Page 24 of Subscriber Wars

My heart feels like it spasms a bit. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“I’m already out here… I don’t care if they are asleep! Wake them up, Asp. I’m not cleaning all of this up by myself.”

She’s frustrated, and I’m going to take a not so wild guess and say it’s from being the only one in her crew awake this early with a huge mess in front of her.

“Okay, bye.” Vee hangs up her phone and stuffs it into the front pocket of the shorts she’s wearing.

I do a silent drumroll to myself, seconds away from sneaking outside and getting a front row seat to her soon-to-be fury. A quick glance at Brick confirms he is, indeed, recording.

“I got her,” he mumbles, with what will soon be our company motto.

I nod, refusing to acknowledge aloud that I’m being a little psycho about all of this. But fucking with Valentina brings way too much joy to my life. Don’t judge me.

The beauty, who is very much a beast in everything she does, leans down and picks up the first slide. It’s muddy and grass clippings stick to it. But in true Vee fashion, she doesn’t fuss over her nails or the dirt getting onto her hands. Instead, something catches her eye, and she cocks her head to the side, her eyes narrowing.

God, I hope Brick doesn’t look over here and see the dumbest grin on my face.

Slowly, as if something was lurking within the folds of the vinyl, Vee drops the trash bag and grasps the slide with both hands, flipping it over for a better view of the writing on the back.

It’s the highlight of my shitty week when her face falls into a frown, and her gaze snaps up to my townhouse. A few seconds later, her phone is in her hands, and mine is buzzing with a notification.

I’ll be honest. I can’t wait to read it.

DO NOT TEXT THIS NUMBER: Really?

I admire my contact name for her, one that I clearly ignored yesterday morning, and grin.

Me: Good morning to you too, Valentina. I’m fine. Thanks for asking. You’re looking fresh-faced and full of deceit this morning.

I watch as her head falls back, and she looks at the clouds as if she is praying.

DO NOT TEXT THIS NUMBER: Did you know that there is a break-in every 13 seconds? Really?

I grin. I couldn’t remember what exactly I wrote on the bottom of several of the slides. It was late and I was drunk, but it still makes me laugh.

Me: Okay. Thanks, Sherlock Holmes. I’ll keep that under advisement.

DO NOT TEXT THIS NUMBER: I know you wrote this. I can tell by the second-grade penmanship.

Don’t worry, I’m not offended. On a good day, my handwriting looks awful. On a drunk day, I’m sure it’s even worse. I think she’s being generous with the second-grade assessment.

Me: If I were you, I would do a little less accusing and a lot more hurrying. Tony will be coming out for his morning paper soon.

Her gaze snaps up to our complex owner’s door. Her friend may have offered him game tickets for the party, but that doesn’t mean he won’t fine the shit out of them for the mess. This isn’t a frat house. There are strict rules to living in this complex, and I’m pretty sure a littered courtyard is in the fine print somewhere.

Vee pockets her phone and takes my advice, hurrying to clean the mess.

“Is that it?” Brick asks beside me.

I feel my mouth pull tight. “Have you ever heard of delayed gratification, Brick?”

Seriously. A good video needs click bait—a mystery you have to keep watching in order to figure out the story.

“Yeah, but now her friends are out there,” he notes.

Even better. Now she’ll be worried about what else I wrote on the slides.

“Just keep filming. Keep the camera on her.”

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