Page 10 of The Emerson Effect
Joey:The video is going viral. People are tagging you, which will send fresh traffic to your page. It’s a win-win.
Me:I guess…
Joey:I know you’re pissed because, well, it’s Emerson. And you kind of hate him. I get it. But just ignore it and reap the rewards girl. I just looked at your page, and it looks like you’ve gained some new followers.
I open BingBang and check my notifications again, my eyes going wide. She’s right. I have dozens of new followers already. And it’s only been two hours since Emerson posted the video. I toggle back to my texting app.
Me:You’re right. I hate it when you’re right.
Joey:Love you, too, hussy. Don’t stress over the why. It doesn’t matter.
Me:Once again, you’re right.
Joey:Of course, I am.
Me:Love you.
Joey:Ditto.
I smile at theGhostreference. That’s Joey’s thing, using movie quotes as often as possible in regular conversation. It’s her love language, and it sometimes gets disgusting when she and Dallas are together, quoting romantic lines in an attempt to best each other.
I sigh and take a bite of my salad, not really tasting it. Joey is right, of course. I should just let it go and enjoy the benefits of being tagged so many times. But there’s a niggling in the back of my head that just won’t let go.
I need to knowwhyEmerson was holding that margarita and toasting me in a thirst trap. Was it a marketing ploy? A jab at me and my drunken mistake?
Or was it something else, entirely?
SIX
Emerson
I’m honestly shocked. Bewildered. Flummoxed.
The silly little video I posted to get under Twila’s skin has gone viral, getting over one-point-two million views in the first twenty-four hours. I didn’t know that was even possible. Especially for me.
I had to turn my push notifications off yesterday because my phone was blowing up, driving me crazy. I tried responding to the comments for the first couple of hours or so, but it quickly became overwhelming. I gave up and stayed off the app until this morning.
Everyone wants to know for whom the video was made. There are so many guesses, so many creators tagged…the BingBang community is shipping me with more than a dozen different women. Including Twila Greene.
My roommates shuffle into the living room together, and I shut the app down as the twins bookend me on the couch, and Ritchie slumps into one of the two oversized chairs, plopping hisfeet up on the ottoman. It feels a lot like an ambush as they all stare at me without speaking for several long beats. Or maybe it’s an intervention.
“What?” I ask finally when they continue to just stare at me in silence.
Ritchie sighs. “Your BingBang from yesterday is doing well.”
“Really well,” Mason adds.
“Yeah? That’s a good thing, right?” I ask, looking at each of them in confusion.
What is this?
“We just want you to be careful,” Stone says, uncharacteristically reserved.
“Careful of what?” I ask, the words slow and measured.
I honestly have no idea what they’re getting at. Are they afraid a single mega-viral video is going to change me, or something?
“You tend to jump into things with your whole heart,” Mason says, his voice soft and filled with affection. “We love that about you, man, but we’re worried about you getting hurt with this whole thing.”
