Create a similar story with title, keep the gay details and eliminate the sensual activities in the story. 
" An age-gap lesbian celebrity romance about how much you’d risk to have your dream. Talented A-lister Cate Whitney is the gorgeous middle-aged movie star almost every 
lesbian has a crush on.
Rachel Janssen, an introverted medical physics student, is no exception. So when her 
celebrity crush starts filming near her Vancouver apartment, she can’t believe her luck. A chance encounter with Cate leads to a little swooning, small-talk, and a shock offer to help the star as a science consultant on her Marie Curie film. And, wait, could 
Cate actually be flirting with Rachel?
However, as the chemistry sizzles between them, Rachel struggles with the harsh 
reality of being linked to a famous actress. Paparazzi keep dragging her into the spotlight when all she wants is to be taken seriously in her medical career. 
Is falling for a superstar too much to handle? Even if sexy Cate Whitney is the one everyone wants? Even if she’s everything Rachel needs? 
o 
When Rachel finds out a movie is filming on her street—and it stars her celebrity crush, Cate Whitney—her friend Abby dares her to sneak onto the set and get an autograph. 
Excerpt 
As if a high-budget movie about science hero Marie Curie isn’t awesome enough, they had to go and cast Cate Whitney as the lead. Excuse me while I cry feminist tears. 
The fence reaches all the way around the movie set, and the only break is at the back of one of the white tents. 
There’s a gap between the ground and the base of the tent. What if I could lift it and slip under? 
If Abby were here, she would be pushing me toward the gap right now. 
I don’t know what possesses me to do it. Maybe I’m too tired to realize it’s a terrible idea on all levels. Maybe I’m feeling reckless after such a catastrophic weekend. Maybe I’m so desperate for a small win in my life in the form of a celebrity autograph that I’m willing to do something drastic to get it. I wait until the street is empty, then drop to my hands and knees and lift the bottom of the tent. 
It’s stiff, made of some kind of thick, ruthless polyester. I have to tug hard to fit under it, and even then, I’m lying on the pavement with my boobs pressed flat. 
Panting, I claw my way under and pop out on the other side with a gasp.
I try to stand—and my head smashes into something.
“Ow!”
I brace on all fours, dizzy. Why the hell didn’t I check whether I ended up 
underneath anything?
Beside me, several trays hit the floor, and fruit and sandwiches scatter across the 
pavement.
“Fuck,” I say, crawling out from under the table. My hand smears a mustard- 
covered croissant across the ground.
Apparently, I have arrived in the craft services tent.
“Oh, you scared me,” a smooth voice says.
I lift my gaze and meet a pair of ice-blue eyes. Everything inside me melts. I’m 
about to become a puddle on the pavement.
I did not think this would work.
I honestly expected to be kicked out or to wander the set for five minutes before 
panicking and leaving, so that I could tell Abby I tried.
Cate Whitney is standing there, holding a script in one hand and a strawberry in the 
other. She’s cool and charming in her steampunk outfit and professional makeup— and I’m on the ground with mustard on my hands. 
She stares at me in a way I never, ever wanted her to stare at me—a mix of confusion, horror, and pity. She lowers the script, which she must have been reviewing. 
I jump to my feet, wiping my mustardy palms on the back of my shorts.
“B-big fan of your work,” I blurt.
Dammit, why did Abby have to suggest I say that? I sound like an idiot.
I guess it’s better than saying, Hi, you were my lesbian awakening and I’ve seen 
your movies multiple times and find you incredibly attractive.
My face is absolutely on fire. I definitely look like a shiny tomato right now.
Cate tilts her head, perplexed. “Are you...working on set?”
Her smooth, husky voice brings to mind the number of villains she’s played. My 
insides tingle.
Then the meaning of her words sinks in. Crap. She’s onto me. 
“No, I don’t work here,” I admit. “I was wondering if—” I stop, like my throat has sealed shut. If I tell her I snuck in to ask for an autograph, she’s going to think I’m a stalker. I don’t want to be responsible for giving her the feeling that she isn’t safe from rabid fans. 
Am I being a rabid fan? Dammit, Abby. 
No, it’s not like I keep track of where she is and what she’s doing. I respect her privacy and avoid tabloids and paparazzi shots. I just admire her. And I’m torn between wanting to be her and wanting to kiss her. 
Fuck. I’m being weird. 
“I was wondering if the producer is accepting applications,” I say, shoving the marker deeper into my back pocket to preserve my last shred of self-respect. “For a— science—consultant.” 
“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. 
I stand taller. “Yeah. I’m a graduate medical physics student specializing in Marie Curie’s work.” 
The Marie Curie part is a stretch, but I’ve taken radiotherapy physics, so it’s not a total lie. 
Her lips curve upward, almost imperceptibly, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t believe for a second that I’m here for a job application. But she doesn’t call security or tell me to leave. 
“You probably understand this role better than I do,” she says, holding up the script. “Any tips? I know Marie Curie discovered radium and coined the term radioactive, but I don’t get what it all means or how she discovered it. Any research I’ve tried to do has taken me too far down a physics rabbit hole.” 
“She invented a technique for isolating radioactive isotopes. She discovered polonium, too.” I’m about to say more, but I shut my mouth when Cate’s brow furrows. This gibberish must be supremely unhelpful. 
“Radioactive isotopes,” she says, tasting the words. “But how does someone just discover a new element?” 
“She extracted them from a mineral called pitchblende.” 
Cate’s gaze is fixed on me, making my face heat up. She chews her lip, looks at the script, then points across the set. “We might be able to use a consultant.”