CHAPTER ONE
NICK
Anthony Devine, a.k.a. the most gorgeous man in the world, stands in front of a black doorway with an ornate gold knocker.
I’m sitting cross-legged on my couch, craftily avoiding the spring poking up as I focus on the video playing on my laptop.
“Hey, guys, I’m Anthony Devine, and welcome to my New York apartment. I wanted to give you the behind-the-scenes glimpse of where I live when I’m not on tour. So come on in.”
I find myself leaning forward in anticipation as the camera follows Anthony inside. Even from behind, the man is unfairly attractive with his broad shoulders and dark hair curling slightly at the nape of his neck. Then he turns to give that trademark grin that’s slightly crooked, like it can’t decide whether to be charming or playful, so it’s chosen both.
“When I bought this place two years ago, I really loved the exposed brick walls and the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. It just felt so authentically New York, you know?
“But I wanted to make it feel like my own, so I worked with an interior designer to create a bunch of cozy nooks. I’ve got a reading corner, a vintage vinyl listening station, and even a meditation space. It’s like a choose-your-own-adventure apartment.”
The camera pans over a wall covered in framed platinum records and follows Anthony’s perfectly sculpted denim-clad ass as he heads down a hallway.
I glance up at my own wall, which features a water stain that looks vaguely like a duck.
On screen, Anthony is running a hand across his unshaven jaw, looking impossibly cute standing in front of the enormous bed.
“And here we have the primary bedroom, which my interior decorator designed in the palette inspired by the Northern Lights I witnessed when I was in Iceland.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I say as I slam my laptop lid closed.
“What’s the matter?” my roommate Jade asks from the other end of the couch.
“Like, I get theArchitectural Livingshow is supposed to be aspirational and shit, but all it does is illustrate the vast differences between the haves and have-nots.”
“It’s your fault for drooling over Anthony Devine and watching everything the guy has ever filmed,” she points out.
“I thought it would be fun to see inside his apartment. I didn’t realize it would show how far apart our realities are. I’m not sure we could ever bridge that gap.”
“Sure, the difference in your apartments is the reason you’re not with Anthony Devine.” Jade really is a master of sarcasm. Expert level.
I throw her a grin because, yeah, there might be one or two other reasons why I, a marketing student at NYU, and Anthony Devine, LGBTQ+ icon and Grammy Award winner, are currently not together. Minor things. Like the fact that he doesn’t know I exist.
I tip my head back to consider the color palette of our living space. It’s best described aslandlord beige meets slow-creepingmold. Our interior decorator is named Whatever was Cheapest at IKEA.
“Can you imagine ifArchitectural Livingdecided to do a clip of our apartment?” I ask.
Jade laughs. “It would be a short feature, that’s for sure.”
I sit up, a glimmer of an idea in my mind.
“Actually, that’s what I’m going to do.”
Jade blinks. “What?”
I’m already rummaging in my pocket for my phone. “I’m going to film my own version of anArchitectural Livingfeature.”
The idea settles the weird twisty feeling inside me that began while watching Anthony talk through his lofty apartment, with its designer furniture and immaculate styling that screams money and success. Even if I don’t live that life, I can at least satirize it, right?
“That seems like a productive way to spend a Saturday night.” Yeah, Sarcastic Jade is not giving up her crown anytime soon.
“Nah, it’ll be fun. Plus, it’s not like I have anything better to do, unless you count rewatching old interviews of Anthony for the hundredth time as a valid weekend activity.”
“I think we’ve previously established that continually watching clips of someone who doesn’t know you exist is not valid in any realm of existence.”
