The Kiss That Launched 1,000 Gifs

by Sheralyn Pratt

  Megan grinned. “Let’s get you set up, and you can see for yourself in five minutes.”

  Ash handed his niece the phone. “It only takes five minutes?”

  “If you’re not a tech-tard, sure,” she said. “All we have to do is download the app, set you up and you’ll be good to go.”

  “Huh,” he said, settling in to watch her do all the work. “That sounds easy enough.”

  “They try to make it foolproof,” Megan said and thirty seconds later a progress bar showed that the phone was downloading Instagram.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what she posted?” Ash said, watching the bar crawl.

  “Because I want to see the look on your face when you see it and hear your side of the story,” Megan said. “Although, it’s been out there for several hours with no comment from you, so I don’t know how much any defense you have will matter at this point. She totally caught you. You’ll lose points if you deny it.”

  Great. Even his own flesh and blood was being coy about the matter. That couldn’t be good.

  Megan leaned back in her chair. “What do you want your username to be?”

  “Can it just be my name?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” she replied. “But there are literally millions of people on Instagram. It’s pretty likely that there’s already an Ashton Miller.”

  “Huh. Then maybe something from the radio show? Something Grace would say?”

  “Like SuchAnAsh?” Megan offered.

  “Yeah. Like that.”

  Megan picked up her phone and started typing. “It’s taken.”

  “Seriously? Then something that isn’t taken, then. I don’t care.”

  “Mmm-hmmmm.” Megan typed away on his phone for about two minutes before sharing the screen with him. “For time’s sake I made your username UncleAsh, which is totally creepy to anyone but me, by the way. You can change it to any other unused name at any time, though. But do it quick. Once your station publicizes the name, people will be looking for it.”

  “Gotcha. Now what?”

  “Now we follow Grace,” Megan said, searching Grace out and pulling up her account before Ash fully understood the process he’d just watched. She turned the phone so he could see it. “This is Grace’s feed, and she posts a lot. A lot of fashion and shoes, plus she does selfies with anyone she spends time with during the day. Like the interview with the governor she did for tonight’s segment? She posted a picture of herself with him at noon to promo it.”

  Great. Now even his niece was preaching to him about the merits of social media. There didn’t seem to be a way to win the argument against it. It was time to join the dark side.

  Megan handed him the phone. “So I’m going to let you scroll down her feed, and you tell me when you get to the picture you’re supposed to respond to.”

  Well, it definitely wasn’t the picture of high heels he was currently looking at. They were cute and all, but not worth taking a picture of. Ashton scrolled down and saw a picture of Grace in a dressing room wearing a dress that was about six inches shorter than the ones she wore to work every day. The caption read: This dress is calling my name.

  Yes, it most definitely was.

  If Megan hadn’t been watching him, Ash would have studied the dress and the body inside it a bit longer; but he had his young audience to consider, so he scrolled down again and froze.

  “Ah,” his niece said knowingly. “You reached it.”

  He sure had. The picture currently on the screen was an over-the-shoulder shot Grace had apparently taken of him earlier that day as they’d walked down the hall to Frank’s office. Grace’s shoulder and a lock of her hair was in the foreground, but in the background was a clear shot of his eyes focused right where her butt would be in front of him as they walked down the hall.

  How had Grace even gotten that shot? She been walking and looking at her phone the entire time. Yet Ash could clearly see the bronze of her shoulder paired with the pink strap of her dress from earlier that day. And there he was in his clothes from the fishing segment—his eyes staring right at Grace’s backside. There was no denying it. His eyes were locked on target while a whisper of a smile played at his lips.

  Well, crap.

  Ash glanced below the picture and saw that it had 4,276 hearts and over 736 comments.

  Well, double crap. He wasn’t an expert on social media, by any means, but that seemed like a lot of hearts and comments.

  “Read the caption,” Megan prompted him.

  Ash glanced down below the stats.

  Is it sexual harassment if he only looks when he thinks you won’t notice?

