Chapter 10 Bryson
Bryson
It’s been one full night of sleep plus forty-seven minutes since Ashton has given me shit about having “chemistry” with Jaden.
“Dude, you’ve had chemistry with a dozen women in the last six months. I’ve watched in awe as the panty-melting magic happens. There ain’t nothing melting off Jaden when she’s near you. If anything, shit’s freezing over.”
Of all the things I said to my sister to convince her to give Jaden a shake at this app gig, the offhand remark about us having chemistry was the bit she held on to. Of course it is.
I didn’t even really mean to say it the way it came out.
I know the things my sister looks for in marketing, and I had heard her use that buzzword about a dozen times when she was putting together the business plan for the app and matching up other couples.
I tossed that phrase out there to put Jaden on the top of the stack.
I wanted a chance to bury our old beef, if only to make sure she’d stay quiet about it.
Maybe be friends. And sure, there’s a part of me that likes the challenge.
She’s not into me, unlike practically every girl I’ve met on campus since I got here three years ago.
Our sparks come from a mutual desire to spar with one another, not rip each other’s clothes off.
Again, she’s really not into me. And damn, does that get under my skin.
I’ve been awake for forty-seven, no, forty-eight minutes now, and I’ve refreshed my app store a dozen times.
Amelia woke me up to help her test for the soft launch.
Her app was approved and put on the store a week ago, but it’s still hard to find.
I refresh one more time, then plop my phone down on our kitchen counter while I fish out the gallon of orange juice from the fridge.
I’m mid-tilt with the spout on my lip when Ashton crawls out of his bedroom and catches me.
“Dude, it’s so gross when you do that. What do you have against glasses?” He marches past me and pulls a glass from the cabinet, then sets it down next to me.
“Ah,” I breathe out as I pull the carton away from my mouth. I can feel the tingle of my orange juice mustache above my lip.
“Go on. Pour it,” he prompts, tapping his finger on the side of the glass.
I shrug.
“I don’t want any more,” I say, moving to put the gallon back in the fridge. Ashton grabs it from me before I make it a full step, though.
“I didn’t mean pour one for you, dickhead.”
I back away as he takes over juice duties, pouring himself a glass while I move back to my phone to find the bright-blue-purple-and-white app finally sitting proudly at the top of the list. I download it and sign in with the credentials my sister sent me so I don’t have to pay for a subscription.
“Is that it?” Ashton is peering over my shoulder, and I can feel his breath on my neck.
“That’s it,” I confirm, taking a step forward to gain some space. He clings to me, though, reaching over my arm and tapping the screen to open the section titled Profiles.
Jaden and I are the first two who pop up, both of our photos tagged with a pink heart that reads Matched.
“Chemistry at work,” my friend says, breaking the streak and taking us right back to zero minutes and seconds since the last time he gave me shit.
“Come off that shit. It’s annoying.” I click the side of my phone to lock it before leaving it on the table while I make myself breakfast. The last thing I need is Ashton tooling around on my device without me.
It’s my turn to cook. We made a deal to split the meals every week during practice.
This is my week to handle breakfast, Ashton gets meal prep for our lunches and snacks, and Walker is in charge of dinner Sunday night.
We go through a lot of eggs, rice, and ground beef around here, but whoever gets the dinner shift is charged with cooking something special since it’s only one meal.
We get postpractice meals at the stadium during the week.
I start the bacon in the frying pan first, then move on to the eggs. The scent usually wakes Walker up, so I’m not shocked when he enters the room and sits at the table next to Ashton by the time I finish frying the first batch.
“Come and get it.” I spread out three plates and split the eggs between my two roommates to get started. They seem to have no interest in moving their asses this morning, though, so I clang the metal spatula on the pan a few times to get them to look up from their damn phones.
“Ashton, you’re the one who wanted eggs today, man.” I stare at my friend for a few seconds before clearing my throat in an overly annoyed manner.
He lifts his head up from his screen, but his sinister grin makes me instantly regret interrupting him. Ashton has no filter and a pathetic poker face. The massive smirk pushing into his cheekbones right now sits on the verge of laughter. When Walker’s wide eyes lift to mine, I know I’m in trouble.
