Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Twila
Emerson posted the video with the screenshot of our conversation last night, and just like the last one, it went nuts…and is still going strong. I’m happy for him as his numbers climb, and it isn’t lost on me how ironic my joy is. Not that long ago, I hated him for using me for his own gain.
I was being judgmental when I didn’t even know him. I feel like a total asshole. I’m not usually so quick to judge.
But what do I know about him now?
I know he’s nicer than I thought. He seems to have a good heart, and he’s just trying to make ends meet any way he can. Just like me.
Of course, he probably doesn’t have a mountain of debt due to identity theft like I do, but still. Living in L.A. can’t be cheap. He mentioned having roommates during one of our video chats, and I’m sitting here in a home I own all by myself.
Yeah. Maybe I am the asshole.
Or, I was, at least.
I feel differently about Emerson now, but I realize I still don’t know him.
Not as well as I should if we’re going to be believable as a couple who are engaging in some kind of romance for the ages.
Most of our conversations are about videos he should make or what people are saying about the ones he’s already posted.
We need to get more personal. To really dig in and get to know each other. Otherwise, the viewers will be able to see how superficial our relationship is.
Making the decision, I grab my phone and initiate a video chat.
“Hey,” he answers, his blue eyes shining and his lips curved upward like he’s incredibly happy I called.
Electricity zips through me at his pleased expression, and there’s no denying how attractive his smile is. How attractive he is, overall.
“Hey,” I croak, then clear my throat. “You have time to talk?”
“For you? Of course,” he says, and there’s a slight grittiness in his voice that sends a shiver racing down my spine. When I don’t respond––because I’m too busy keeping my tongue from lolling out––his smile disappears. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly with a slight shake of my head.
“Sorry, I zoned out there for a sec. Nothing is wrong. I just had this idea that we should get to know each other better. All we really talk about are videos, and I feel like if we’re going to fool the world, we should know more than just the basics about each other. ”
I blush as I finish speaking. That was quite the mouthful, and I’m pretty sure all those words poured out without me pausing for even a single breath.
“I mean,” I say, forcing the words to come out slower, “I don’t even know where you live. I know you’re in Los Angeles, but it’s a big place that could mean anything from Beverly Hills to Buena Park.”
“I live in Long Beach,” he says. “I rent a house with three roommates––Ritchie, Stone and Mason. Stone and Mason are identical twins.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Twins, huh?”
“Don’t go getting any ideas. You’re mine,” he says.
He’s obviously teasing. There’s laughter in his voice, and his eyes are sparkling with humor. But that doesn’t stop my skin from prickling and my breath from catching at the possessive words.
“I, uh. Live in Grenville,” I say quickly. “It’s in North County, about forty-five minutes north of San Diego.”
“I’ve driven through there before,” he says. “Do you have roommates?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I bought my house when the product collaborations became lucrative.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and I try not to flinch. I’m a proud homeowner, but I don’t want Emerson to think I’m boasting or have some sort of superiority complex. He asked, and it’s the truth.
“That’s impressive,” he says after a short whistle.
He seems genuinely impressed without any jealous or bitter undertones, and my shoulders relax. “Want a tour?”
“Absolutely.”
I turn my camera to forward facing and take him on a quick tour of the house. He makes comments here and there about the furniture he likes, the size of the rooms, and the décor. When I head outside, he murmurs something unintelligible.
I flip the camera back around and shoot him a questioning look. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says, shrugging slightly. “It’s just kind of like returning to the scene of the crime.”
“The scene of the crime?”
“Yeah,” he breathes. “You jumped into that pool. My roommate commandeered my duo of the video, you got drunk and lashed out, and here we are. I guess I kind of have a soft spot for your backyard, now.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess so. When you finally come over, we’ll have to recreate it. But this time, you’ll jump in, and I’ll be the one getting overly wet.”
His eyes flare before he catches himself, and the unintentional innuendo in my words hits me. My cheeks heat, and one corner of his mouth quirks up, revealing that adorable dimple.
“Shut up,” I say with a laugh. “You know what I meant.”
He chuckles, and thankfully, changes the subject. “Okay, my turn. But my rental isn’t as nice as your house, so temper your expectations.”
He takes me on a quick tour of the downstairs, and while his place doesn’t have all the upgraded features mine has, it’s a nice home.
Upstairs, he explains the layout behind closed doors.
Ritchie has one of the two main bedrooms with an en suite bathroom, and the twins share a Jack-and-Jill bathroom between their two rooms.
Emerson walks into his bedroom, and, despite not knowing he’d be showing it to me, it’s neat and tidy. After showing me his equally organized bathroom, he flips his camera so I can see his face again.
“That’s pretty much it. We don’t have much more than a small patio with a fire pit out back, but it’s not so bad. We only have to mow the front yard.”
