5. Wilder #2
I’m normally more than happy to stick my dick in any guy who offers, but sometimes it gets not only boring, but tiresome too.
I don’t bother heading back to the VIP area, I need to get out of here.
Fuck this going away party bullshit, I’m sure Knox and Beckett are balls deep enough for all of us, so I decide to head back to our apartment instead.
The three of us moved in with one another a few weeks ago ahead of the season, which was always part of our plan, and I’m already not looking forward to being away from home for so long.
Ignoring everyone as I leave, I climb into my car and drive off without telling anyone.
Caden is probably the only one who will notice my absence, the fucker doesn’t miss a thing, but I’m sure the rest of them are too busy with pussy to notice or care.
By the time I make it back to my apartment, it’s almost midnight, unusually early for me to get home, especially alone, but I just need to chill out.
I make quick work of making myself something to eat, taking a shower, and throwing myself into bed, ignoring the TV after I put it on and choosing to scroll my phone instead.
I have a ton of notifications from Instagram, and I'm confused because I didn’t post anything.
I guide myself to the app and open it, only to be assaulted by hundreds and thousands of likes, comments, shares, new followers, and a whole hoard of messages.
It’s only when I click on my profile that I notice a new carousel of photos has been posted, none of which came from me.
Scrolling through the post I find multiple pictures of me all before, during, and after yesterday’s race, and when I scroll down to the caption I see a few paragraphs of bullshit about how I tore up the pre-qualifying segments, and am more than ready to make a name for myself on the PRI circuit.
What the fuck?
Exiting out the app, I pull up the text thread I have with my dad and fire off a new message.
Wilder - Did you give someone access to my social media?
I’m not sure why I even bother asking him, I know exactly who has taken the pictures, but I need him to confirm it, and it isn’t long before I see his typing bubbles appear.
Dad - I gave Lamont access
Dad - Why? Did you see the pictures he posted? They’re good right?
Dad - Just let him do his thing, Wild, he has a vision
A fucking vision? What sort of bullshit is that?
I exit back off the text thread and move back to Instagram to examine the pictures again.
They’re good pictures, I’ll give him that, it’s just the bullshit words he has written underneath them.
I read the word rookie three times in his lengthy caption, and I grind my teeth harder every time. Fucking rookie.
Clicking off my profile I head to the explore page and type in the posh prick’s name, and to no one's surprise, his profile pops up instantly. @PrescottLamontIV with his obnoxious blue little tick. What happened to ‘friends call me Reed’, huh? Clicking on his name I find exactly what I expected. A perfectly curated feed filled with family photos, fancy parties, and lavish vacations. It’s all so polished that I’m certain it’s all practiced and posed.
What does surprise me however, is the frequent flash of feminine hazel eyes and brown hair hanging off his arm.
The beautiful girl is tagged as @EloiseHartwell, and the pair of them look like they have just stepped off a runway in every damn photograph.
I don’t have to scroll too far to realize she is a permanent fixture on his feed.
Is this his beard, or his Prescott Lamont the fucking IV actually bisexual?
They look happy in every picture together, but I don’t buy it for a fucking second.
Every picture is too perfect, every smile too forced, and there isn’t a hint of the guy I fucked last weekend.
That’s what has me clicking onto the pretty account of Miss Hartwell, studying her feed, and though it’s a little more authentic than fucking Prescott’s, it’s still too damn perfect.
I don’t know why but I end up scrolling further back on her profile than I did on his, not really paying much attention, knowing I will find what I’m looking for when I see it.
I’m scrolling so fast that I almost miss it, but the flash of two intertwined hands catches my attention, not because you can’t tell who they belong to, but because I’d recognize those painted fingernails anywhere.
The last time I saw them they were wrapped around my cock.
Clicking on the tag in the corner, it brings me the name of a new account, @atouchofRainbow, and when I navigate to the profile I find it’s a much smaller, more personal account, and also private.
The most interesting thing I notice though, is that the account already follows mine, and I click follow back before I can even think about it.
The photos pop up instantly, rows of Reed in his true form, with his hair dyed an array of different colors, his nails painted to match, wearing his perfect little outfits, but they all have one thing in common.
He isn’t showing his face. I mildly wonder if he shows anyone his true form without hiding a part of himself, but before that thought can take flight, the profile suddenly reverts back to as if it’s once again private.
Except this time there is a new accompanying little message:
This user has blocked you.
What a fucking prick.