“You have tenthousandfollowers?” I balk. “I thought you said you weren’t famous.”
“That’s nothing.” Luke scoffs. “Well, I mean, it’s not ‘nothing.’ Technically, I’m a little famous, but only in very small circles. Definitely notfamous,famous. Sort of a niche following, if you will. Other queer artists and actors, mostly.”
I stare at the picture I took at the top of the screen, up and live for the world to see. It’s already got twenty-five likes and ten comments, mostly from people loving how beautiful Luke is, which—same. But it’s only been up for less than a minute.
Now that I have this treasure trove in my possession, I can’t stop myself from going through the rest of his profile to see what other photos he’s posted. Luke doesn’t seem to mind, scooching over to rest his chin on my shoulder as I scroll. He gets comfortable and sips his coffee, watching me with a sort of bemused smile, like he finds it endearing that I’m curious abouthim. It might be silly, but I’ve never seen this side of Luke before, and Iamcurious.
His Instagram isn’t private, but I never thought to find it before now—mostly because I don’t use it myself. Or any social media, really. My Facebook is ancient, and one could reasonably assume I died with how little activity it’s seen since 2010. I only joined TikTok two weeks ago because Luke kept sending me so many videos that it was easier to interact with them on the app.
Clearly, Luke is not only incredibly active on this platform, but he’s also curated an entire internet persona that’s popular and sought after. It’s not surprising to see why. He’s a walking thirst trap.
There are thousands of pictures of him posing in various locations, some brooding and melancholy, others glowing and energetic—even more still looking downright sultry. I recognize the selfie of him sitting in my truck when I’d let him borrow it, and then there’s one I’ve never seen of him posing in front of the new truck. He looks like a modern cowboy in his dark wash denim jeans, work boots, and Ray-Ban sunglasses.
Then there are the photos with varying degrees of shirtlessness, and I linger for more than a few seconds on a couple where it’s obvious he’s completely naked behind the camera. Only the frame cuts out the important bits. Unsurprisingly, those are the ones with the highest level of engagement. Luke chuckles as he sees which photos pique my interest, but I don’t mind. He knew what he was doing, posting these for the world to see, and I am but a simple man.
Beyond the modelesque photos dominating his feed, he also documents his life with little snapshots of where he is or what he’s doing, creating a story without words. I can see how his time in New York was full of fun, friends, and so much love and light, that I feel an unexpected pang of jealousy. If these pictures truly represent the kind of life he’s had so far, Ireallydon’t think Ican meet him at his level. His entireworldis made of color, and I don’t know how to offer him that same radiance. I try to shake it off as I keep scrolling.
There are quite a few pictures of his cat curled up and sleeping in various places in his apartment or staring at the camera with her beautiful blue eyes, and Luke makes a sad noise whenever he sees her pop up on the screen, pawing at the phone. I imagine he misses her terribly, given how prevalent she shows up. I feel worse remembering how he had to leave her behind when he came back here.
Going further back, there are a bunch of pictures of a guy I can only assume is an ex-boyfriend by the sudden drop-off of content containing his face about a year ago. Luke confirms it when he notices me pause on one or two of them together. His name was Armando, and they dated for about two years before Luke caught him hooking up with one of his presumed ex-boyfriends, only to find out he’d been two-timing both of them the whole time. I’m flabbergasted.
But what shocks me most is finding hints ofmein Luke’s perfectly curated story.
I can tell by the pictures Luke’s taken more recently that he has been documenting our entire relationship between his infuriatingly beautiful selfies. At first, I wonder if I’m reading into it, but it’s unmistakable before long. To anyone else looking at these photos, they’d seem like average pictures of landscapes or artsy images of things he’s been doing. I recognize them immediately as having deeper significance. Our story is right there for everyone to see, and yet, no one would ever know that’s what it was.
