Page 22 of The Pretender

Rowan shrugs, and my voice rises with my poor judgment in friends. “I used them to hit on my chem teacher!”

You had to be there.

“I didn’t think it was funny.”

Is he serious? “Let me show you,” I offer, settling into my chair and leaning forward.

As if Rowan were my chemistry teacher, I lick my lips like I did to her and say, “If I was an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase so I could unzip your genes.” I grin and give him one more. “You must be calcium bicarbonate, because if you let me get you wet, then the reaction will be explosive.”

“Dude.” Maverick chuckles. “That’s so lame.”

And Ms. Harp agreed, ushering me to the campus counselor and giving me the crisis hotline number as if my pick-up lines were a cry for help.

I slouch back onto the metal chair. “It’s not lame, it’s clever.”

Needless to say, yesterday was rough. Hence the reason for my hangover this morning. Something had to wash away the looks of pity.

“I’m just saying it wasn’t your best stuff,” Rowan adds, his gaze on the pot of chips in the center of the table.

Wasn’t my best stuff… I shake my head. “This coming from a guy who thinksThe Fast and the Furiousdeserved an Oscar.”

Rowan’s head snaps up from his hand of cards. “Don’t even start with the Vin Diesel jokes tonight. All I’m saying is, since you and Vee stopped your prank war, your feed has been inconsistent. You need to find your niche. You can’t just keep posting random videos. Your audience needs to know what they can expect from each clip.”

They can expect me to kick Rowan’s ass soon.

My lips flatten, and I feel the muscle in my cheek twitch. “Thanks, Mark Zuckerberg. I’ll keep that in mind the next time I ask for your fucking opinion.”

Maverick sighs like the old man he is. “I raise.” He’s trying to get us to focus back on the game and not continue to argue about how my last video performed. The one that Malcolm referred to as lacking substance tonight. Never have I wanted to kick someone’s ass as much as I did Malcolm’s. If it wasn’t for Vance shoving me back toward my house, I think I might have stalked over and beat the shit out of him, just because I had to stare at Valentina’s cleavage the entire time I endured talking to him.

All I wanted to do is sit out on the back patio in Vee’s chair and watch her fall while she attempted to kick the ball, but then Vance showed up and was talking to the little liar, distracting me from my entertainment for the evening. So by the time Malcolm monopolized even more of my shitty night, I was done.

I don’t even care that my UniCamFlix entry video yielded less than optimal results. I have eight weeks to submit more. With my new cameraman, I plan on stepping up my game on the next one.

Rowan takes his turn and stays his hand. “Forget the singing chick, dude. Malcolm is your newest competition. Watch his videos. He’s hilarious and consistently finds fresh new material to use. Here—” Rowan thrusts his phone in my face. For a second, I worry I might crack a tooth from how hard my jaw is clenched, “—watch. It’s the funniest shit I’ve seen.”

I push his phone away. I don’t need to see how sucktastic Malcolm’s material is. He’s never been a threat to me.

“Please.” I scoff. “Malcolm couldn’t get views unless he offered a hand job with each watch. The only reason he has sponsors is because he bought most of those subscribers with Mommy and Daddy’s money.” Malcolm’s videos suck just as much as his 90’s haircut. I’m not worried about his ridiculous spoofing videos.

“You’re in a shitty mood,” notes Mav, shuffling the cards in his hands. “I thought you wanted to come to Gigi’s tonight.” He eyes my hand and the stupid small bets I’ve been tossing in the pot.

I sigh. I did—I mean I wanted to come to Gigi’s. I could certainly use the distraction, but instead of poker distracting me, it’s the image of Vee in that fucking bikini smiling up at Vance’s stupid ass with his talk of recycling. Please. I could smell the lame from all the way in my backyard.

“The neighbor piss you off again?” asks Rowan, putting his phone away and pulling his cards toward his chest. No one is looking at his fucking cards. He’s going to lose regardless. I can already tell Mav has a good hand. That damn cigarette hangs from his mouth carelessly and relaxed.

I shake off my mood. I need to focus on the game. Not my video and definitely not Vee. I mean, I don’t give two shits that she had been hit on by several fuckwits by the time I’d left for Gigi’s. She’s a big girl and can take a man down without warning. But shouldn’t Drew or Bennett be looking out for her? Isn’t that what they do in between classes and games? Stalk the ever-loving shit out of my neighbors… No one gets close to Vee and Aspen. And here Vee was… For God’s sake, I could see every one of her curves, the swell of her tits, the soft edges of her hips—

“So you entered the competition?”

I force myself to unlock my hands from clenched fists. “Of course. No one dominates the internet like I do.”

“Except for Malcolm,” Rowan adds, getting a laugh out of Maverick who adds, “And Vee.”

They both can eat shit.

“I didn’t realize you both were so interested in my film career,” I snap.

A light chuckle goes through Maverick. “We aren’t. We’re interested in when this pouty bitch phase is coming to an end. The competition will be good for you. It’ll give you something to focus on instead of—” He shrugs, not wanting to say her name. Which is good because her name evokes powerful emotions like rage and lust and I don’t have room for that right now. I only have room for ambition. I’m getting out of Georgia, no matter what.

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