Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Emerson
Twila’s newest video is two hours long . Okay, fine. It’s only about twenty seconds, but I’ve watched it about three-hundred-sixty times since she posted it this morning. Hence, the two hours.
Each of my roommates has asked me what I’m watching on my phone throughout the day, and, hiding the screen so they won’t see the truth, I just told them I was doing research for my next reaction video.
Yeah, I’m a dirty, dirty liar and a creepy stalker. This is my life, now.
But damn if I can help it.
Twila knew what she was doing when she posted that masterpiece. She tagged a swimwear company, so I can only assume they produced the bathing suit she’s wearing in the video. She’s trying to get their attention so they’ll offer her a deal.
And if the numbers are any indication, she got all of BingBang’s attention. Plus, you know, three-hundred-sixty views from me. Make that three-hundred-sixty-one, because I’m watching it again.
Twila is stomping through ankle-deep water, her mouth open with joyous laughter as she looks at the camera.
She kicks forward, spraying water in an upward arc before spinning and running back toward the sandy beach.
She tumbles to the sand, stretching out on her back as the camera hovers over her, then she kisses her fingertips before waggling the Hawaiian sign for “hang loose.”
God damn.
For a while today, I considered heading down to the beach and filming a reaction video to make it look like I was there with her, but I decided against it.
It’s obviously important to Twila to score a deal with Breezy Baywear, and I don’t want to interfere by making her video seem like a joke.
And if I tried to do a serious duo or tack, well, viewers would see it as proof she’s my secret crush, and we’re not quite ready for that.
As I watch the video again––don’t judge me––I wonder not for the first time who is filming her. One of her friends? A boyfriend?
No. If Twila had a boyfriend, she would’ve mentioned it as a major roadblock when I first proposed this whole scheme. It must be one of her friends.
I close the app and set my phone on the couch beside me. I need to stop before karma spontaneously tattoos the word “creeper” on my forehead. I take a sip from my water bottle as Ritchie glides into the room.
As he heads for the kitchen, he asks, “Bruh, did you see Twila’s new video?”
I cough, but somehow manage not to spew water across the room. Once I swallow it down, I squeeze my eyes shut and answer Ritchie.
“Yeah. I saw it.”
“She is hot ,” he says with a laugh as he leaves the kitchen with his own bottle of water and heads in my direction, plopping down on the couch beside me.
A wave of possessiveness so strong, I can barely contain it almost forces me to snap at him to keep his eyes to himself.
Woah, man. Rein it in. She’s not your girlfriend, and even if she was, that reaction is way over the top.
“Yeah, I think she’s trying to score a deal with the swimwear company,” I say, proud that I kept my voice even.
“They’d be smart to hire her,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say, but the word comes out breathy and slightly irritated.
“You okay, man?” Ritchie asks, and I blow out a long breath.
“Yeah, I’ve just got a lot going on,” I say, tapping a finger against my temple. “I need to come up with some new videos, and they can’t all be about my secret crush.”
“Okay,” he says, then slaps the back of his hand against my thigh before standing. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“Thanks,” I say, and he nods before heading back upstairs to his room.
A few seconds later, I push myself to my feet.
I need to get out of here for a while. The twins already left for their shift at the bar they both work for, and Ritchie will be heading there later.
I’ll be staying home tonight, I think. I’m not feeling the bar scene, tonight, but I do need to get out of this house for a while.
I jog up to my room and grab some clean clothes before hopping in the shower.
Once I’m clean, dressed, and ready, I head out to my car.
With no destination in mind, I start driving.
Somehow, I end up on Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica.
Making a decision, I find a parking spot and head in the direction of the pier.
The bright lights and screams from the carnival rides beckon me, the perfect distraction from my turbulent emotions.
After walking around and absorbing the sights and sounds, I stop at a food cart and buy some cotton candy.
The sticky, sweet concoction lightens my mood as I munch on it, and I can’t help but think Twila would get a kick out of this place.
Stopping in front of the ferris wheel, I hold up the cotton candy and snap a selfie.
Then I send it to Twila with a short text.
Me: Wish you were here.
I hope she sends back something flirty so I can screenshot it and use it in a video. Yeah. That’s it. We have a working relationship, and the only reason I want her to text back is for BingBang.
Sure, Emerson.
Great. Now I’m having internal arguments with myself. I guess as long as I don’t start having them out loud, I’ll be okay.
I leave the pier and head down to the beach where it’s less crowded and quieter. A minute after I hit the sand, my phone chimes in my pocket. All thoughts of my questionable mental health flee as excitement ripples through me. As soon as I open the text, my entire body goes rigid.
And I mean my entire body.
Daisy: I wish I could taste that spun sugar on your lips.
Holy shit. Twila came to play. And as my mind spins a vision of her licking her tongue against my lips, searching for leftover sugar, my cock gets harder. I push the heel of my hand against the bulge as I try to kick my brain back into working order so I can reply something as equally flirtatious.
But before I can come up with a single word, my phone starts to ring with an incoming video chat. Taking a deep, calming breath, I turn so the brightly lit pier is behind me and answer the call.
Twila’s face fills the screen, and her cheeks are pink as she nibbles at her bottom lip. My face must come into focus on her own screen, because she releases her lip to greet me.
“Hey. Was that too much? As soon as I sent it, I regretted it. Shit. Just delete it, and I’ll come up with something else.”
“No,” I blurt before she can say anything else. “I mean, no, it wasn’t too much. It was perfect.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “We haven’t even met in real life yet, so it seems a bit premature to be…saying stuff like that.”
It’s really fucking cute that she’s so worried about the logistics of a flirty text.
“No one knows how long this thing has been going on. For all they know, this could’ve come after months of texting each other.”
“But we’re playing this like you have a recently developed crush on me, Emerson. And here I am, being super forward right off the bat.”
I don’t want to delete that text, because damn, if it’s got me this worked up, knowing it’s not real, it’s going to drive our viewers crazy. It’s fucking gold.
“Okay, how about this?” I say, eager to reach a compromise. “I’ll screenshot it, but I won’t post it until we both feel comfortable with it.”
“Okay,” she says slowly, then nods and repeats the word more firmly. “Okay. I trust you.”
Those words make my chest clench and my mouth curve up into a smile I can’t contain. Twila smiles back, and my chest clenches again.
God, it feels good to have her trust. Almost too good.
So much for keeping this a business-only “crush.” I can’t deny it, anymore. At least, not to myself.
This crush is becoming very, very real.