  Oh, man. she had nailed it, but Ashton had a more pressing question on his mind: How long had Grace known that he always let her leave the sound booth first just so he could follow her out? He’d been doing it for two years and she’d never said anything. But had she always noticed? Noticed, but not said anything? And still let him be the second one out of the booth every day anyway?

  Ash felt a smile curve his lips. “How do I comment?”

  “Hit the speech bubble thing and type,” Megan replied, pointing to the icon.

  Ash hit the bubble to respond.

  Legally, it’s only sexual harassment if it’s unwelcome. If unwelcome, you should confront the person directly and ask for them to stop the behavior. If they ignore your request or continue other forms of harassment, you should alert management. However, if the behavior is indeed welcome, quid pro quo becomes fair play.

  Feeling good about the response, he hit Post. Then he had second thoughts. Was that too much?

  His crisis of confidence lasted about five seconds before he got over it and turned back to Megan. “Now what? I mean, I clearly don’t have any pictures of Grace, nor do I currently have the skill to take sly pictures like this, but clearly this is war. I need arsenal.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Megan laughed. “Calm down. We need to start with the basics first, like taking a picture that proves this account is really yours. I don’t know if you’re big enough to have Instagram verify your account, but there should be something to let your fans know this is your official page.”

  “Uh, of course it’s me. Why would anyone make a fake account?”

  His niece’s brow arched up in a way that left him a bit nervous “You’d be surprised, uncle. Trust me on this.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “Ominous as that sounds, I will trust you so long as you clue me in to what I need to do to show that my account is the official one.”

  Megan reached for her notebook and turned it to an empty page. “We’ll take a picture of you holding a paper with your username on it… which means you should change your username now if you don’t want to be creepy UncleAsh forever.”

  Good point. Ash poked around with the profile features and typed in the first thing that came to mind: TheOtherAshton. It was available.

  “That’s better,” Megan agreed when he showed it to her. “So I’m just going to write I finally joined the 21st Century. Follow me @TheOtherAshton and we’ll take a picture of you holding it.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” he said, even though he never would have thought to do such a thing. Kids, man. The rising generation was a whole different breed.

  Megan pulled out a Sharpie she’d dug up, getting to work until the sign was complete.

  “Okay, uncle, I’ll take this first picture for you, but after this you’re on your own. No training wheels for you. You just need to jump in and roll with it.”

  “Okay,” he said, standing up. “But for the record, I’m actually a decent photographer. I have taken pictures before.”

  “I know that,” she said, leading him over to the wall. “But you take shots of nature and stuff. And I’m sure people will love those on Instagram, but you also need to get good at shots your listeners will like, too. It’s mostly women and teens who are on Instagram, and they don’t want to see a picture of a fish you caught unless it’s actually a beautiful shot of your muscu
lar arms.”

  “Megan!” he said in mock horror. “You’re fifteen. You shouldn’t notice such things.”

  Megan rolled her eyes. “I shouldn’t notice that all my friends think I have the hottest uncle ever?”

  “Not at fifteen,” he said, taking the paper when she handed it to him.

  “Uh-huh,” Megan drawled. “Just like I’m sure you weren’t noticing women at age fifteen.”

  “Totally different.”

  “Totally not. Now up against the wall and hold the paper in front of your chest.”

  Ash followed her instructions. “This feels oddly like a mug shot.”

  Megan arched a brow. “How would you know?”

  Ash grinned. “Well, someone is feeling sassy today.”

  The phone in Megan’s hand clicked as it captured a picture. “That was a good one. Smile and we’ll take a few more.”

  Again, he followed his niece’s lead until she motioned for him to come over. “The first shot is the best. You look all mischievous. I’ll let you play with the filters later, but for this one we’ll go no filter. We’ll just post it and see how many people follow your comment and find you.”

  “Okay,” Ash said. “So that’s it? I’m on Instagram?”

  “You’re on Instagram,” Megan confirmed. “And if you’re a good uncle, I might tell you what my account is and you can follow me.”

