Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Twila
“Hey, thanks for letting me come over.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Joey says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into her apartment. “You can come over anytime you want. You have a key, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’d never abuse the power of the spare key,” I say dramatically, and we both laugh.
My humor dies quickly, though, and Joey doesn’t miss the change. Dragging me by the wrist she’s still holding, she leads me into the living room where we both plop onto the sofa.
“What’s wrong? Did Breezy Baywear not reach out, yet?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“They haven’t, but it’s only been a day and a half. I don’t expect them to reach out until the video hits over a hundred-thousand views.”
“Then, what is it?” she asks. “I can tell something is bothering you.”
“It’s this thing with Emerson,” I sigh, and she shakes her head.
“I should’ve guessed that, first.”
“It just feels…wrong. All this lying and playacting.”
“You haven’t actually had to do either of those things, yet, have you?” she asks, and of course, she’s right.
Emerson has done all the work, so far.
“But I’m going to have to, and soon,” I reply.
“So, what happened?” she asks, and I tilt my head to study her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she says, emphasizing the word, “you were fine with this yesterday. Excited, even. So, what happened to make you skittish about it again?”
“Nothing,” I insist, but it sounds fake to even my own ears.
Something has changed.
Joey doesn’t respond to my denial. She just holds my gaze and waits, her face a blank slate. I know this game. She’s waiting me out. And, damn, if it doesn’t work. Every time.
“Fine. I…like him.”
“What?”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “I don’t mean I like- like him. I mean, as a friend.”
Another proclamation that sounds hollow, but I’m sticking to it.
“As a friend,” she says, her words slow and measured like she’s tasting each one on her tongue.
“Yes, Josette. As a friend ,” I say, doubling down. “This whole thing was so much easier when I thought Emerson was just some asshole who ripped off other creators’ content to make a few bucks. But I was wrong. He’s not an asshole. At all.”
“He’s not?” she asks, and it’s blatantly a leading question to get me to keep talking.
And I don’t disappoint.
“He’s not. He’s actually really nice. Sweet, even. Considerate. And so smart. I… I don’t know, Jo. It just feels wrong for him to do something that’s obviously out of character for him.”
“You’re not making him do it, Twila,” she says, her voice gentle. “It was his idea. And he pulled you in so you can both benefit from it. You need this, right?”
“I do,” I admit.
“And he needs it, too. And because he’s a nice person, you want to help him, right?”
My lips curve up despite my attempt to curb my humor. “Yes. I want to help him.”
“Plus,” she says, holding up a finger, “liking him will only benefit you when you get to the ‘meet in real life’ portion of the program. It’ll be much easier to pretend to be in love if you don’t hate him, right?”
Easier? That’s subjective.
Easier to pretend, but not so easy if my feelings get a little tangled up, for real.
But I’m not going to bring that particular fear up to Joey.
Not right now. She’ll get excited and tell me to be open to anything.
Because she’s in love and wants me to be in love, too.
She knows I’m skittish because of the whole identity-theft debacle with my ex, but she doesn’t know about the cheating.
That while the fear of being tricked by a con-man is minimal––I’d never be so careless or clueless again––the fear of having my heart torn up by a cheater is very real.
I wasn’t really in love with that rat bastard, but finding out he was treating some other woman like a princess on my dime hurt . If he was going to con me, he could’ve at least used those cards to buy me something nicer than vitamins and tampons.
And I do realize that’s a fucked up way to think about it, but I can’t help it. It just proved his relationship with me was a complete sham. Somehow, I think knowing it was real at the start and just disintegrated would be much better for my psyche. My self-worth.
And fuck, I’m letting that asshole occupy too much headspace. Again.
“You’re right,” I say finally. “Liking Emerson as a person will definitely make it easier to pretend. Thanks for listening, and thanks for being the bestest best friend a girl could ask for.”
“Aw, Poopsie,” she says, and I rear back from the hug I was leaning in for.
“What? Poopsie?”
Joey laughs. “I feel like we should have nicknames for each other after all these years. I was trying that one out.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I say, yanking her in for a hug. “And ‘Poopsie’ is a hard no.”
“Fine, I’ll keep workshopping,” she says with a chuckle.
I shake my head as I smile at her silliness.
Joey has been my best friend since we were kids, and I’m not going to lie, it took a lot of work to get her to let me in.
She suffers from social anxiety, and I was smart enough to bring the patience and resiliency it took to gain her trust so she’d show me the real her.
She’s been open with me since elementary school, but I’m not blind.
I can see the way she folds in on herself around strangers.
At least, the way she did until Dallas .
Her neighbor became her friend, then her lover, all while showing her he understood her anxious mind.
He helped teach her to manage certain social situations and encouraged her to find a therapist who could help her navigate the world on her own terms without feeling like she’s missing out.
She’s even looser and freer with me, and I love seeing her true personality shine without fear or remorse. It’s…amazing.
“All right, Poopsie, let’s watch a romcom,” I say, and she narrows her eyes.
“I thought Poopsie was off the table?”
“It is for me, but obviously, you like it. So…”
She chuckles. “I do like it. And don’t worry. I’ll come up with an equally ridiculous nickname for you. One that you can’t reject.”
“Fine,” I grumble, leaning back into the couch after grabbing the remote and turning on our favorite streaming service.
Joey cuddles in next to me, and we pick a movie. I try to pay attention, but my mind keeps wandering.
To how lucky I am to have Joey as a best friend.
To credit card bills and mortgage payments.
But mostly, to Emerson and the fact that in the not so distant future, I’ll be meeting him. Face to face. And we’ll pretend to be smitten with each other.
And, honestly? I really won’t be pretending. At all.