I didn’t know how to tell her that was just what happened to my eyes when I looked at her.
No idea when it happened or even how it happened. But whenever she smiled at me, all I wanted was to lean forward and capture those lips in a bruising kiss. It was more than that, though. I wanted to be the reason she smiled in the first place.
Fuck, what was happening to me? Just weeks ago, we both pretended the other didn’t exist in public, and now I wanted to stake a public claim on her.
A waiter paused in front of us. “Can I get you two anything to drink?”
Macey, with her cascading braid and warm eyes, smiled at him. “Could I have a diet coke, please?”
The waiter turned expectantly at me. My eyes caught on the smile still pasted on Macey’s face. “Coconut water.”
After, Macey commented, “Coconut water is severely underrated. Good choice.” The waiter returned a minute later andhanded us our drinks. “So what do you do when you’re not posting shirtless selfies?”
“I know you claim I only post shirtless selfies,” I said as I sipped at my water. I wondered if Macey’s skin would taste as sweet. “But I share other content, too.”
I wouldn’t say I had a particular “brand” on social media other than being an attractive guy who got famous. My content was lifestyle focused, and while there wasn’t a typical day in my life, my posts usually focused on gym workouts, food, and activities happening locally.
National events or press trips were included too, just less frequently. If an event wanted to cater to mid-to-late-twenties men, there was a chance I’d be on the list.
“Like your nerdy LEGO collection?”
Daphne spilled that secret to her so easily. I glanced around us, thankful there was no one in hearing distance. “Don’t talk about that.”
“God forbid I ruin your image,” Macey said, equal parts amused and offended.
“That’s all it is,” I insisted. “An image.”
“Really?”
I ran my tongue over the inside of my teeth. My profile had started real and authentic—it began with Daphne posting daily clips of me working out in the front yard. Later, when I moved to Chicago, I admittedly had a late-stage rebellious spurt. My content changed with my lifestyle: breaking into abandoned buildings, throwing wild parties, skipping responsibilities. That content, plus the famous food blogger fight, continually went viral.
Now I was attempting to keep up the cool guy image without actually doing any of the rebellious things.
Which was tiring, to say the least. I was sick of sharing half-truths about me. It felt like I was becoming only half a person,the other half some kind of doll stuffed with views and like count.
“Really. It might have been true once, but it doesn’t reflect who I am now.”
She leaned closer to me. “And who are you now?”
“An average guy who likes to build LEGOs and who has more followers than the average person.”
“Who do you want to be?”
I paused. “I’m…not entirely sure.”
The sun was warm on my skin, and I shut my eyes for a minute. In the near distance, waves from the ocean crashed onto rocks. In front of us, the resort pool was a destination in itself. The water was a crystalline blue, so clear that I could see the mosaic tiles at the bottom. Palm trees bordered the pool, their fronds casting playful shadows across the surface. At the edge, a waterfall tumbled over a rocky ledge, leading to a shallow wading area where children splashed and played.
Paradise.
But then the public relations team ruined the paradise.
“Don’t you two look cozy!” a familiar voice trilled.
Fucking Jennifer.
“How has your day been so far?” Jennifer leaned against the palm tree that shaded our lounge chairs.
Macey lifted the Canon that had been sitting in her lap. “So great. I got some amazing pictures today.”
