Page 74 of The Sun and Her Star

I told her I followed him for the workouts and she believed me. She started following him, too. When his IG feed disappeared early this year, I was relieved. It was my secret torment, lying awake at night watching his videos. I took his account disappearing as a sign.

This is the first picture I’ve seen of Graham since then.

She reaches around me and snags one of the books off the shelf. “I completely understand why. I’m buying it so I can look atthatface whenever I want to.”

I blink at her.

“Do you even know what the book is about?” I ask her.

“Who cares?” She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “He’s hot. The book is fifteen bucks. I’m buying it.”

“I wouldn’t buy a book just for its cover.”

She stares at the cover and sighs.

“It’s not the same as watching him push his hair off his face when cooling down. Or how he bites that sexy bottom lip of his whenever he lifts something really heavy. When he doesthat,I want to take my panties off and fling them at the screen. But, it’ll do.” She chuckles and walks off toward the cash register.

Holding Graham in her hands, I almost call after her, tell her to give him back. I know how crazy that would look. Instead, I pull every single copy off the shelf. It takes three trips to the cash register, but I walk out of there with two shopping bags full of Graham’s bare chest. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them, but all I know is that I couldn’t leave them there.

“Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Oh, my aunt is in a book club. They love romance, so I thought I’d buy these and mail them.”

“That’s really nice. Big book club, huh?” She nods at the stack of books on the shelf.

“Yeah, huge,” I lie and pay for my books.

I don’t stop to think as I go through immigration, customs and then baggage claim. It’s not until I’m in the back of my cab, speeding down Grand Central Parkway to my new apartment on the Upper West Side that I let myself look at the copy of the book I snagged out of the bag before my driver threw them into the trunk.

And just like that. All my distance, all my hard work, all my healing was undone. I’d been lying to myself. I’m not over him. Not even close.

While Reena texts her mom and sisters, I open my phone’s browser to do something I’ve resisted doing for two years.

I Google Graham.

I swipe over pictures that chronicle nearly every move he’s made in the last two years.

He’s arealcelebrity. Not just Instagram famous. I had no clue. They’re calling him one to watch, the next big television personality.

He’s still got his private personal training business, but now he’s got a workout app.

And he’s modeling.

He’d changed so much. I watch some of the videos on Gawker, and even the way he walks is different. And then, I see a picture of him eating with his “friend” Nanette Mannerman. There’s another picture of them walking out of an office building together. She looks like she’s only gotten younger. Her signature skin tight black dress doeseverythingfor her body.

I read some of the comments under the pictures. Most of them were about how gorgeous Graham was. But some were more insidious. Saying things like “Must be nice to have a golden cock.” Or “She’s his Sugar Mama. I wish I could afford a piece of ass that hot.”

Alarms sound in my head. Graham sleeps with Nanette because she has money? Would hedothat?

I swipe through all of the pictures until I can’t stand it anymore. I hit the back button on my browser until I’m back at the original search.

The top hit is an article dated two days ago. The headline reads, “Graham Davis Talks Sex and Love”

I open it and hold my breath while it loads.

The article starts with a huge picture of Graham. He’s dressed in a navy blazer suit with a navy-blue button down that’s open at the throat. He’s laughing, leaning toward the camera, with his beautiful white teeth which look a lot straighter than they did last time I saw him. He’s always had a great smile, but his smile used to have character. Now, he looks … I search my brain for the word. It’s not unauthentic or contrived. It’s more like he looks like he’s been packaged.

As I read the article, I realize that’s exactly what he is—a product.

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