It’s sexy, but not too sexy.

And that is super important. I want this outfit to look as close to the actual movie character Starla as possible, while still flattering my curves. The brown leather belt was a good call. As I cinch it around my waist, I bite my lip — I think I’ve nailed it.

My phone buzzes and I reach for it on my dresser. It’s Jenna, my best friend. I read the text, my heart falling as I do.

Don’t be mad... but I can’t come. Trevor refuses to watch Kallen and I can’t find anyone else.

My thumbs hover over my keypad. I don’t want to tell her how disappointed I am. Her baby-daddy, Trevor, is a total flake and I hate that for her, but the last thing she needs is a friend pointing out what she already knows.

Besides, she doesn’t really care about dressing up as a character from Space Battles--the most epic movie franchise of all time. She was doing this because she’s a good friend.

I text back: I’m sorry boo. There’s always next year. I guess I’ll have to fight off all the Neros on my own. ;)

I can practically hear her snorting. They’re gonna be all over you in that barely-there costume you made.

I don’t want all of them. I want THE ONE, I text back.

Give Braden Bentley a kiss for me.

I smirk. Yeah right. If I see him, I’ll be kissing him for myself.

You’re so horny for a fictional character, she types.

No, I’m horny for Nero, specifically, I type, clarifying my position. Who is played by the very real actor Braden Bentley, sex god and my all-around role-playing fantasy.

I hit send, regretting nothing. I am so into this movie star it’s not even funny, and Jenna knows it. When he pulled out his glowing sword in the final battle of the latest movie I spontaneously orgasmed. He is just that hot.

TMI AUBREY!! my BFF writes as if reading my mind.

#NoSuchThing, I type.

#OBSESSED is all she replies with, marking it the final word on the subject. And it’s the truest thing ever.

I’ve had a hardcore crush on Braden-slash-Nero since the moment I laid eyes on his dark and forbidding brown irises on a movie screen. I may be a twenty-four-year-old professional seamstress 363 days a year but then there are the other two days where I can dress up like his co-star and head to the closest Fandom-Con.

For the last six years, I’ve attended like a convert to the religion of Nero. I would get down on my knees and worship his glowing sword however he’d like.

Of course, he’s never attended the Fandom-Cons I make it to. And, even if he did, I’d be so busy wiping the drool from my mouth, that I wouldn’t be able to formulate the words to the sentence he deserves, aka, LET ME BE YOUR SEX TOY FOREVERRRR.

That would be too much, too intense--but absolutely true.

When I get to the city center it’s packed. I swear, there are people at this convention dressed as every character in every comic, film, or television show ever created, milling about. It’s hard not to stare--some of these ensembles are insanely impressive.

I wish I weren’t alone as I stand in the check-in line at the hotel across the street from the convention center. So, I text Jenna to pass the time. She tells me to put my phone away and be social, which I do. Though it’s hard; I’m not exactly oozing with confidence.

But then the convention-goers behind me compliment me on my Starla outfit, and I lift my chin, thanking the couple, and try to muster up the courage to talk to them.

“I like your costumes, too. I mean, who doesn’t like Jon Snow and the Mother of Dragons?”

“Thanks,” the woman says, laughing. “I’ve been on a diet for three months, so I could zip up this dress.”

“Well, you look freaking awesome. Did you make the dragon yourself?” I ask her, pointing to the little creature propped on her shoulder.

“I did,” she says, and then introduces herself as Mindy. “But my husband, Trey painted him for me.”

“Nice work,” I tell him with a smile. “I love that you guys are into this together. That’s the dream right there, isn’t it? Finding someone who thinks your obsessions are fun, not freaky?”

We move up in line and the man shrugs. “I mean, why be in a relationship if your partner doesn’t appreciate you, quirks and all?”

“Agreed,” I say.

“Did you come alone?” Mindy asks.

I nod. “Yeah. My best friend backed out at the last second.”

“Hmmm,” she says. “Maybe you’ll meet a Nero while you’re here.”

I laugh. “There seem to be dozens of them in that signature black mask.”

“Sure,” Mindy says, grinning. “But you need to find the one with the biggest sword.”

Trey snorts. “That’s kinda--”

I cut him off. “Honest?”

We all crack up and she adds, “The thing is, a costume may be nice and all, but what’s underneath matters too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, laughing, as I move to the front of the line. “Not sure they would be interested in me, but I guess it would be worth finding out.” At the check-in counter, I look to my left. Standing right next to me is a Nero... and I’m guessing he just heard everything that was just said.

I turn around to the GoT couple and see they are covering their mouths, laughing as I discreetly point to the masked man. Like the other Neros, the only thing visible is his mouth. Awkward much?

After I get my hotel room card, I begin to wheel my luggage away, waving goodbye to my newfound allies. Just as I’m about to reach the bank of elevators, I hear a deep voice say my name.

Well, not my actual name, but he calls out to Starla.

“Meet me in the hotel bar in an hour,” he says. “I’m buying you a drink.”

I turn on my heels, looking the Nero from the check-in desk up and down.

“Say what?” I ask, honestly shocked that he is asking me out. He is tall and clearly ripped. He is wearing the signature costume, tight black pants, boots to his calves. Black leather cords are wrapped around his chiseled torso--and a tight tunic that reveals every inch of muscle he might have.

I swallow. I have no idea what he looks like under the mask, but maybe I don’t care.

I came here to have fun--to play out my fantasy. And this guy is dressed up just like my Hollywood crush.

“I heard you back there,” he tells me. “Heard you might be looking for a Nero with a big sword.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment... but also interest. He rests his gloved hand on the faux sword that’s attached to his leather belt. I swallow. Just how big is his sword?

“And you think you have that?” I ask. “What I want?”

“Oh, I know I do,” he says, walking toward me with intent. He is less than a foot away and I feel a desire to play out my fantasy roll over me. Through me. Up and down me. “And if you meet me for a drink,” he says, “you might just get a chance to find out.”

Then he turns on his heels and walks away, leaving me breathless.

And absolutely sure of where I’ll be in one hour’s time.