There are even more, mostly people tagging other users. The first two still make my stomach flip.
“Speaking of, I have something to show you,” Finn says, calling my attention back. He gets his cell from the pocket of his slacks. “A couple hours ago, this really big account shared our last photo.”
My heart skips. I try to see upside down as he navigates to the app. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He finds the account and passes me the phone. “Look.”
I take it, and when I see the number of likes, my jaw hits the floor.
One-thousand, two-hundred-fifty.
Holyshit.
Make that fifty-one.
Fifty-two.
I cover my mouth. My words are there too, for everyone to read. There are over thirty comments. “When did this happen?”
“A few hours ago. It’s an account featuring up-and-coming artists. Photographers, writers, painters. But really good, progressive work. I’ve been getting a ton of new followers from it.”
“How’d they find us?”
“Someone tagged them in a comment on our photo. I did a little research. Accounts like this one get a lot of followersjustfrom reposting other people’s photos. They’re called feature accounts.”
“Did you read the comments?”
“Yeah.” He closes his knees around mine, pressing my legs together. “They’re all good. Really good, Hals. It’s all you. Your words.”
I’m grinning like an idiot, but I can’t help it. People are looking at his photograph. My caption. My body. “It’s us,” I say.
“It’s you.” He runs his hands up my thighs. “You and your fucking amazingness.”
I go through the last few photos featured on the account. “None of these have even a thousand likes,” I say.
“Oursisthe sexiest one on there. Maybe even of their entire account.” He slides a finger under the hem of my dress. “Or all time.”
I look at Finn. A few weeks ago, I would’ve burned my journals before letting anybody near them. And just because I’ve lost weight doesn’t mean I’m not self-conscious about my body. This photo is validation I might be doing something right. People other than Finn and myself are connecting with what I wrote. Theygetme. Finn did this for me. This project is ours, but he’s given me confidence. He wants to make me happy, and I am—without medication. “I love—this.” I choke onthisand cough to cover my blunder. I almost saidyou. Almost. Out of habit. I don’t mean it. I feel love, not for Finn yet, it’s too soon, but I feel it. I never expected, when I agreed to do this with Finn, that anyone would really care what I had to say. Not like this.
“I love this too,” he says. “And I love being able to turn your day around.”
I drop my eyes to his lips, the most kissable lips on the planet, I’m fairly sure. “Technically it’s night,” I say softly.
“Technically, you’re wearing too much clothing.” He stretches forward to kiss me. His warm mouth gives me permission to melt. Without disconnecting from me, he gets up, planting his hands at my sides on the cushions. I bend my head all the way back to meet his kisses.
He reaches one hand under my dress and pauses. “Halston?”
“Mmm?”
“Is this what I think it is?”
I pull up the hem and show him my black thigh-high stockings. “As requested.”
He blinks at them. “You weren’t wearing these when you left this morning.”
“I bought them on my lunch break. Just for you.”
He grunts, fingering the lace trim. That’s all it takes. He kicks the coffee table out of the way, pushes my dress up around my hips, and gets to his knees. I drop my head against the back of the couch when he shoves my underwear aside and buries his face between my thighs. My hands run through his thick, honey-colored hair, the strands sprouting soft and silky from my fingers.
