Sloane first knew she’d gone viral after a google search showed her several articles saying as much. #TheGirlWhoSaidNothing was trending on Twitter with thoughts, quotes, and relatable me toos from the blog. Most, though, had been focused on the Guy aspect. Hundreds of tweets had users admitting that they, too, had someone like Guy in their lives. Someone they liked or loved but never said a word. When some of those hundreds started to slide into her inbox, encouraging words and stories, a few others started to slide in with their own form of trying to connect.

Sloane had deactivated her Twitter after the tenth dick pic.

After that, people she knew in real life had come out of the woodwork. From Raphael at the catering company she sometimes subbed in at, to Nancy, the neighbor down the hall who sometimes had her mail sent to Sloane’s box on accident, to a customer at the florist shop who had been alerted to Sloane’s sudden internet fame by her granddaughter.

Facebook and Instagram and Snapchat had already been picking up, but when BuzzFeed had started to do the listicles, that was when Sloane had locked her privacy down hard. Though that hadn’t stopped the messages.

The phone calls and texts came next.

And when her ex-boyfriend, Mayce, had shown up at her door wanting to know why he was barely mentioned in the blog?

That’s when Sloane just kind of left it all.

She might have loved her jobs, but sometimes you had to take a break, even from things you loved, so you didn’t lose your damn mind.

She’d told Mrs. Baker and Raphael that she would be back in time to work the Saunders’ wedding, and if they needed her before that? Well, maybe try not to? Because she certainly didn’t like her phone anymore. Every time it buzzed or chirped, a ball of nerves would twist in her stomach as she imagined something else embarrassing had happened.

Something she had caused.

So when her phone vibrated in her pocket between Brady’s truck at the curb and Roger Norman’s front porch, Sloane wanted to throw it instead of check it. She mentally recapped her day instead, wondering what she could have possibly done to get more attention, and bit the bullet when she decided she hadn’t really done anything of consequence.

Well, other than see a mostly naked, very wet Brady.

And, wowzer, what a sight that had been.

Even driving across town, away from the scene, Sloane could still feel the heat in her from their exchange in his bedroom. Along with the embarrassment of being caught snooping. All she’d wanted to do was understand the bartender more, but his room had been surprisingly bare.

That is, except for a few pictures on the walls, most interesting among them the one over his bed.