Page 26 of Masks and Mishaps

“You want me to stream with you?” I question. “Essie, you want me to fucking stream with you?Like, you want me to be an actual camboy or something?”

“More like a guest star,” she clarifies before she uses the throw pillow next to her to cover her chest. “And I don’t want you to stream. I want to…record you and upload it to my profile behind a paywall.”

I got this wrong. I got this so unbelievably wrong—but how was I so off?

She said I exceeded her expectations. She said I was unbelievable.

…No, that’s wrong.Last nightexceeded her expectations.Itwas unbelievable. Not me.

I cross my arms over my chest. “How much did we make?” I finally ask. “I know you. You live and die by numbers. So tell me: How much did we make streaming?”

Without a word, Essie picks up her phone, swipes, and passes it to me. Her camming app is open, and there’s a five-digit number on the screen that makes my eyebrow rise like it’s trying to start a coup for control of my face.

“This was from last night?”

The way she grins in confirmation is the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do with their face. “The site takes a percentage,” she caveats. “Annoying, but it is what it is.”

“Yeah,” I say, forcing myself to relax. “Yeah, this is good. Is this a lot more than you usually make?”

“Triple,” is her response. She takes her phone back and smiles at it—beaming. “Another big night, and I’m set for a year.”

She’s good—and she knows she’s good too. She knows I would die to make this girl happy. I would die and reincarnate myself so I could die again to make her happy.

That fact is the heart of our problem.

“I can’t cam with you,” I respond flatly, turning down her request before she can make it again.

“Why not? Is it about our parents? The bank? Our friendship?”

“It’s because I’m in love with you,” I answer. “There. I’ve said it twice now.”

She starts shaking her head. “You’re not in love with me.”

“I’m not? Okay, sick. So, I just lay awake at night thinking about you and changed all my passwords to your name with an exclamation point instead of an I for no reason. Got it.”

Finally, she pulls up her top, covering her breasts. “You can’t be. You don’t even know me.”

I almost scoff. “How can you say I don’t know you?”

“Because you don’t,” she insists, frowning now. “If you don’t want to film, say it. But dangling love in front of me is a dick move.”

My brow tightens. “I would never extort you into saying you love me. But I do love you, and that’s why I can’t.”

She raises her shoulder like it’s nothing. “Just call it a deal. That’s what you’re good at.”

But I don’t want a deal; I want her towantto be with me.

“I’ll see you at work on Monday, Essie,” I say before I turn and walk away for a second time.

It’s worse this time.

Twelve

ESSIE

Carryingfivecoffeesisan art not a skill, and a particularly demanding art on a morning when said coffees are destined for the investment bank where a guy I unsuccessfully propositioned is a senior vice president.

And by “a guy,” I do, in fact, mean my best friend/future stepbrother/sort of boss/guy who is apparently in love with me.

---