Page 98 of Code Word
“None of them are,” I said. “Our folks know where we are and that we’re okay. That’s all that really matters. Everyone else can wait.”
The flicker of his eyebrow told me he didn’t entirely agree with me on that, but he didn’t argue. He licked the corn chip dust off his finger and thumb before he swiped some more, and damn, if seeing his lips around his thumb sent me straight back to this morning in the bathroom...
I groaned and ate some cheese, and then Luke put the water bottle to his lips and gulped, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down, and dear god...
“Have you always been so fucking hot?” I asked.
His eyes shot to mine. “What?”
“Your lips, your throat,” I said, shaking my head. “What the fuck, dude?”
He snorted and turned his phone around to show me thescreen. “I could say the same about this photo. Like, what the fuck, dude?”
It was a photo of me when I’d gone to the music shop to buy the turntable.
“You look terrible,” he said with a laugh. “Jesus.”
“I was dying inside, remember? My best friend left me, I’d been drunk for I don’t know how many days, everyone had left me, and because I hadn’t connected the dots yet on why my heart felt so broken, I decided that I needed a record player.”
“Is that the hoodie you were wearing when you got here?”
I sighed. “I. Was. Dying.”
He seemed to find that amusing. “Want me to read the article to you?”
“There’s a whole article?”
He chuckled and began to read it, whether I wanted to hear it or not. “‘A rare sighting of Blake Acosta recently when he was spotted buying a record player. Fans noted that he looked pale and was quiet but polite as two fans helped him carry his purchases to his car. He posed for a photo.’”
Luke turned his screen around again to show me the pic of me and the two girls who had helped me.
“You let random strangers help you carry stuff to your car?”
I sighed. “They were very nice and not crazy. They kept their distance and asked for a photo before I left. But yes, please remind me how pathetic I was by myself with no friends.”
Luke snorted and kept reading. “‘There has been much speculation since his gaunt appearance at the same time that his best friend and bandmate Luke Dougherty’s recent split from his girlfriend’ blah-blah-blah—” He skimmed that part. “—‘and Blake’s rumored split fromhisgirlfriend...’” His eyes met mine. “Your gaunt appearance.”
“Dying inside, remember?”
He grinned. “Oh, here’s another one: ‘After fans posted a photograph of Luke Dougherty on a beach in Mexico, Blake Acosta was spotted at Tom Bradley International Airport.’” He laughed. “Same hoodie.”
“Yes, because it was only after fans posted pics of you on this here very beach that I knew where you were because you didn’t tell me.”
“‘Is Bluke alive?’” Luke laughed, still reading the stupid online shit and ignoring me. “‘Fans claim Bluke is really real.’”
“Are you having fun over there?” I asked. “My life was so much better just ten minutes ago, pretending that social media didn’t exist.”
He scrolled some more and his smile died. “Well, fuck.”
“What is it? Fanfiction of us getting married on the beach? How are the Photoshop edits? Is it a shotgun wedding? Am I pregnant?”
“Jeremy just sent me a link.” He turned the phone around to show me the screen. It was a pic taken of us today outside the hospital of Luke helping me with my bandaged knee.
Fuck.
“‘Bluke: old injuries, new love.’”
“For fuck’s sake,” I grumbled. “And there I was thinking we were immune to that bullshit here. I didn’t even see anyone taking photos. And who the fuck writes shit like that?”
