Chapter 12
TWELVE
Emerson
The video I posted yesterday with the daisies went even more viral than the margarita one and the sweatshirt one, combined.
I watch my phone’s screen intently as the numbers rise, and even though I knew this was a good idea, I’m a bit shocked at just how well it’s going.
My follower count has doubled in the last week.
The viewers are desperate to find out exactly who I’m crushing on.
I can tell they’re also enjoying the hell out of the mystery.
The hard part is finding the thin line between revealing the truth too soon and dragging it out to the point where they lose interest. I want to toe that line as long as possible, because once I tell the world it’s Twila, this thing will shift into overdrive with everyone salivating over when we’ll finally meet.
And once we’re “together,” the interest in our story will start to wane.
I’ve seen it before, followed flirty stories like the one we’re crafting, and I know people tend to lose interest once the connection’s been made.
The front door swings open, and I look over from my spot on the couch as my roommates file in.
Ritchie tosses the basketball they took to the park into the basket by the door as Stone and Mason rib each other for missed shots and blatant fouls.
They’re all sweaty and red-faced after the pickup game I declined to join, but they obviously had a good time because they’re all smiling.
“Hey, man,” Stone says when he spots me on the couch. “You missed a great game. We smoked those douchebags from Belmont Heights.”
“Nice,” I say, holding out a fist for him to bump as he approaches.
He taps his knuckles against mine, then crosses his arms over his chest as he stares down at me. I’m glad he has the common sense not to plop down on the couch next to me while he’s drenched with sweat, but it feels like an ambush when his brother and Ritchie move in to flank him.
“What?” I ask as the three of them continue to stare.
“This is an intervention,” Stone says, his lips twitching like he’s trying to force them not to curl up.
“And intervention?” I ask, and Ritchie shakes his head.
“It’s not an intervention ,” he says, driving his elbow into Stone’s gut and making him grunt. “But we are worried about you.”
“Worried? About what?” I ask, honestly confused.
“You’ve been obsessing over your BingBang account lately. Like, a lot more than usual,” Mason says.
“Yeah,” Stone adds, his voice as identical to Mason’s as is his physical appearance. “You’ve haven’t hung out with us in forever.”
“I went to the club with you last week,” I remind him, but he just shakes his head.
“Where you stared at your phone the whole time, then left early,” he counters.
I huff out a breath and lean back against the couch cushions before I respond. “I know. I’m sorry, guys. I was obsessed while waiting for Twila to agree with my plan, and now that she has, I’m obsessed with watching it succeed. And it is, you know. Succeeding, I mean.”
“The video with the daisies?” Ritchie asks, and I nod.
“Thanks for helping me with that one, by the way. It’s already got a million views.”
“What the fuck?” Stone blurts. “Seriously? It’s only been a day.”
“Seriously,” I say, nodding.
I can’t quite believe it, myself.
“That’s a lot of people who’ll be pissed if they ever figure out this has all been scripted,” Mason says, his voice edged with concern.
“Nobody’s going to find out,” I say with confidence. “There are no texts or DMs that can be leaked. And Twila sure as hell isn’t going to tell anyone because she’d be just as culpable as me. So, unless you three intend to blab it to the world, I’m safe.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Stone says, kicking my foot. “You know we’d never do that.”
“I know,” I say with a laugh. “And I trust Twila to only tell the people she trusts implicitly. We’re safe. I promise.”
“Okay,” Mason says like he’s conceding, then crosses his arms over his bare, sweat-dampened chest. “We just don’t appreciate being ignored.”
I roll my eyes at the way he feigns hurt feelings. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”
“Good,” he says, his faux bad mood evaporating. “I’m going to go hit the shower.”
“Damn it, Mason. I said I was going first,” Stone says, following him from the room as they bicker.
“It really has over a million views?” Ritchie asks once we’re alone.
“Yep,” I say, turning my phone screen around so he can see the numbers.
“That’s crazy. I never would’ve guessed that many people would be so invested in a stranger’s secret crush. It’s bizarre, don’t you think? I mean, it’s not like you see someone at the grocery store and start obsessing over who he or she might be crushing on.”
“Social media is a strange place,” I agree, then shrug. “But it pays the bills. And if my videos keep going like this, I could get some influencer deals and start really bringing in some money.”
“And pay Kennedy’s college tuition,” he says quietly, and I nod.
“And her books and anything else she needs.”
Ritchie breathes deep, then blows it out slowly. “I get it. And I’ll remind the twins why this is so important. We’ll lay off the guilt trips…for a while.”
“Thanks, man,” I say, tapping my fist against the one he holds out before he heads for the stairs to go shower and change.
I check the numbers on the video again, and pleasure and excitement zip through me. I’m sure Twila is watching, too, and I suddenly want to see her face so we can gush over our success together. Pushing off the couch, I jog up the stairs to the privacy of my bedroom so I can initiate a video chat.
“Have you seen it?” I ask the second her face pops up on my screen, bypassing a traditional greeting.
“Hello to you, too,” she says, calling me out for it.
“Sorry. Hi. Have you seen it?”
She laughs, and something warm bursts open in my chest.
“I’ve been refreshing your page every thirty seconds for the last few hours,” she admits, and that warmth in my chest expands to the rest of my body.
“It’s crazy, right?”
“Unbelievable,” she says, her tone as enthusiastic as mine. She seems to catch herself, then dims her smile and clears her throat. “It’s great, Emerson.”
“It’s freaking stupendous , Twila,” I shoot back.
“Astonishing,” she counters.
“Fantabulous,” I say.
“That’s not a real word,” she says with narrowed eyes.
“Oh, is that a challenge?” I ask. “If you challenge it, and I win, you lose your turn.”
“This isn’t Scrabble, ” she says, and delight ripples through me that she caught the reference. It’s my favorite game, and obviously, she’s familiar with the rules.
I watch as she looks to her left, reading something, then flinches. Looking back at her phone screen she huffs.
“Fine. You win. It’s fantabulous .”
“Yes,” I say in a whisper-shout as I pump a fist in the air.
“You’re such a child,” she grumps, but I can see the twinkle in her eyes.
And, fuck, I need to be careful, or this fake crush is going to evolve into a full-blown real one.