She huffs. “You heard that?”
“That’s fucking crazy. So when you said you’re focusing on your career, you mean you already have one?”
She nods. “Yeah.” Then she goes completely still and quiet. She looks extremely uncomfortable, and I catch myself hating it. I don’t like to see her like this.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried I did something or said something that offended her.
She exhales. “I didn’t want you to know that about me. It felt nice to have someone who wasn’t impressed by status, or I don’t know. When I meet people, and they think I’m a somebody, it changes how they act around me, and…” She continues talking, but all I can think about is how this girl wants friends. It’s clear as day now. She has friends, but she wants genuine friends that aren’t friendly just for clout.
I stop her. “I’m not that impressed,” I blurt.
Her wide eyes stare into mine. “Really?”
I shrug. “Well, it’s kind of cool, but…”
“Oh my god.” She pushes my shoulder. “You are so impressed.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking impressed, and right now my wrist is twitching. I want to scroll through your shit.”
She rolls her eyes and hands me her phone. “Scroll away.”
I take it like it’s a present. “Really?”
She nods, pursing her lips. “Just don’t come after me. I meant what I said about friendship. I don’t need another person idolizing me.” She hits my shoulder as I look down at her profile. “I will cut you off if this changes anything between us. I like being personal trainer Cecily, not influencer Cecily to you.”
I take my focus off her profile and look at her. “You’re just Cecily to me.”
She doesn’t blush as I watch a smile play on her lips. “I have a lot of work to do, so hurry.”
Great, she’s rushing me. I look at her profile and confirm she has more than two hundred thousand followers. She actually has two hundred thirty-three thousand followers. And she’s a model. Holy hell. I click on her search bar, find myself, and hit follow.
“You can stalk me now. I officially have eight-hundred-fifty-two followers.”
She takes her phone back and says, “You barely post.”
“Yeah, because I’m a guy,” I chuckle.
“I know many guys who would post their face if they had yours.”
“Thank you,” I say, confused about whether that’s a compliment or not.
She opens the truck door and says, “I’m sorry again about earlier. It won’t ever happen again.”
I nod, watching as she steps out.
She turns around and says, “I’ll see you on Monday at four. Have fun at the party this weekend. Good luck at your game.”
She shuts the door before I can say anything.
At the team dinner that night, I receive a notification from Instagram. I ignore the guys to click on it. Cecily secretly tagged me in her Story. She’s taking a mirror selfie in the gym. My back is in the image, and I don’t see my name tagged anywhere, so she must have hidden it off-screen. I hit reply.
Dylan: Sneaking pictures of me?
Cecily: Yeah, figured it would be less awkward if I tagged you rather than not.
I smile.
Dylan: Are you using me for clout?
