“Hi. I’m Melissa.” I sheepishly extended my hand over the table full of books to the man I’d been waiting years to meet.

    “Melissa…” He took my hand in both of his as he scrutinized me, and then recognition crossed his face. “Melissa Shanken. From Twitter!” I couldn’t blame him for his hesitation. There was always that disconnect when meeting someone from online in person for the first time. Sometimes an idea of perfection was shattered. Sometimes an imperfect one was made whole. Plus, it was always strange to add three dimensions to an avatar. On top of that, he’d probably met a hundred people already, and the Con had just started a few hours prior. He knew I would be here, but that fact was probably the last thing on his mind. These events were stressful. Lord knows I’d lost my head at a few that were tiny in comparison to the convention center I was currently standing in. It’d taken me thirty minutes to find him, and he was the only thing I was looking for.

    “That’s me.” I nodded as a smile spread across my face. He was still holding my hand. I didn’t mind, until he let go.

    James McIntyre then stepped out from behind his display table. “You get more than a handshake, hon. We’re old friends.” I was shocked when he wrapped me in a strong embrace. I melted into him. Breathing deeply, trying to memorize everything in a few short, blissful seconds. How he smelled. How his arms felt around my shoulders. How my breasts felt crushed against his chest. And then it was over.

    “I’ve got a panel at seven. Are you coming?” This wasn’t the first time I’d heard his voice. We’d chatted a few times in the past about writing matters that were easier to articulate over voice chat. His sultry baritone sent shivers down my spine.

    “Coming?” I stammered. I needed to get my mind out of the gutter.

    “To the panel at seven. You okay?”

    “Oh yeah, just road weary. Which panel?”

    “It’s on character development. Probably nothing new for you.” He winked. My insides turned to mush.

    “I’ll be there.” I knew I was still beaming and needed to get the hell out of there before I embarrassed myself. People were waiting. I checked the time. “That’s only thirty minutes from now! I’m gonna go freshen up. That five-hour drive became eight hours of hell.” I turned to leave.

    “Hey, Melissa?” His voice drew my attention, and I looked back. “Wait for me after the panel.”

    I nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

        Weak in the knees took on an entirely new meaning after meeting James face-to-face for the first time. We’d had an extensive online relationship. He was an established author, and I was just starting out when we connected years ago. I didn’t even have a coherent first draft at the time, but he helped me change that. Now I had a table–albeit a small table–of my own at local events.

    We hit it off and became virtual friends, eventually exchanging messages that weren’t writing related. It’d started with holidays and birthdays, and then moved on to life events. Successes. Failures. Family matters. Love. I’d called him crying when my car broke down in the middle of the night and no one else was answering. He stayed on the phone with me until the cops showed up. Somewhere along the way, I found myself wanting James McIntyre.

    I couldn’t imagine the feeling was mutual.

    James lived on the opposite coast, so when I found out he was attending a large writer and fandom conference only five hours away I scheduled time off of work to make sure I’d be there. I informed him when I bought my ticket. He’d said he was looking forward to meeting me in person. That was the end of it. I didn’t press the matter. I tried to act like the mature thirty-year old that I was and not the teenager with a crush on the grocery store bag boy that I felt like. But as the days to the conference got closer, it was getting harder and harder.

    I sent him a “Safe Travels” text two days before. He responded with “Thanks.” Nothing more. Nothing less. I resisted the urge to ask him what room he was in the day I left.

    Speaking of rooms, I wandered past my room, as I replayed the events from a few minutes prior.

    Melissa, snap out of it. I backtracked and swiped the key card on my door. The room was blissfully cool, a stark contrast to my overheated body. I rifled through my suitcase, trying to find something to accentuate my curves and hide my flab without being completely provocative. I settled on a tea-length, brightly patterned, high-waisted dress…with pockets. I pulled off my travel clothes, changed my underwear to a matching set, and pulled on the dress. Then, I sat on the bed to slip into my favorite cordovan sandals.

    “Oh, goddammit. Why are my legs hairy?!” Apparently, I hadn’t been fantasizing enough about meeting James. “Oh, I know. Because my social life only exists online. Those people don’t care about my hairy legs. Fuck!”

    I tore the clothes off and jumped in the shower. I could’ve pulled on leggings, but that little part of me that believed James shared my feelings wouldn’t allow it. My legs had to be smooth and silky. Damn societal standards.

    I somehow managed to only nick myself twice during my haste and was ready to walk out the door again in less than ten minutes, which only gave me five to make it to the panel room. I examined the conference center map and schedule as I speed-walked down the hall, glancing up to check signs.

    Elevators were always hell at Cons, but I was on the sixteenth floor so stairs were less than ideal. It was during the dinner block on the first night and I found the area in front of the elevators to be free of people. A door opened immediately when I pressed the down arrow.

    “Yes!” Fist pump! Finding a free and empty elevator was a miracle.

    I stepped in. It was one of those elevators with the mirrors on the inside. I guess that makes the area feel bigger so people don’t get so claustrophobic. But, since I was alone, it gave me plenty of time to nitpick everything about my reflection.

