I leaned in to see the image of his tanned feet with the pool as a backdrop. Hayes counted to ten and then pressed refresh. There were 4,332 likes. He counted again: 9,074.
“Holy shit.”
“That’s just my feet. Someday I’m going to put my penis on there and see what happens.”
“If you could perhaps time it with the release ofWise or Nakedso we could all profit from it, that would be great,” Oliver quipped. Charlotte giggled.
Hayes turned to look at him and laughed. “I’m not sharing the proceeds from my dick withyou. I’m saving that for my solo album.”
“Oh my God, youaretwenty, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” He smiled, running his hand over my back. “And you still love me. We’re showering, right?”
“Maybe. Do you read your comments?”
“Sometimes.” He began scrolling through. “‘I love you so much. Come to Turkey.’ ‘Why are you so hot?’ Something in Arabic. ‘I wish I could show you how much I really love you. I’m not like the other fans, try me.’ ‘I want to lick you but your music sucks’—tell me how you really feel. ‘Can I sit on your big toe?’ Wow, part of me is horrified and part of me wants to check her picture. Is that bad? All right, continuing, ‘Dork ass—’ What? I can’t say… It says the n-word. Why are they calling methat? Something in Hebrew. ‘Your feet are sexy as fuck.’ ‘I just want to be you.’ ‘Hayes, if you see this, I love you.’ Aww, that’s sweet… Right then, so there you go. There’s a nice sample for you.”
I don’t know why, but I was stunned. The immediacy of it, the fact that our moment here was playing out around the world in real time. The idea that they could communicate with him, that theywere anticipating his every action. It was unfathomable, this level of adoration.
“How many likes now?” Oliver asked.
Hayes pressed refresh. “Sixty-seven thousand six hundred and forty-three.”
“Show-off.”
“Hey, I’m just keeping the fandom happy. If I were showing off, trust me, mate, you would know.” He smiled before turning his attention back to me. “So, shower?”
There were many words I would use to describe Hayes Campbell. “Show-off” was not one of them. But his post-tennis performance that morning was undeniably brag-worthy. Because it took a certain level of skill to make me feel dirty in the shower.
After, when we were preparing for a drive into East Hampton, he headed downstairs to find Desmond. I was still in the bathroom struggling with the buttons on the back of my dress when I heard him return to the room.
“Can you do these for me?” I asked, stepping out into the suite.
But it was Oliver who looked up from the ottoman at the foot of the bed, where he was riffling through Hayes’s weekend bag. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Searching for headphones. I left my Beats back at the hotel in New York. Hayes said I could borrow his.”
“Do you not knock? Does no one knock here? Are there no boundaries?”
“The door was open. Sorry.”
I wanted to believe him, but something in his eyes said differently.
He turned back to the bag then and fished out Hayes’s headphones. “Got them. Thanks.”
My eyes were glued to him as he made his way across the room. When he reached the door, he stopped.
“Do you want me to fasten your dress?”
“No, thank you.”
“Do you want me to send up Hayes?”
“It’s okay. I can handle it.”
“Right then. Sorry I disturbed you.”