There are pictures of some of the fancy cocktails we ordered last night, edgy shots of the bars themselves, and then, mysteriously, one of Luke’s and my hand clasped together on my lap. I never even saw him taking the picture. Then, there’s thestatue I compared him to at the DIA, more of our clasped hands again as we walked through the museum, followed by the poster outside of Orchestra Hall showing Yo-Yo-Ma as the principal musician for the evening.
The camping trip up north makes an appearance as well. First, he’s posed like a rumpled mess on the air mattress we’d just had sex on for the first time, showing off my hoodie almost like a trophy.That onemakes me feel some kind of way. There’s the cave we’d made out in for a few solid minutes on our kayaks, a shot of the beach with our two sets of footsteps walking along the shore, and finally, the piece of driftwood I’d tripped over on the night I’d first kissed him—though he must have gone back to it the next day since the photo was obviously taken during the day.
It's all right there.
Clearly, Luke is very open about his life and how he’s living it, and I can see he has a deep connection to his social media. It’s a part of who he is. It’s adorable to think he’s trying to show me off as much as he can, even though no one could guess who he’s spending time with. Based on the comment section of some of these photos, there’s a lot of speculation about it.
I can’t help but feel like this is Luke’s way of wanting to celebrate being with me on both of our terms, incorporating his wildly public life and my desperately private one. It gives the whole thing an air of mystery, and the secrecy is actually kind of hot. My heart swells with emotion, and I can’t help but turn my head to look at Luke with awe.
He smiles sheepishly, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders, but I can see he knows he’s been caught. And now I don’t feel so bad about wanting to sneak a photo of him earlier.
Without a word, I drop the phone on the bed, take his coffee from his hand, and set it down on the side table. Before he has time to protest, I tackle him, drawing a startled gasp from his lips. I kiss him fervently, tracing my mouth along his jawand down his neck, spying the mark on his throat from my handiwork the night before. Luke chuckles as I swipe my tongue over it, and then he wraps his arms around my neck and pulls me closer.
There are a couple of hours before weneedto check out, but I’m not in a rush to go anywhere.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Secrets and Lies
Lukesuggestswehavebrunch before heading home, and he finds a place a few blocks from the hotel called the Olin Bar & Kitchen, one he says he absolutelymusttry while we’re in the city. It has good reviews, with a social media presence nearly as active as Luke’s, and even I have to admit, the pictures of their food are enough to make me drool.
The restaurant’s décor is hip and stylish, nothing short of my expectations now that I understand Luke’s taste in the finer things. The menu is just as remarkable, with so many delicious options that I have difficulty deciding what to order. But then, something catches my eye, and I’m instantly a goner. Avocado toast. Lord knows I’m a sucker for it, and their version sounds more intriguing than anything I could make at home.
Luke sips on a mimosa, and I enjoy the house-made bloody mary, not even caring that it’s before noon. So many things on this date have fallen outside my regular routines that nothing surprises me anymore. I sit in our booth by the window and watch every time Luke’s smile blooms when he gets a new notification from Instagram. When he turns the phone to me, Isee that my photo has surpassed a couple thousand likes in the few hours it’s been up, with comments in the hundreds.
“See! People love your art,” Luke says, staring at the photo before turning the screen off and putting the phone face down on the table, bringing him fully into the present.
“The picture’s okay.” I reach for his hand, tracing his delicate wrist, the soft skin beneath my fingers bringing up a rush of memory from last night. I can’t help but smile. “But I think what they really love is you.You’rethe art.”
Luke’s bright blue eyes sparkle behind his glasses as his lips curl into that adorable half-smile, and a twinge of pink flushes across his cheeks as he turns to look at the street outside.
We sit together in comfortable silence when I’m suddenly hit with a strange feeling of déjà vu, like I’ve been here before. The sensation is enough to make me release a whole body shiver as I take in every detail in front of me, from the way Luke’s profile glows in the sunlight to the smallest nick in the table. It’s like I’m remembering this instead of living it for the first time.
