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“The Sleet owner.”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
“Dad, I?—”
“Don’t worry, he wasn’t offering to sell. I know one team is enough.” Dad pats my knee, misunderstanding my reaction. “He invited us to a game.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice.” I try to think of something else to say. Something other thanOh, that’s funny because I was practically humping one of their star players in the ocean this afternoon. But I can’t think of anything, so we just settle into silence.
Turning off the bathroom light, I head into the mainpart of my suite.
I took a quick rinse-off shower after our outdoor dinner. And now my hair is up in a bun on the top of my head, and I’m in my pajamas with my nighttime lotions slathered all over my body.
I flop onto the bed.
The TV is playing reruns of a show I’m not familiar with, but I like the background noise, especially when I’m staying in a hotel room alone.
With no one here to look over my shoulder, I prop myself up on my elbows, pick up my phone, and resume my search for information on Luke.
His Instagram is one of the top hits, and I click on it.
I’m not going to pretend that I’m better than this. That I won’t snoop through any of his public profiles. This is reality, and a girl can never be too careful.
As I scroll through his posts, I’m a little surprised at how tame his photos are.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, but in my interactions with him so far, he’s given off acocky jockvibe. I’ve seen him in just swim trunks. I’ve seen him in sweaty, clinging clothing. He’s always grinning and smirking.
But these photos of him are all fully dressed.
And there are some with him in a suit before a game, but most of them are just ones he’s taken himself of regular life stuff.
He has one with him holding an orange cat, their faces pressed together cheek to cheek, Luke smiling at the camera.
I tap the heart below the picture, then scroll to the next photo.
My fingers freeze.
Shit.
I scroll back up.
I didn’t mean to heart that.
Fuck.
Do I unlike it?
Will he still get a notification that I liked it?
Would he even see it?
He’s got—I click back up to his profile—a ton of followers. His notifications must be out of control.
He probably won’t see it.
My phone vibrates, notifying me that I have a new message request.
From Luke’s account.
