Rubbing my gritty eyes, I scan the room, my lips curling up at the luxury surrounding me. I know my situation is hardly conventional, and possibly illegal in some states, but I feel so lucky just to be here, even if it is only temporary.
My phone shudders from somewhere, and I look around, trying to figure out where it is. It shudders again. And then again. And then a few more times.
I search through the tangled mess of bedsheets, finally finding the device buried under one of the three thousand pillows, my brows drawing together when I see the screen.
Why do I have over four hundred Instagram notifications?
Unlocking my phone, I scroll to the social media app I rarely ever use, and my eyes bug at the number of likes, comments, and new followers I have. I click on one of the notifications,sucking in a gasp and choking on it when I see the image on my screen.
It’s Brookes and me from last night. But it’s not the photo I thought he’d taken, the one with my fake ass, forced smile. It’s one he took while he was blowing raspberries on my cheek. He’s grinning, looking at the camera, his smiling lips pressed to my skin, and I’m laughing, my head thrown back, eyes closed and crinkled at the corners. And as I study the picture, I honestly can’t recall a time I’ve ever looked so genuinely happy.
Tugging on my bottom lip, I read the caption that simply saysHARD LAUNCH, and my eyes widen because the comments that follow are chaotic to say the least, ranging from people who appear to be happy for Brookes, people who want to see him show that kind of motivation back on the course, and people who apparently hate me and want me to die, one even mentioning that she hopes I get impaled by Brookes’ monster cock.Nice.
A text message pops up on the screen. Rodrigo. And I’m thankful to have something to take my mind off the horrible comments of people wishing me death by dick.
Rodrigo: Girl, way to hard launch.
I don’t really know what to say to that, so I just respond with a heart eyes emoji.
Rodrigo: So… are we affirmative on the monster cock theory?
Me: Rodrigo!
Rodrigo: Oh, you know I’m taking that a yes.
Rodrigo: Get it girl.
I roll my eyes and shake my head on a laugh because honestly, this man.
Rodrigo: By the way, Julie-Anne is on “stress” leave.
Me: OMG
Rodrigo: Kendall is going around basically telling this whole ass story about how you swooped in and stole Brookes from her.
Me: Lies!
Rodrigo: Oh girl, I know. This place is a telenovela in real time, I swear.
A phone call interrupts my conversation with Rodrigo, Brookes’ contact popping up on the screen, and I don’t know why, but nerves suddenly bubble deep in my tummy. My first instinct is that I’m in trouble and I don’t even know why—the price of being a chronic people pleaser, I guess.
“Hey.” I clear the morning rasp from my throat. “What’s up?”
“Switch your social media profiles to private.”
I rear back. “Well, good morning to you too, I guess,” I say with mock cheerfulness.
“Sorry. Good morning,” Brookes mutters.
I bite back a grin. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure half the internet now wants me dead. Death by monster co—” I snap my mouth shut when I realize exactly what I was about to say. “Socials to private. Got it.”
“Ignore them. I’ve turned off all comments,” Brookes says. “But people are assholes.”
“Speaking of assholes,” I begin. “Were you and Julie-Anne ever…”
“Who’s Julie-Anne?” he asks on a bored sigh.
“She’s a cart girl. Blonde. Huge boobs. Kind of…squeaky.”