  Ash pressed his hand to his heart in mock shock. “Wow. You’d let an adult into your peer social circle? Am I worthy?”

  “Time will tell,” Megan teased. “But for now, your hottie factor gives you instant street cred in my peer group, so it’s a consideration.”

  “Wow. I don’t know whether to be honored or disturbed.”

  She eyed him, looking a little too wise for his liking. “You’ll probably start out the first and end up the second.”

  “Well, I can’t say I wasn’t warned, I guess,” he said, pulling her into a side hug. “Thanks, Ravenclaw. I’m headed to volleyball. You want to come?”

  “Not tonight,” Megan said as she stood from the table. “I’m headed to Tara’s. Mom will be home around nine, and I promised her I’d be home around then.”

  “Okay.” Ash resisted the urge to push harder for her to come. He didn’t know Tara all that well, only that she was one of those rich girls who had gotten a car for her birthday. It made him nervous. “Just know you’re always welcome.”

  Megan rolled her eyes. “I think we established that the first hundred times you took me with you.” She picked up her bag and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t need a babysitter anymore, Uncle Ash.”

  “I know,” he said, fighting back a sigh.

  She nodded toward his smart phone. “Text me if you have any other questions from the twentieth century.”

  “Will do.”

  As always, Ash stalled his entrance into the sound booth so that he walked in at the last reasonable moment. Grace hated it when people were late, which meant plopping down with seconds to spare put her a great mood for battle. Even now, after twenty-three months where she could have potentially gotten used to his chronic tardiness, Grace’s jaw clenched when Ash walked through the door to take his seat at the last moment. Her eyes still narrowed dangerously, and her lips settled into an adorable pucker that Ash assumed Grace probably thought looked menacing. It totally didn’t.

  Stepping into the studio area, Ash noted that today’s dress was blue. Grace never wore pants or flats, and wasn’t big on separates either. Professional, yet overtly feminine dresses, paired with sky-high heels were all Ash had ever seen her in. And while he didn’t mind the view one bit, part of him wanted to see what Grace would look like in a lazy-Sunday wardrobe just once.

  The woman had to own a pair of sweats or at least one t-shirt. And while Grace’s tailored look made a picture he was happy to gaze at five times a week, something about her constant perfection ate at him. Curvy, yet fit. Tailored, yet playful. Educated, yet street smart. Never a hair out of place and never a missed moment to touch up her lipstick. That was Grace 365 days a year. Yet how could he see a woman who made it her top priority to look perfect at all times and not want to see a chink in her armor?

  “So nice of you to finally grace us with your presence.” If she’d tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice, she’d failed.

  Ash smiled, ignoring her tone. “I know, right? The intro music isn’t even playing yet.”

  This time her reply was a disapproving look over a clenched jaw, with a light sigh of resignation added for effect.

  Perfect. It would have been even more perfect if the intro music played at that exact moment, but they still had two minutes before all the commercials played through. What could he do to keep that cute little scowl Grace had going for another one hundred and twenty seconds?

  He leaned back in his chair while Grace examined the day’s polls. “So, social media seems easy enough,” he said, loving how Grace grew still for a moment, her nostrils flaring in annoyance.

  She’d regrammed his selfie the night before, earning Ash over 100 followers in the first hour with another 1,000 followers overnight. As of five minutes ago, he had 1,237 followers and 99% of them were likely handoffs from Grace.

  All of Grace’s hard work over the past two years had turned him into an overnight success. Easy peasy. There was no way that didn’t rub her the wrong way… just a little bit. Probably a lot a bit.

  She sent him a tight smile. “Yeah. You’re clearly a natural. I’m certain there is no end to the number of people who are excited to see the mug shot you’ve posted so far.”

  Oh, yeah. She was annoyed all right. Ash hid his smile.