“Bryson, you’ve gone viral,” Walker says, zipping from his chair in his boxers and paint-stained T-shirt to meet me on the other side of the kitchen counter.
After skimming his fingertip along his screen, he hands me his phone as his social media app rolls to the beginning of his feed. I palm his device in my free hand and recognize the start of my sister’s video right away, before taking a quick glance at the engagement numbers.
“Forty likes hardly feels viral, Walk,” I say, handing back his phone. He pushes it toward me again.
“Scroll,” he says.
My weight shifts back on my heels as I study his eyes for a beat. I’m skeptical, and I’m also not in the mood for two of my roommates to give me shit when I’m helping my sister.
“Trust me, bro,” he urges.
Sighing, I rest the spatula on the edge of the pan and give my full attention to his screen, scrolling as he asked.
The next five posts are all reposts of the same video.
The likes vary from twenty to two hundred.
Yeah, it’s a little more than I expected, but I still don’t know that I’d call it viral.
Before I call my friends out for exaggerating, though, I click onto the Score main feed, where my sister first posted, and for a moment, my lungs feel like they fold in half.
Twenty-one thousand and climbing. Four hundred comments and growing. So many heart emojis.
“Yo, Bryson! You and Jaden have your own hashtag!” Ashton spits out.
I glance up at him in time to catch the start of his laughing fit. He’s loving this. I shake my head and return to the screen.
“What’s their hashtag?” Walker asks.
I find it a second later.
“Hashtag Braden,” I answer in a wry tone. “Not very original.”
“Yeah, but kind of a sucky time to be a guy named Braden,” Walker snort laughs.
Fair.
“These comments are giving me life,” Ashton says through his teetering laughter.
I hand Walker his phone back and turn my attention to my own eggs. If these assholes want their breakfasts to get cold, that’s on them.
“Here’s a good one,” Walker says, clearing his throat before continuing. “This girl’s name is Macy, and she’s pretty hot, by the way.”
I glance over my shoulder but not fully at him.
“‘Bryson Moss is quite literally the reason to be on this app. I signed up and liked his profile in seconds. If only—’ Oh, uh . . .”
Walker’s sudden pause extends for several seconds, so I crane my neck to get him in view. His eyes are scanning his phone as his mouth hangs open. I flip my eggs, then turn around to face him.
“If only what?” I ask.
My friends exchange glances, and something about the way they’ve tucked their mouths into sudden straight lines doesn’t sit well in my gut.
I continue to glare at them for a few seconds, but when it’s clear they’re not going to clue me in, I grab my phone again and scroll to the post so I can search for the comment myself.
It takes me a minute or two to find Macy’s remark.
And I get what has Walker stalled within seconds.
If only he wasn’t already matched with that bitch.
I suck in my top lip as my thumb hovers over Macy’s name, then her use of that word.
I swipe to the right and click the option to report her comment, but it feels like an empty act.
The next comment is from one of our freshman linemen, Louis.
It’s not as bluntly insulting, but it’s definitely not flattering.
If things don’t work out with Bryson, I’ll take his sloppy seconds.
Yeah. Maybe it’s just as bad. Not every comment is like that.
Most are positive about the app, and of course there are a few trolls making fun of the app and calling it a waste of “Daddy’s money.
” My sister anticipated that. But the hate on Jaden?
That’s not something I expected, and I doubt Amelia did.
Or Jaden.
Who is probably reading these same comments now.
The unpleasant stench of burned eggs hits my nose about a half second before our smoke alarm goes off.
I toss my phone to the side and pull the smoking pan from the stovetop.
My eggs are burned rubber disks at this point, so after running the entire thing under the faucet, I toss them into the trash and pop the pan in the dishwasher.
Ashton has wandered in for his plate, but rather than picking it up, he nudges it toward me and utters, “Take mine.” His eyes remain glued on his phone as he snags a piece of bacon, then slides on his socks back to his chair.
“How bad is it?” I don’t know if I want to read more comments if they’re anything like the few I read.
Walker glances up at me for a moment, then drops his gaze back to his phone as he shakes his head.
“Girls are mean,” Ashton says.
“Men are assholes,” Walker adds.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath before picking up my phone and enduring about a dozen more comments before closing my social app and deleting it from my phone.