totally okay |lrh|

0.8

Lukes POV,,

The longer Ashton stares at the computer screen, the deeper his frown gets.

"What?" I ask, my heart beating an irregular rhythm against my ribcage.
He shakes his head. "The pictures. They're everywhere."

I told the boys about the magazine and Indie's overprotective dad yesterday, after I got back from breakfast. They were concerned, but not overly so; they thought the odds of her dad finding that exact magazine, and scouring its pages thoroughly enough to see those two small pictures were too slim to make much of a fuss over. I tried to tell myself that what they said made sense, but I worried about Indie all day long, right up until I went to sleep. The boys kept asking me why I was taking it so badly, but I couldn't find the words to explain it. Something about the bright fear that showed through her eyes when she looked at that magazine just didn't sit right.

I didn't feel much better when I woke up this morning. Starting to get frustrated with my mood, Ashton pulled out his laptop to check the Internet and prove to me that the pictures weren't that big a deal.
"Twitter's exploding," Michael adds, scrolling on his phone. "Everyone wants to know who she is."

"'Who's That Girl With Luke' is trending," Calum says, looking at his own phone.

I groan and throw my head against the back of the chair.

"He's sure to hear about it now," I say.

"Luke, look," Calum says matter-of-factly, "did Indie ever actually say what her dad would do if he found out about you two hanging out?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Then why are you worrying? She'll probably just get a lecture or something. No big deal," Calum says.
I just shake my head.

"If you saw the look on her face when she saw those pictures," I say, "you'd be worried too."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it," Ashton says, closing his laptop. "If the fans already know—"

"Maybe it'll die down," Michael says. "If a few days go by and there aren't any new pictures or rumors or anything, everyone'll just forget about it."

"I'm supposed to see Indie today," I say.

"Just don't let anyone see you, then," Calum says.

"This is LA, people are everywhere."

"Well, sneak around or something."
I'm about to ask how exactly I'm supposed to do that when my phone starts ringing. The caller ID says: Management.

My stomach drops. This can't be good.
"Hello?" I say, putting the phone to my ear.

"Luke," says a man's voice. I don't recognize it, but that's nothing new. The men who actually make up Management change so often I can't keep track of their names anymore.

"Hello," I say again.

"I'm Mr. Norris, Luke. I'm from Management."

"Yeah, I figured," I say.

"How's LA?"

I raise my eyebrows at his overly-friendly, too-cheerful tone; the lads raise their eyebrows too when they see my expression. "Good," I say.

"I'm glad to hear it. Listen, Luke, it's late here in London, so I'll just get straight to the point. There are some pictures floating around of you and a girl. You've seen them, I assume?"

My stomach sinks even lower. "Yeah, I've seen them."

"Ah. Good. Well, Luke, you see, those pictures have brought up a bit of a problem. People are starting to think—well. There are rumors that you two are dating."