Page 62 of The Wild Card
I hit publish around midnight, then turned off notifications, knowing I’d wake up to a flood of messages. And I do.
I’ve never publicly posted about a guy I’ve dated. None of them lasted long enough for me to even consider it. Honestly, I prefer to keep my personal life private, sharing only carefully chosen and curated pieces.
Which means the post of Collin and me positively blows up.
People are thrilled, and they are shipping ushard.
Which gives me something to occupy my time as Chase, Harper, and I drive back to Austin. It’s the first time since I got to Texas that I actually enjoy being on social media. But maybe it’s more that I like seeing Collin and me together, like the (mostly) happy reactions from my followers. Generally, the response is positive. I only have to block a few trolls or people making rude comments.
I wonder how long it will take Collin’s ex to see the video.
It’s a conscious choice not to look her up—at least, not yet. Today, while I sit on the couch at Chase and Harper’s, scrolling as I wait for them to get back from a run, I’m protecting my peace by sticking to things that make me happy.
Like watching the way Collin looks at me in the video. Forgetting for the moment that it’s not real.
And the thing is—looking at us in the video, remembering how it felt to be with him, how I forgot we were filming andwhy—it’s easy to imagine that it is real. Or that it could be.
It actually feels super weird going so many hours without talking to him after basically having him infiltrate my life. I miss him, and it’s surprising how much.
I could text him to tell him the post is live or just to see what he’s up to, but I feel weird reaching out first. He said he wascoming back to Austin today too, and I keep wondering how far away he is and when I’ll see him again. The last thing I want is to be a too-needy fake girlfriend by messaging to demand he tell me all his plans.
Instead, I watch the video for the twentieth time, my cheeks flooding with heat as I relive the moment. The lighting isn’t good, but that kind of makes it look more like a real moment, not one manufactured for social media—which in and of itself is ironic. We look flirty. Intimate.
Like we reallyareinto each other.
“How’s the response to yourhard launch?”
I drop my phone at the sound of Harper’s voice and have to fish it out from underneath their couch where I’ve been sitting for way too long. Half my butt is asleep. “Um, fine? I guess.”
Chase groans, walking in from the kitchen and taking a swig from a fancy water jug. “Can we please stop calling it that?”
They look happy and sweaty and endorphin-drunk—because they’re fitness masochists like that. It’s almost enough to make me think I might like running.
But not quite.
“What?” Harper asks. “You don’t like the term ‘hard launch’?”
“I’m not twelve,” Chase says. “So, no. I don’t.”
Harper pats his arm with a smirk. “I know. You’re an old man trapped in a twentysomething body. It’s okay to use the terms of the new generation. Say it with me: hard launch, hard launch, hard launch.”
“I’d rather not,” Chase says. “Plus, it’s not like it’s real anyway.”
My stomach drops at his words, and I try to maintain an even expression. Harper, I suspect, sees right through me. She’s good at that.
“Well, people are buying it, and that’s good for Collin,” I say. “And for the gym.”
Both Harper and Chase used to work at Grit full-time, but a few months ago, Harper started doing in-home personal training with women, and Chase switched to a CrossFit style gym. Neither one seemed surprised when I told them—with Collin’s permission—that he was selling Grit, and I wonder if they sensed how he’s been feeling about the place, if that impacted their choice to leave.
“What about you?” Chase says. “Remind me what you’re getting out of this fake relationship thing?”
“A job,” Harper reminds him. “Remember? We talked about this.”
Did they? I wonder what that conversation was like.
For whatever reason, my brother seems irritated and maybe even mildly disgusted by this plan. I’m not sure if it’s because he feels protective of me, protective of Collin, or maybe protective of the whole Graham family. Which up until this week has sort of beenhis.
Could he feel like I’m encroaching on his territory somehow?
