Page 6 of The Influencer

“Oh. Well…” Asher, grimaces, doing his best, it seems, to act unbothered. “Adam probably thought I already knew. Forgot to tell me or whatever.”

“Have you not talked to him?” Gideon actually sounds concerned, like the two of them are friends. He never sounds like that when he’s talking to me.

Asher sighs heavily, and for some unknown reason, it makes me want to give him a hug. Sad bear. “No,” he says. “Not really. Anyway. What’s the date?”

“November fifteenth. Right before my tour.”

“Got it. I’ll put it on my calendar.”

“Who are you guys talking about?” I butt in.

Gideon answers. “Asher’s brother is marrying my manager Sawyer.”

“Adam’s your brother?” I ask.

Asher nods my way and lays his transparent template over Gideon’s inner forearm.

“They’re twins,” Gideon says.

“Not identical. Obviously,” Asher adds.

“I’ve only met Adam once at a party—sometime last winter,” I say. “I remember thinking he was hot, and Sawyer got really lucky.”

Gideon huffs a laugh. Asher only shakes his head, now fully focused on his work. I wander around the shop, looking at the art on the walls, snapping photos, thinking about tattoos. Most of my fans like that I don’t have any. I get a lot of compliments on my skin—pale, prone to pinking up, and meticulously cared for. I get so many good products shipped to me, neither my skin nor my hair has ever been in better shape. If I got a tattoo it would have to be so perfect, so well-placed, so exquisitely rendered—It gives me anxiety just thinking about it.

While I wait on one of the comfy sofas, I go through my earlier unboxing footage and put together a reel using a trending sound. I hate my voice, so I don’t talk much on social media. Also, it’s not like I’m a Yale grad. I’m a dancer, and no—not classically trained. Self-taught. I just have a natural aptitude and a sick body, which I also use in my lucrative side hustle.

In terms of my influencer “career,” that all came about because I landed a spot on Gideon York’s world tour. It was too easy to build a following that year, and truly the best thing to happen to a queer, twenty-one-year-old, high school dropout in the history of the world.

Like, I get how blessed I am. But it’s stressful, too. I mean, no one’s life is in my hands or anything, but monetizing content creation isn’t for the lazy. It’s for hustlers.

“You ready?”

I look up from the couch to find Asher staring down at me in all his giant, hairy glory. My cheeks immediately heat. I don’t usually go for the big, hairy ones, but he’s a vibe, a guess. One I’m currently feeling. “Uh-huh.”

“Come on over.”

He leads the way, and Gideon gives my nose a pinch as we pass each other. His forearm looks well worked over, a whole new landscape mapped out on it. He told me the sleeve is his and Jax’s love story. Lots of windows, airplanes, and the Parthenon. They met when we were in Europe two years or so ago. I was too busy becoming me at the time to notice what was going on with the two of them, though. All I know is that Jax was straight, and then all of a sudden he was married to a queer superstar. Europe was basically a blur where my following went from 5.1K to 14.7K in six weeks thanks in no small part to how often Gideon had been in the press at the time.

“Go ahead and have a seat.”

I adjust my fanny pack and sit where Asher tells me to. The cushion is hard and unyielding.

“Tilt your head back?”

My eyes pop open. “Should I blow my nose first?”

He smiles, flashing those perfect teeth again. “You’re fine.” Lifting his hands, he brushes my hair behind my ears, clearing the palette of my face, I guess, and totally exposing me. Chills skitter down my arms at his warm touch. I take a sharp breath as he looks all up, in, and around my nose. “So… Jade, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Unusual name for a guy.”

“It’s like a stage name.”

“Ah. Like your eyes, huh?”

Oh my God. “Yeah,” I breathe. He smells good up close. The whole place smells like him actually. His scent reminds me of lavender and rain. Super soothing. But I’m like freaking out right now.

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