  “I haven’t read through all the comments yet,” he said. “But I’ve seen at least twelve marriage proposals so far. I can’t believe I stayed away from social media for so long. Seems like a great dating tool. You can check out selfies and all the pics a chick posts and see how she really looks and if she has good taste.”

  Grace visibly stiffened, but kept her tone cordial. “Yeah. Or you could fulfill work responsibilities by posting things our listeners would find interesting.”

  Ash shrugged. “Or that.”

  Grace glanced at him, checking to see if he was joking, and Ash was careful to keep his expression neutral until she looked back at the computer screen. Then he smiled on the inside.

  Was it just him, or was it getting easier to get under Grace’s skin recently?

  “Last commercial,” Frank said over the speaker, giving them both a heads up. “We’re up in thirty.”

  It was game time.

  Ash reached for his little stress ball, giving it a cathartic squeeze as he watched Grace make notes in that meticulous way she always did on her notepad. The woman really loved checking things off a list. It settled her… focused her, so Ash sat back and let her move through her routine.

  When the play-in music cued up, Grace rolled her neck like she always did, taking a calming breath. Ash watched, squeezing on the stress ball as her eyes fell shut and she muttered something in Spanish he was pretty sure translated to: Don’t kill him.

  Knowing that the web cam was firing up, Ash redirected his eyes to his own notepad. He couldn’t be caught ogling Grace two days in a row, so he refocused on something practical: his grocery list. For the forty seconds the intro played in, he made a list of what he needed to buy on his way home. It was an even day on the calendar, which meant Grace would be opening the show. So until then, Ash did what he usually did and pretended to be strategizing until she started talking. It was the safest move.

  When Grace said, “Good afternoon, and welcome to the newest edition of Battle of the Sexes,” he finished writing snap peas and looked up. “With me today is the man who has just proven that the Instagram app is truly foolproof—my no-longer-technically challenged cohost, Ashton Miller.”

  Ash leaned forward into the mic. “And with me is the woman I’ve recently learned feels compelled to alert the world via pho
tograph every time she finds a pair of shoes she likes—the woman who takes the ‘anonymous’ out of Shopaholics Anonymous—my lovely cohost, Grace Vasquez.”

  Grace was unapologetic. “A good pair of shoes is worth sharing.”

  “Oh? Does that mean I should post pictures of my shoes?” Ash asked, picking up his phone and pressing the camera icon.

  “You’re wearing hiking boots.”

  “That’s right,” Ash said, putting his shoes up on the table and snapping a picture. “These are Salomon Quest 4D GTXes. I wear them any time I go on a shoot that requires some hiking. They’re light, durable, and provide great stability. Is that the sort of thing you share on Instagram?”

  “Not really,” Grace said. “But I’m sure Salomon doesn’t mind the free advertising you just handed them.”

  “Well, I’m totally posting a picture,” Ash said, in his best valley girl tone. “It’s not every day a man finds comfort, function, and fashion all in one shoe.”

  “Indeed,” Grace replied. “I’m still waiting for that day to happen for you.”

  Ash smiled against his will and set his phone to the side. He’d post the photo later. Grace was clearly in a mood that required his full attention. “So what are we talking about today? And, please, don’t let it be shoes!”

  Grace glanced at her computer screen, giving Ash a view of her stunning profile. Seriously, how was her skin so smooth?

  “Today the most up-voted topic is…” She blinked, looking confused. “Huh.”

  “Huh?” Ash echoed, intrigued by the look of confusion on Grace’s face.

  “Cupcakes,” she said.

  “Cupcakes?”

  Grace nodded and frowned at her monitor. “Why do men hate cupcakes? is the trending topic at the moment.” Grace looked Ash’s way, visibly confused. “Do men hate cupcakes?”

  “Well, I personally don’t eat flour or sugar,” Ash said, trying to wrap his head around the question so he could come up with a decent response. “So I don’t like them by default.”

  Grace waved that off. “Yes, but your diet is your own damage. We’re talking about men in general here. What is there to hate about a cupcake? It’s a tiny single-serve cake.”