    I should’ve put on more lipstick. Touched up my makeup more. This was my favorite dress, but did it actually make me look frumpy? My hair was doing crazy, frizzy, curls-in-wrong-places things after the humidity from the shower.

    Why do you care so much?

    I knew why. I wanted to be that person I’d built myself up to be online, and I was not confident that I was capable of that. I was afraid that my introvert tendencies, so easy to overcome online, were about to kill this most cherished relationship. And it was certainly easy to hide my body behind chest-up profile pictures. I didn’t care if James didn’t want me the way I wanted him. I feared that he wouldn’t recognize me as the virtual person he’d come to know and that I’d break this thing we had.

        I got off of the elevator at the ground floor and made my way through the people milling about, heading towards the conference room. I hoped this Con didn’t have a rule about walking into a panel late. I hated to be that person, but it looked like I was going to be.

    I’m only five minutes late. That’s not so bad.  I told myself as I held the handle for the door but hesitated. People were going to stare when I walked in. That thought made me almost decide to wait outside the door for the panel to be over.

    Just do it. You’re coming in the back. No one will notice.

    I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. To my relief, the panel hadn’t started. They were still getting set up, working out sound system bugs. I moved to an aisle seat, a little over halfway down where there was an empty chair separating me from the next person. It was a seat with an easy exit and a good view of the panelists.

    It’s hard to remain unnoticed, however, when one of the panelists turns, smiles, and acknowledges your presence in the room. Everyone looked to see who James McIntyre was grinning at. I smiled back and then tried to become one with my chair. When that didn’t work, I buried my head in my bag seeking a pen and notepad, hoping to hide the blush I felt spread across my cheeks. James wasn’t the biggest name at the Con, but he was well-known with an extensive online following. That made people interested in what he was interested in.

    I tried to enjoy the panel. It was hard when I noticed James’ gaze lingering on me when he wasn’t talking and often when he was. He caught me watching him a few times. The heat never left my cheeks. I was experiencing the I’ve Stared At Your Avatar For So Long And Now You’re A Real Person Syndrome. I couldn’t stop looking at him, sitting there in flesh and blood. The little idiosyncrasies. The timbre and cadence of his voice. The crow’s feet that appeared when he said something amusing and flashed his dazzling smile at the audience. The charisma. The confidence. All the things missed during virtual exchanges. I knew him, but I didn’t.

    “I think it’s important that you feel what your character feels when you’re writing,” James said to the audience. “If they’re sad, you need to feel sad, but there’s a difference in those levels of sadness. You need to be able to call up those feelings of sadness and grief and describe the different reactions your body might have. If I’m just feeling sad or blue, I don’t typically experience sternum-racking sobs, like I might if I’m grief-stricken. We are as much actors as we are writers. So, if your character is angry, you need to feel that in order to write it well, in order for it to feel authentic. If they’re aroused, you need to feel their arousal.”

    I was suddenly very interested in note taking at the mention of arousal to avoid making eye contact with James. I’d been aroused for days just thinking about this trip.

    "Thank you, James.” The moderator jumped in. “I think we need to save the topic of arousal for another panel!” There were some chuckles from the attendees and a couple of Awww-mans. “We have about five minutes. Any questions from the audience?”

    Five minutes. My heart jumped. James had asked me to wait for him after the panel. Was it that time already? I barely heard the questions that were asked. I’m sure they were good.

    When the moderator dismissed the panel some attendees walked towards the panelists and the majority out the door. I followed the stream out the door. Even if I hadn’t been intentionally waiting on someone, I preferred to find authors I enjoyed at their booths so I could get a signed book instead of bombarding them at the panelist table.

    I leaned back against the banister and pulled out my phone to send a few Tweets about the Con and follow the hashtag to see what I might be missing. It was impossible to get to everything with so much programming, but luckily many people chronicled their adventures online.

    “You sure did freshen up.”

    I jumped and looked up from my phone. Light flirting had always existed online between us but hearing him continue the banter IRL caught me off guard.

    “Are you saying I wasn’t up to par the first time you saw me?” I quipped.

    “Not at all. I just like the dress.”

    “Thanks…it has pockets.” I stuck my hands in the pockets and flared out the dress to prove its awesomeness.

    "That’s great!”

    A moment of silence passed between us.

    “So, what’re your plans for the rest of the night? Do you have more panels? Or need to be at your booth?” I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

    “Actually, I was hoping you’d have dinner with me. Are you hungry? If you’ve already eaten, then a drink maybe?”

    Thinking about food made my stomach growl. I hadn’t eaten since the sub-par drive-thru food halfway through my trip. Thinking about dinner with James, however, made my stomach somersault. I was glad it was empty, or I might expel its contents.

    “Unequivocally.” The word just popped out of my mouth.

    “You’re unequivocally hungry? Or thirsty?”

    “Both?” It came out as a question, as I drew out the word and raised my speaking voice about an octave.

    “Alright, dinner and drinks then. Is the hotel bar okay? Might be hard to get in elsewhere since it’s Friday night.”

    I shrugged. “Works for me.”

    “After you, m’lady.”  James lightly placed his hand on the small of my back, heat blossoming where his fingers touched. I sighed.