“It’s a nice house,” I say.
“Not as nice as yours,” he counters.
“When did it become a competition?” I ask, arching a single brow.
“Okay, fine,” he says with a playful roll of his eyes. “We both have nice homes.”
I smile, ignoring the twinge of guilt I feel in the pit of my stomach.
I was so angry at him for tacking and duoing my videos for his own gain, and all the while, I was living in my own home…
swimming in my own pool…while he has to rent a house that has no backyard with three roommates just to make ends meet.
“Twila?”
“What?’ I ask, snapping out of my self-flagellating thoughts.
“I lost you there, for a minute.”
“Sorry. I…sorry,” I say, shaking my head.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs.
“Anyway,” I say, my voice brighter than before, “I may not have roommates, but I do have three best friends. Joey is my bestest bestie, and then there’s her older sister Callie and her best friend, Raven.”
“Your bestest bestie, huh?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the “p.”
“I can’t wait to meet her,” he says in a low voice, and my chest hollows out.
If all goes well, and we finish this whole plan of ours, he will meet Joey. The others, too. It seems weird, like some kind of fever dream that the Emerson will be here, hanging out with my friends and me like we have a real relationship.
“So, that’s the superficial information,” Emerson says, once again pulling me from my thoughts. “How about something deeper?”
“Like what?” I ask, the words edged with suspicion and the slightest tinge of fear.
“Like why we do this whole social media influencer thing. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
No. Hell, no. I don’t want to tell him about my ex. Or my own blind stupidity. And even though I don’t agree to the bargain, Emerson starts to talk.
“My dad walked out on my mom and sister right after I moved out.”
“What?” I chirp. “You have a sister? How old is she?”
“She’s nineteen now, but she was only twelve when I moved out, and Dad bailed on them.
Mom has trouble making ends meet, and she certainly doesn’t have a college fund set up for Kennedy.
After I got laid off from my marketing job, I realized I could make more money making content for BingBang, so I ran with it.
I help Mom with some of her bills, and I’m saving to help Kennedy transfer from community college to a four-year school. ”
“Wow. That’s…”
My words trail off. I don’t know what to say. He’s fucking amazing .
“Okay, enough about me. Your turn,” he says, and I feel the blood drain from my face.
My reasons aren’t even a fraction as noble as his. How can I tell him the truth after learning he’s a God damn saint?
“Come on, Twila. It can’t be that bad. And a boyfriend would know the truth, right?”
“You’re not my boyfriend,” pops out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“I know that,” he replies, and I flinch at the twinge of hurt in his crystal blue eyes.
“Sorry. Reflex,” I mumble, then sigh. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But you’re not allowed to judge me or flaunt your superiority over me.”
“I would never,” he whispers, and I swallow thickly as I nod.
“Long story, short, I let my ex move in with me for a while. He stole my identity and opened credit cards in my name to buy his side piece a bunch of expensive gifts. He did a fabulous job of covering his tracks, and by the time I found out, I was ten-thousand dollars in debt and my credit was shot.”
His eyes have gone wide by the time I finish. “And he got away with it? You couldn’t file a fraud claim?”
A bitter laugh slips out of me. “Believe me, I tried. But the cards were in my name. The bills were delivered to my address. Purchases were made on my Amazon account. From my tablet. Hell, he even switched some of my subscribed purchases for personal items to his card so it would look like I’d been using it. ”
“Mother fucker,” he spits, and I startle slightly at the vehemence in his voice. “You trusted him, and he took advantage of you, Twila. That’s nothing to be ashamed of or feel like you would be judged for.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, feeling pounds lighter after spilling my guts and receiving nothing but support from him. “You’re the only person I’ve told about the cheating part.”
“You haven’t told Joey?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“I was too embarrassed.”
“She’s your bestest bestie,” he says slowly. “She would understand. And I’m sure she wouldn’t judge you, either.”
“I know,” I breathe. “Maybe I will tell her. Eventually.”
“Good girl,” he says, deepening his voice.
I roll my eyes, and he laughs.
“God, I’m an asshole,” I say without thinking, and his laughter dies.
“Why are you an asshole?” he asks.
“I judged you,” I say, then shake my head to cut off his next question. “I was so irritated that you ‘rode my coattails,’ so to speak, and the whole time you had these noble intentions to be a hero to your mom and sister. I am. An. Asshole.”
“Nah,” he says lightly. “Don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know me. You didn’t have any reason to believe I was doing it for any reason other than dollar bills and clout.”
“Stop being so nice to me. I’m trying to wallow, here,” I grump, and he grins.
“I can’t help it. I’m a nice guy,” he says, and I shoot him a soft smile.
“Yeah. You are.”