“I don’t have social media.” The lie rolled off my tongue, though technically, it wasn’t a lie.
Christian Harper didn’t have social media; CP612 did.
“Seriously?” Stella shook her head. “We’ll have to fix that, but for now….” She typed something into her phone. “Check your texts.”
I opened her message, and I had to blink twice to make sure I was seeing correctly.
She’d sent a screenshot of a Stories poll. A picture of me, back turned and phone to my ear, took up the left side of the screen; a familiar purple unicorn dominated the right side.
The question was simple: Who would you rather cuddle with? Mr. Harper or Mr. Unicorn?
“You’re losing, by the way,” Stella said. “Mr. Unicorn is beating you fifty-three to forty-seven percent.”
I stared at her, sure I was hearing wrong and that she didn’t have the fucking audacity to pit me against a raggedy stuffed animal with a crooked eye in some absurd social media poll.
I was also sure I couldn’t be losing to said stuffed animal.
“The poll must be broken because that’s ridiculous.” I tried not to sound as insulted as I felt.
“It’s not, but you have twenty-three hours and fifty-one minutes to catch up.” Stella’s smile dimmed, and a touch of nerves resurfaced in her eyes. “Draw him out with more posts, right?”
Her stalker.
She may not be willing to admit the attraction between us, but she trusted me enough to take my recommendation implicitly.
I blamed the fleeting ache in my chest on heartburn. My doctor was going to have his hands full during our next checkup.
“That’s right. And for the record…” I tapped my phone screen. “You need followers with better taste if they’re choosing a unicorn over me. I’m wearing Brioni, for fuck’s sake.”
Stella’s laugh finally pulled a smile out of me.
Despite what happened two nights ago, her light still shone through, and she was more resilient than a lot of people, including myself, gave her credit for.
That’s my girl.