When A Playboy Loves

|| 20.

Utianle

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

Annoyance filled me as I grabbed the source of the constant noise -my phone- from the ironing board. My fingers were a few inches away from the volume button, ready to put it on silent mode when I sighted the logo on the lock screen.

The cloth I was ironing was soon forgotten as I lowered myself onto the padded stool, letting my curiosity get the best of me. One click and I was on the Instagram app, tapping away on the love icon at the bottom right of the screen that glowed red from numerous notifications.

joachim, selery and 90 others started following you.

silensa liked your post.

A click on that particular post showed King standing alone on the red carpet, hands shoved into the pocket of his senator outfit. One of his eyebrows was slightly raised, a lazy smirk adorned his lips, his jaw filled beards begging to be touched.

It was his idea to upload the picture, to showcase my awesome work with an even more handsome face. Those weren't his exact words but I had to agree, he looked dapper. A memory from that day replayed itself and I smiled, the back and forth texts between us vivid in my mind.

That wasn't the only thing that caught my interest, it was the number of likes and comments on that specific picture. In addition to the surge in followers like someone had paid them to check out the account.  

Giving in to my instincts, I tapped on the first name that breezed through my mind and insanely attractive pictures of King in different cities flooded my vision. I couldn't help smiling at his model-like poses, every outfit looked like it was sewn on his body.

His most recent post confirmed my suspicions - the same picture on my account. Underneath the photo was a caption hyping me, with a request to kindly follow and patronise his favourite fashion designer. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was a sponsored advert.

I should have stopped there, dropped the phone to resume my ironing but I didn't, still stunned by my newfound fame. I chose instead to go through King's comment section that was littered with a lot of female commenters. Giggles easily slipped from me as I read their comments, they were right to fangirl; he was effortlessly handsome.

Several love and fire emojis, repeated comments from the same women to check his DM had me smiling sheepishly. I didn't stand a chance against them with their colourful wigs, professional makeup and banging body. Yet, I was the bald-headed skinny female with undeniable access to his DM, replying his messages with the same fervour as he did mine. 

My nose picked up on a smell, the distinct smell of burning cloth and I stood up abruptly to remove the iron that had fallen over the high waist trouser. Glaring mournfully at the irregular burnt patches, I knew the style had to be changed.

"What's that smell?" Vincent asked, raising his head from the laptop screen he had been staring at all morning like it held the answer to his fashion problems.

The room was empty save for the other two girls at the front row so his voice reverberated. Their heads turned in my direction and I offered them a forced smile, pushing the trouser down to join the heap of discarded materials at my feet. I owed Faith a very good explanation.

"Nothing." My left eye twitched when I replied and his brows raised in a disbelieving manner. When I noticed him about to stand, I shouted, "it's nothing, just a little burn."