So now I’m alone. In the green room. With Vance Reigns, like, ten feet away.

General Sond. It’s still so weird. I’m not sure whether I’m absolutely terrified of him or really digging the long white-blond hair. He looks like Orlando Bloom as Legolas, and my childhood Lord of the Rings trash self is low-key screaming right now.

Okay, maybe not low-key.

My moms say I don’t do anything low-key.

Vance approaches me, sipping a cup of water.

“Where did everyone go?” he asks in a surprising English accent. I did not realize he was English.

“To, ah…they went…”

Brain, you have failed me for the last time.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Vance,” he says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you earlier. It was just my cue, and you know how we Brits like our queues.”

I think he’s trying to make a joke about standing in lines, but all I can do is stare at him.

I thought being flabbergasted by Darien was the extent of my fangirling, but this is insanely different.

One, Vance is single (and straight, with the exception of Ron Swanson), which means my inner monologue can’t scream but his girlfriend/boyfriend/partner! Thus the unoccupied part of my brain is already marrying him and having his children and—

Two, being in the same room with him is like being next to the sun. He is face-meltingly hot. His shoulders and chest are broad, his torso tapers down to thin hips and sturdy legs. I mean, not that his legs wouldn’t be sturdy, but you know the kind of legs where you just know, under the molten-golden trousers, that he can basically smash watermelons between them? Yeah, that’s the kind of thighs I’m picturing, and I think my knees have gone numb and oh dear god he’s way too close. He clasps his hands behind his back in this unassuming, almost boyish way and gives me a smile that exudes warmth and honesty and long walks on the beach, causing the system-wide meltdown of Imogen Lovelace.

Mayday. I am in trouble.

He’s playing the villain?

“So,” he says languidly, almost in a purr, and that coupled with the English lilt of his voice makes me remember how much I love accents. His, specifically, the way it forms around his lips. “You’re the infamous Jessica Stone.”

What are words? Who am I?

I think my ovaries are exploding.

“I…ah…” I have absolutely nothing in my head. It’s a blank slate. His smile renders me absolutely and ridiculously incompetent.

I didn’t think I was this kind of girl. I’ve never been speechless before.

Lies! my emergency reboot program howls. All lies!