CHAPTER 6 #2
So as much as I hate to admit it, I have to make the most of this “partnership,” even if it pains me.
Gathering all my courage, I say, “What if we do something a little different from what Travis and Callie are doing with OC and Bennett?”
He eyes me. “Like?”
“Well, what if…instead of doing a vlog thing where cameras follow us around, why don’t we treat this as a partnership…a trade-off of sorts?”
“Not sure how I could possibly benefit.”
No, you couldn’t, could you?
Ass.
Grasping at straws, I say, “What if we went for a whole…social media approach instead? Where we start an Instagram account together. It could be about our unlikely pairing. You helping out with the flamingos and me…attempting to train as a football player?”
His brows shoot up, and then slowly the corners of his lips tilt to the sky. It’s not quite a smile, but I think it’s the most I’ll ever get from him.
“You…a football player?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t go out on the field, but you’re right, it’s only fair.
If you have to learn about my love for flamingos, then I should learn about your love for football.
An even trade. We can post about our days together on socials, create a following, build a love for you while people are hooked on watching me make a fool of myself attempting to trudge around a football field and bring awareness to the flamingos. ”
From the slight glimmer in his eyes, I almost feel like I have a shot at a winning idea.
Do I want to do it? No.
Am I desperate enough to do it? Absolutely.
“So…I come here, do flamingo things, and then you’re going to come to my work, my training camps, and do football things?”
Training camp? Oof, never seen what happens there, but I can only imagine after being an avid watcher of Friday Night Lights what kind of torture that could bring me.
With someone as vindictive as Graydon, I can see a lot of sore muscles in my future.
But…I would do pretty much anything to make sure my flamingos are cared for and safe.
Chin held high, I look him in his dark eyes and say, “Yes, you help me here, and I will train for football with you.”
He mulls it over, his tongue pressing against the side of his cheek as he looks away. Is he really going to turn this down?
To me, it seems like a golden opportunity.
“Listen, you have to be here no matter what, so let’s make the most out of it,” I say.
He glances down at me. “Do you even know anything about social media?”
No.
I lived in Peru for many years and came back to a world where social media rules the universe, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn.
“Absolutely,” I say, lying right through my teeth. “Some might say that I’m a social media wizard. A czar. A savant of all things socials.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Maybe because you have trust issues and that’s something you need to deal with on your own?”
His eyes narrow, and I nearly wet myself.
“What would the account even be called?” he asks.
“Great question. And you know, I think we could be really clever, something that could combine both of our interests in a unique and punny way.”
He lifts a brow in question. “Like…?”
“Putting me on the spot, okay, well, let’s see…” I think about it for a second. “Um, maybe something like…Flamingo Formation.” His expression sours. “Yeah, not my best work. Um, what about…Clash of the Titans and the Flamingos?”
“Really?” His brow quirks up even higher.
“Don’t judge, this is hard.” I tap my chin. “What about Flamingo Hating Is a Personal Foul, but spell ‘fowl’ F-O-W-L.”
“That’s fucking terrible.”
“Fine, you give it a try.”
“Nope, not my idea.”
God, why is he the worst?
“Well, if you’re not going to try, then you’re not going to have a say in it.”
“If I don’t get final approval of the name, then I’m not participating,” he counters.
“Aha.” I point at him. “So you want to participate.”
“‘Want’ is a strong word.”
“Either way, you are a yes.”
“I’m a ‘Let’s just get this the fuck over with so I can move on with my life.’”
“Great,” I say with a smile. “Then it’s settled, we’re starting a social media profile together to show off football and flamingos, and it’s going to be called Flamingo Hating Is a Personal Fowl.”
“That’s not what it’s going to be called.”
I move toward the door and say, “Come up with something else, and we’ll talk. Remember, I’m the social media expert here.”
He follows me but takes his leisurely time, letting me know that I’m on his watch and not the other way around.
“What social media do you manage?”
“That is none of your concern,” I say as I hold the door open for him, but he takes it from me, letting me walk through first.
Ah, look at that, maybe there’s a pinch of kindness in him.
“What are you hiding? Do you have some secret foot fetish account?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be wearing high-water pants,” I shoot back, and for a moment, I see a drop in his “couldn’t care less” facade. And I want to say that maybe I caught a glimmer of guilt, but that irritated glare fixes itself right back on his face.
“How do I know you won’t embarrass me on social media?”
“Don’t you think a little humility goes a long way?”
We head in the direction of the flamingos as he curtly says, “No.”
“Well, it does. Also, it’s not in my best interest to embarrass you because I need people to take you seriously. Serious people with serious money like to donate to serious things.”
“Couldn’t think of another way to say serious?”
“I was getting a point across. Can’t think of another way not to be an ass?”
Now his brows really shoot up, and I realize that I might have gone a little too far.
Nervously, I laugh and then clear my throat. “Um, anyway, I think we can make a pact that we use the platform for good, not for anything else, and we both approve what we post. Deal?”
I stretch my hand out to him to shake, but he just stares down at it. “What’s the name of the account?”
This again.
Groaning, I retreat my hand as we make our way to the flamingo building, and I just start shooting out anything that comes to mind.
“Flock and Tackle. Uh…Fowl Play. Two Can Play That Game, but Only One Ruffles Feathers.” He’s so unamused. “Foghorns and Flamingos. Feathers and Football. Pink You Stink.”
He shakes his head. “‘Pink’ and ‘stink’ should not be in the same sentence…at all.”
“Why? I don’t—” I pause and think about it, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “Oh, right. Umm…Flamingo Fiasco. He’s All Tackle, and I’m All Talons. Flamboyance Football. Pink Wings and Brown Balls.”
“Once again…no. Brown balls, pink and stink. Do you not see what you’re doing?”
I huff. “I’m sorry that I’m not as perverted as you.”
“Not perverted, just aware.”
“Fine, then you pick.”
“Just go with Flock and Tackle.”
My mouth falls open. “That was one of the first things I said. Why didn’t you just stop me?”
He shrugs. “Wanted to see what else you could come up with.”
I purse my lips, looking him up and down. “You really are an ass.”