Fake Friends - Saxon James Page 0,41

I lock eyes with Leon, who gives me a small smile.

“And if that’s repeated outside of this group,” Leon says, “your lives will be made miserable.”

My jaw wants to drop, but I hold it together.

I quickly hide my shaking hands in my lap, getting increasingly worried I’m going to start crying. Which I will not do. Not here.

Not even when Circus grabs my hand under the table and gives it a tight squeeze.

Then doesn’t let go.

Not even when the conversation continues on and no one makes a big deal out of my declaration.

Not even when Tanner jokingly tells Royce that he wants in on a Row and Roo sandwich.

Or when Roo’s face goes completely blank and he says to me, “I will gut you.”

It’s all … so normal.

And … I’m out. To a handful of people, but it still counts.

I feel sick.

And excited.

And like moving from this booth will be too big to manage.

I’m also borderline ready to take it all back and disappear from town again, but I firmly push that thought aside. And the voice that sounds like Circus reminds me this is okay.

No one is judging me.

Except for myself, and that’s something I can change.

By the time I get home that night, I’m more excited than scared.

Way too excited to sleep.

So instead, I sit down, grab my laptop, and start searching. I open an account, then hunt down every social media account of anyone in town who could potentially find the photos of Circus and me.

Block, block, fucking block, motherfuckers.

By the time I’m done, my eyes are scratchy, my neck is sore, and I’ve blocked a few thousand people. It’s almost morning and thank God I’m not working today because my only plan is to sleep.

But before I can lose the nerve, I add a display picture, then find a photo of Circus and me from high school. It’s faded slightly, and I have to take a photo of it before I can upload it, but it’s of us at our spot on Crown Trails. Circus is leaning back into my chest, both of us wearing huge smiles as the sun beats down on our faces.

I clear my throat and type out a caption.

Thank God for your smiles.

And I mean it.

Then I tag him and hover over the About Me option on my profile. My brain is too tired to think, so all I type is one word.

Him.

Then I fall face-first into bed and pass out.

I can’t believe my eyes.

When I was talking baby steps, I never for a second thought Rowan would come out to a group of people and then claim me online.

But there it is.

Him.

And there’s a clear shot of his face and a photo of us from years ago. I didn’t have my septum or ear pierced then, and Rowan had none of his tats. But they’re in his display picture, and it hasn’t taken long for people to work out what’s going on here.

I hope he locked down his personal accounts, because the fan hordes are coming for him.

It’s insane. He’s gained tens of thousands of followers overnight, and the number keeps ticking higher. People are asking for more photos, more details, more.

Holy shit it’s him

Huh, he’s not an ugly POS

Fuck, damn. I’m available. Here’s my number …

I’d ride him like a horse.

IT’S H!M OH MY GOD IT’S HIM srghaer;gh!!

I can only imagine what his notifications look like this morning because mine are probably the same.

This is a great way to get noticed. Photographers, designers, maybe even movie producers …

But I can’t get hold of Rowan all morning. Preston is blowing up my phone with calls and messages, pressuring me for an answer on this shoot, but I don’t know how I want to play this.

Was the account Rowan’s way of letting me know he’s in? Or was he drunk, and is he going to regret this the second he wakes up?

It’s already after midday and he’s still MIA.

My mind starts turning the dramatics up a notch as I picture his family seeing this, and suddenly I’m worried.

Have they seen it? Oh fuck, what if they’ve kicked him out? And he doesn’t have his phone?

I grab my shit and leave.

Taking the car is faster than my bike, and it doesn’t take long before I’m pulling up in front of his place.

From what I can tell, it doesn’t look like there’s been any fighting or destruction, but then again, kicking the shit out of someone’s house isn’t how we do confrontation in Sunbury.

I