Corey

Do not wink at her. Do not wink. Do not.

You’d think my fingers are magnetic and the wink emoji is metal because I keep typing and untyping it.

I swear I’m not always this way. I usually have a great game. But with Emily…

Instead, I give her the evil face. Because that’s way cooler.

Probably.

If emoji can even be cool.

Although now she probably also thinks I’m serious.

I stare at my phone, waiting for it to light up again as Zane and I ride the elevator back to our floor. Maybe I really am a little evil, but I can’t wait to read her reaction.

“What are you smiling so much about?” Zane asks, folding his arms where he leans against the wall.

I shove my phone away, wiping the happy look off my face. Fortunately, it’s just us in here, but I still don’t feel like sharing.

“Nothing,” I say, which is the most suspicious reply ever. But I can’t help it.

I’d rather keep this my happy little secret a little longer.

Zane just shakes his head, pushing off the wall as the doors open. With a laugh, he says, “Sure. Nothing.”

Emily

Corey: Haha nah it’s completely tame

Corey: The really spicy stuff is behind a paywall 😈

I stare down at his messages, face flaming. A paywall!? Like…oh my God. Does he have a TopFans page or something?

Before I can help myself, I picture him shirtless, smirking dangerously, reading the kinds of lines that would make even my fictional otome game boyfriends blush. Maybe he’s even wearing those dark-rimmed glasses, looking so intensely at the camera, my stomach flips just imagining it.

And then I desperately need to know.

I shouldn’t.

I really shouldn’t. But…

I open an incognito browser window and shut my eyes as I hit enter on my search, feeling guilty. As if I’m snooping into a private part of his life.

I’m not even sure what I’m hoping to find, but when I open my eyes, there’s…nothing.

Why do I feel oddly disappointed?

At least, there’s no TopFans for his username—DaydreamKing—none that I can find, anyway.

I should have known he was just joking.

But that’s not the thing that had me reeling.

He has…I squint at his profile, making sure I’m reading right. Yep. 987,469 followers.

I thought he’d have a few thousand, maybe.

This is wild. This is beyond wild.

Almost a million followers?

Make that 987,470, now including me. Though…as soon as I hit the button, I realize my mistake.

Crap.

He could probably see. If he’s looking, he’ll see I’ve followed him.

And for some reason, that makes me feel like I’ve just committed a crime.

But what are the chances he’s looking right this second?

For a guy with that many followers, I’m sure he won’t notice.

Yeah. There’s no way.

Right?

Corey

I don’t usually check my follows. I stopped looking at the names ages ago, but today is different.

I’m sure she’s going to look me up. I mean, I’d have done the same thing. But I’m not actually expecting her to follow me.

Still.

I can’t seem to help myself. I just keep refreshing the page every five seconds like I’m a hopeful little noob on the Tube all over again.

I’m glad I have my own room, because if Zane saw me doing this, I’d never hear the end of it.

And that’s when I see it—my newest follower.

“Who uses their real name for their handle, Emily dear?”

It’s her, alright.

I don’t even stop to think, just click right on over to her profile and follow her back.

Nevermind that I’m not following anyone else. And that everybody will be able to see I’m now following her.

As soon as I’ve hit the ‘follow’ button, I pause.

Was that a bad idea? I don’t want to get her in trouble with her employer.

But my account is a secret. It’s my voice, sure. And my face.

But I never use my real name.

What are the chances someone at Kingsburg will recognize me, anyhow?

For a second, I debate about unfollowing her. But what if she already saw? I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

Besides, I’m sure I’m just being paranoid.

There’s no way anybody is gonna notice. Even Zane doesn’t pay attention to my account. I’m sure it’ll be fine.

Yeah.

No sense worrying.

That’s what I tell myself, but I frown, picking up my phone.

She’s being quiet.

“What’s the matter, my cute maid?” I ask my empty room. “Aren’t you going to text me back? Or maybe…you’re too involved in my videos?”

I hate waiting. I want to text her again, but don’t want to seem too eager.

I hate wondering what she’s thinking about my videos.

Or maybe she’s not watching them at all. Maybe she just followed me to be polite and then walked away.

“Goddddd,” I mutter, leaning back, one hand over my eyes. “What are you thinking, my cute maid? If only I knew if you’re even watching—”

I snap suddenly forward, desk chair creaking loudly as I move.

“Ha! That gives me an idea.”