As I pull up my main page, my eyes fall to the little red notification bubble in the corner, and my jaw fallsslack. There are over fifteen hundred interactions on my page since last night.
“This has to be some kind of glitch,” I mutter under my breath.
Surely, there’s no way my page got that much traction. Right?
Clicking over to my page, my stomach somersaults when I see twenty thousand new followers. Since last night.
I blink, confused. That definitely has to be a glitch.
Forcing a breath into my lungs, I try to figure out what’s going on. None of my posts went viral all of a sudden, so that doesn’t make sense.
Then where did all these new followers come from?
I dig further, clicking on one of my most recent photos—where I can see there are forty-two new comments—and begin to scroll.
not_demure:We love a baddie.
rip.van.wrinkle:Thick thighs save lives.
eggplantboss:That tango gonna be horizontal later.
h0ly.h@nds:Tobias is one lucky fuck.
His name is like a punch to my stomach, and I freeze.
What the hell does he have to do with any of this?
I think back to the club last night, when he saved me from the handsy guy and joined me on the dance floor. Did someone see us together and think we were… together?
No. That can’t be it.
But a few more clicks has the answer staring me inthe face. I’ve been tagged two hundred times under an image posted by a stranger.
I click it, bracing myself for the worst?—
The picture that loads is a shock to my senses, and all my thoughts turn to mashed potatoes.
There I am, pressed up against Tobias on the dance floor, looking back at him over my shoulder. His arms are around me, his hands grabbing my hips. It looks intimate, too intimate for two people who can’t stand each other.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Someone obviously recognized Tobias last night, and they’d assumed we were on a date. Which we weren’t. He was just my drink bitch, there to make sure no one took advantage of me.
This was not supposed to happen. We were both very clear that last night was a one-night stand, and that nothing would come of it.
But now somethinghascome of it.
I groan.
So much for things going back to normal.
I’m curious if Niki has seen this shit yet. Knowing her, she probably has.I wonder why she didn’t ask about it…
A knock at the door makes me jump, and I hurry to retrieve my room service, even though I hardly feel like eating now. I’m too nauseous and anxious, wondering how much more attention the photo is going to get as the hours drag on. My mind wanders, crowded with questions.
Will we have to make a statement?
Will everyone let it go and forget about it in a couple of days?
