The F List - Alessandra Torre Page 0,25

athletes and celebrities that were all reposting the content. It would be a three-month follower avalanche of epic proportions, and I was so jealous of the opportunity, my jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. What were they paying him? A million? Two? It’d been four days, and he’d already jumped at least that in follower count.

“I am his BRO-ther,” he enunciated, stabbing his chest with his thumb. “He always said I come first.”

“This was a huge opportunity for him.” I patted his arm. “He had to take it to make money, so he could pay for this place.”

“He can be like you and work here.” He stared up at the ceiling, blinking quickly, his eyes wet.

I sighed. “I don’t work here, Wesley. I volunteer. I come to visit and hang out with you. Because we’re friends.”

“You clean toilets,” he reminded me. “Friends don’t clean toilets.”

I laughed and captured the ball before it rolled away. “Yes, you’re right. I clean the toilets.”

“Gross toilets.” He wrinkled up his nose. “Poop.”

I smiled. “Yes. Poop.”

He laughed. “Miss E said POOP!” He shouted the word, and I reached out and gently bopped him on the head with the ball.

“Shush. You’re going to get our ice cream sandwiches taken away.”

He tried to sit up, his short legs lifting from the effort. I held out my hand and helped him upright. “Ice cream sandwiches now.”

“No, it’s too early.” I scooted back to give him some room. “Wesley, look at me.”

I waited until his attention was on me before I spoke. “I need you to forgive your brother. This is going to be hard on him, being away from you. Even though you’re the little brother, I need you to be a big man for him.”

He puffed out his chest. “I can be a big man.”

“I know you can. You’re the bravest man I know.” I smiled at him. “I’m so proud of you.”

No one else in the world would have cared that I was proud of them, but he lit up with a glow that stayed with me for days.

29

#vitamansea

EMMA: 8,010,221 FOLLOWERS

Three days before Christmas, I laid on my stomach, my fingers interlaced underneath my cheek, and squinted lazily at the drone, which hummed across the brilliant blue skyline. For the thousandth time this year, I mentally pinched myself. Last Christmas, I was in my old apartment, my mouth swollen and stuffed with bloody gauze, watching Hallmark and flipping through a scant number of social media messages. Now, I was on a yacht in Aruba, next to a billionaire, with an inbox of thousands of messages I’d never get through because I had people for that.

Beside me, Bojan propped up on one elbow, his stomach covered in a thin carpet of dark hair, and flipped a football into the air, then caught it. Pointing it at the drone, he reared back his hand.

“Don’t do it….” Vidal’s voice warned through the walkie-talkie beside me. “We’re almost done, I promise. Bo, put your hand on Emma’s ass.”

I felt Bo’s warm palm settle on my bare ass cheek, and I rolled away, shrieking in pain when my elbow connected with a handle on the yacht’s deck. I kicked in his direction and connected with his shin.

“Stop it,” Vidal said sharply. “I only need a few more shots, then you can both be idiots. Emma, roll over for me.”

I groaned and rolled onto my back, stealing one of the fluffy blue pillows off the pile and stuffing it under my head. I glanced slightly left, giving my good angle to the camera, and shifted my hips, moving the bikini tie higher and positioning the Luli Fama emblem to a place of higher visibility for the camera. Everything was about the angles. A slight hip swivel made me look thinner. A twenty-degree head tilt made my face prettier. Good posture made my small breasts bigger, my stomach flatter, and a slightly arched foot would trigger #footfetishnation to surge to their, well, feet.

“That’s it. Spread the ends of your braids out more. I’m going to get a close shot, then a far. Bojan, can we get your watch in? And move your drink closer where we can catch the colors from it.”

Bojan tossed the ball in the air again, and caught it. “Ten seconds, V.”

There was a fumble of sound and I heard Edwin mutter in the background. “Bo…” I warned him, my lips barely moving.

“Okay, we got it,” Edwin came on the walkie, exasperated. “You’re done until four when the girls