Page 27 of Subscriber Wars

“It doesn’t matter what the internet thinks. We aren’t an item, nor will we ever be.”

He’s quick to respond. “Agreed but seeing how your video is disqualified and mine needs…” he grimaces, “—help. Neither of us is going to win the competition. Stupid Malcolm with his copied ideas is going to beat us in our own house.”

I level Sebastian with a flat look. “The internet isn’t our house.”

“Yes, it is. Our videos ruled the top ten page of MyView’s best videos for an entire semester. Are we really going to let Malcolm take that from us?”

I throw my hands in the air, so done with all of this. “Sebastian, I’m tired, and honestly, I don’t care about the contest or Malcolm or you. All I want is my keys and my chair that you stole.”

It was a bad morning. Aspen’s words at the party kept me tossing and turning all night. She doesn’t understand what this is right here. This drama and constant back and forth. This isn’t love. It’s a friendship that went bad.

Sebastian sighs and pockets his phone. “Look, I know this isn’t what either of us want. I would much rather film alone and I’m certain you would prefer to continue creating your makeup videos, but the cold hard truth is that we won’t win. I know you want to get noticed by a studio.”

I narrow my eyes. He’s making sense and that’s unlike him.

He takes my silence as my acquiescence and continues, “You won’t get noticed without the views. You know that, and I know that. This is a good opportunity for both of us.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. The demon is right. Neither of us will get the views we’ll need to win the competition.

“It’ll be like old times,” he adds.

“Ugh.” He knew that would get me. I remember the time he’s mentioning. We had to make up this elaborate story in order to get backstage into a concert. It went sideways, of course, and we were caught, but I had the time of my life. He did too, but he’ll never admit it.

“Please, Vee. We’ll split the money fifty-fifty.”

“Of course we’d split the money equally.” I scoff. “Did you really consider offering me less?”

I don’t know why this shocks me. One minute he’s begging and the next he’s saying some dumb shit that makes me want to walk straight out the door.

His face looks appalled, but I know him better than that. “Of course not.”

Sure he wouldn’t.

He holds out his hand. “Deal?”

This is so incredibly stupid, but then so is stealing each other’s shit. I guess Sebastian and I aren’t known to make the best decisions around each other. Sighing, I slip my hand in his. “Deal. Now give me my keys then we’ll discuss details.”

That smug smile of his reemerges. “Sure.” He nods to his front pocket. “They’re all yours.”

Oh hell no. “You really are sleep deprived if you think I am sticking my hand in your pocket.” Give me a break. I might be a moron for signing up to play this idiot’s girlfriend, but I draw the line at reaching into his pocket.

“No?” He asks, his voice carrying a hidden challenge. “My girlfriend should have no problem reaching into my pocket to get her keys.” He flashes me a wink. “Some might even call it sexy.”

Some might call it nauseating.

But he’s right and his cameraman behind us is probably still filming. A girlfriend would have no qualms about digging into his pocket. I guess it’s better to just rip off the proverbial Band-Aid. If Sebastian and I are really going to trick the campus and the producers of the UniCamFlix competition, then we better start behaving more like lovers and less like enemies.

“Fine,” I agree. “But I swear if your dick touches my hand—even through the fabric—then all of this is over. Do not even try to mess with me.” I take a breath. “Matter of fact, let’s go ahead and shake on a truce.” I look him in the eyes, so he knows I’m serious. “No pranks while we do this.”

With a terse nod, he sticks his hand out. “Agreed.”

A huge weight feels like it lifts off my shoulders in that moment of shaking his hand. Maybe it’s a truce from the months of war between us, or maybe it’s because I’m relieved to finally get my friend back. I guess we’ll never know because the ass opens his mouth and ruins the euphoric feeling in an instant.

“Go ahead, sugar. Get your keys.”

“We’re not using pet names either,” I add, already making a mental rulebook that I plan on writing down the minute I get home. It’s not like Sebastian will follow them, but at least I can point to them in writing when I yell at him. Regardless, we have to have rules because last time we didn’t and look what happened.

“We’re using pet names, babe,” he argues. “Any girlfriend of mine would expect such things from me.”

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