a really long time, but we'll work that out between us."

He's definitely a romance writer, all right. The way he uses words is like poetry in my mind. The world's best song, and all he has to do is say something.

You're in love, Lily.

"Why does this feel like a proposal?" I whisper.

He smirks. "It kinda is, except I'm not proposing marriage, just the sort of weird in between where we pledge ourselves exclusively together. No legalities or white wedding for now—I mean, unless—yeah, I'm gonna stop. But, it's a proposal of an official relationship. There you go. That works. Fucking hell, Olly."

Giggling, I approach him and kiss his lips. "I accept your very cute proposal of an official relationship with no legalities. Yet."

He smiles and kisses me back. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Lily Price: my girlfriend. Definitely a fan now."

"I just can't believe you still asked after finding out how much of a fan I am," I whisper.

He just laughs before lifting me in his arms and kissing me until I can't breathe – and I don't mind it one bit. 

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