Tessa’s forehead furrowed. Why hadn’t MET retweeted it, if it came from another fan’s account? She sent back a quick reply.
Tessa H: Who? Can you tell me?
MET: Just an egg making trouble. Nice try, troll! LOL
Tessa H: What username?
MET: @EricThornSucks
An egg? Tessa searched for the account and brought it up on her screen: an egg account as the other girl said, with the anonymous eggshell silhouette that Twitter provided as the default profile picture. Whoever owned this account hadn’t bothered with a bio either. Just the first name Taylor and that one lonely tweet: Taylor @EricThornSucks
What a narcissistic pretty-boy douche nozzle. Get over yourself @EricThorn #EricThornSucks pic.twitter.com/Z4GGn0HZpj
The link brought up the picture once again. MET must have poached it and composed her own tweet with an ever-so-slightly revised caption. Tessa saved the photo to her camera roll, ignoring the other thousand pictures of Eric Thorn she’d already accumulated. There was something extra drool-worthy about this one. She wanted it preserved. A fresh blush of heat crept up her neck as her eyes drank in the image: Eric Thorn, shirtless, with a white towel around his waist…making out with his own reflection in a steamed-up bathroom mirror.
6
UNREAL
Eric silently mouthed the lyrics of the chicken nugget jingle, while his team of stylists sculpted his unruly hair into some semblance of order. He sat perched on a high stool in front of the same hotel mirror that he’d used for his early-morning selfie shoot. The scene of the crime, he thought to himself, lightly drumming his palms against his thighs.
It was no use. He couldn’t focus. His mind kept turning back to the same topic. How far had that photo traveled in the hour since he posted it? How many memes had it spawned, calling him out for his self-absorption? Did it break the Internet, like that famous picture of Kim K’s ginormous naked ass?
He’d hit Tweet without a moment to spare this morning, barely throwing on some gym clothes before Maury came knocking again. Now, with his workout behind him, Eric longed to check the retweet count, but he didn’t dare. Not with the prying eyes of the hairdressers all around him.
Eric felt a cold trickle work its way down the back of his neck. Doubt or stray hair gel? He wasn’t quite sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something so impulsive. Was it all a huge mistake? If anyone at his label figured out where that picture came from…
A harsh voice rang out behind him, and Eric’s hands stopped drumming in midair at the sight of his manager’s cell phone, thrust into his face.
“You wanna tell me what the hell this is, kid?”
Eric expected to see the bathroom mirror, but apparently that photo hadn’t yet registered as a blip on the PR radar screen. His eyes fell instead on a Hollywood Life blog post. He’d forgotten about that one. It was a pap photo from LA a couple weeks ago. The cameraman must have taken his sweet time selling it to the highest bidder.
“That dickwad was asking for it,” Eric muttered.
Maury glared. “What did he do? Did he get up in your face?”
“No, he didn’t get in my face, Maury. He tailed me for three hours straight!”
“So you had a pap following you? That’s it?”
A hairdresser placed her finger at the base of Eric’s jaw. He swatted her hand away in annoyance. “It was my first day off in a month! It’s kind of hard to relax when some prick has a telephoto lens pointed at your face all day long.”
Eric scowled to himself even as he said the words. He knew Maury had a point. He’d lost his cool with that photographer for no good reason. He’d been more than a little on edge after the story broke about the Cromwell murder—especially out in public. He couldn’t deny feeling stalked. Maury called it paranoia, but how could Eric help it? He was followed everywhere he went. When he somehow managed to escape the fans for a few blissful moments, then the paps started sniffing around. It never stopped. From the moment he’d first signed his record deal at age fifteen, his entire life had been punctuated by the faint sound of camera shutters clicking in the background.
Maury clapped a heavy hand on Eric’s shoulder. His face was grim. “Eric, you can’t go around flipping off reporters.”
“Reporters.” Eric snorted. “That asshole was stalking me, Maury!”
“You will get a reputation for bad behavior. These guys can destroy a career faster than you can say ‘cheese’ if you get on their bad side.”
Eric opened his mouth to retort, but he forgot what he was about to say. His ears had perked up at that last remark. “Wait a minute. Do you think it’ll cause a backlash?”
Maury gave him a playful cuff on the cheek. “Nah. The publicists are spinning it that you were provoked. But you only get one get-out-of-jail-free card before—”
“I was provoked!” Eric stood abruptly from the stool. The makeup people could finish him up on set later. He couldn’t take another minute with all those hands pawing at his face.
Maury whirled a finger in the air, signaling the army of stylists to gather their supplies. They trooped out, and Eric stood to follow them, but Maury stepped into his path.
“Get yourself together, kid.” Maury poked him in the chest. “I don’t know what’s eating you lately, but enough’s enough. We’ve got too much work to do.”
Maury cast him one last warning look and shuffled out. Eric watched him go, but his foul mood faded after a moment. He was finally alone, and he had more pressing matters to attend. Eric pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped to open Twitter, still set to the new username: @EricThornSucks
He held his breath as his eyes flicked down to check his notifications. The count normally stood at the maximum, twenty plus, but on this account…
Nothing.
Dead silence.
Really? Not one single retweet? Eric rested his weight against the bathroom countertop. Was it possible that no one had seen the picture yet? Maybe he should try directing it @ some of the fan accounts. He closed his eyes, straining to dredge up some likely usernames. They all ran together in his head: @EricThornFan…@EricThornLuv…@MrsEricThorn… @EricThornifed…@ErictHorny…@EricThornPorn…
Where to begin? There was that one Maury wanted him to follow. The one who started the whole Obsessed trend. He’d intentionally passed her over during the follow spree, but she might be the ideal person for his purposes. He entered in her username, @TessaHeartsEric, and nearly choked at what he saw.
There it was at the top of her recent tweets. A retweet, but not from his account. Somehow she’d retweeted the same picture from a different fan.
MET @MrsEricThorn
WHYYY IS THIS SO HOT???? #EricThornObsessed
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